“No? Wasn’t coming over here taking a chance?”
“I, er, I was more or less forced into that.”
“Forced? How?” This sounded intriguing.
Her mouth pressed into a prim pout. She had no intention of going into details, crying on his shoulder, although she had to admit, Jack’s shoulders were temptingly broad. “There were circumstances at home.” She shut the notebook and stood up. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Carlisle, it’s not done to ask personal questions.”
“Is that so?” Her denial increased his desire to know. He slid one hand into his back pocket, in the process pushing his pants down an inch lower. Her eyes flickered to his waist and away.
“Yes, sir.”
“How’m I going to find out about you if I don’t ask personal questions?” He took a couple of steps forward, crowding her. “I mean, here you are, sharing my house.”
And last night, for just a little while, she’d shared his bed as well.
Freddi stood her ground. If he crowded any closer she’d be able to breathe the scent of a freshly showered Jack Carlisle.
“I’m your butler.” She tilted her chin just a little more than was necessary to look him in the eye. “You don’t need to know anything about me, other than that I’ll work to your advantage. On the other hand,” she continued, “given the scope of my job description, I’ll have to find out a great deal about you.”
“Fine by me.” He lifted his hands in a guileless gesture. “My conscience is clear. I have absolutely nothing to hide.” But he wondered if she did.
“Good. Because I’ll need to use your computer. I have to get onto the Internet and I’ll need your password.”
“Why?”
“All sorts of reasons. But first off, I need to order in some groceries.”
Jack opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Wariness flickered in his eyes. “What else would you do?”
“For example, download your e-mail.”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “All right. I suppose that might be useful.”
She looked him up and down. Didn’t the man ever dress in decent clothes?
“A gentleman never goes out dressed like a—a layabout.”
Legs apart, body braced, he stood in front of her. She could almost see the scarlet steam of annoyance wafting out of his ears.
“I go to the gym dressed like this,” he said, enunciating every word. “Then I change before setting off for the office.”
He’d already turned away when a thought struck him.
“Just remember, I don’t want any spam.”
“Sir, I would never dream of serving you anything but home cooked meals.”
“Huh?”
“Spam—tinned meat.”
“Oh no. I meant, junk e-mails.”
She bit her lip. “I see.”
Intent on getting out the door, he headed for the lobby.
Freddi stopped him. “Mr. Carlisle—”
“Jack—”
She held out the wallet. “I’m afraid I had to take out some notes to pay for the breakfast.”
He took the leather folder from her and opened it up.
“Here.” He held out five one-hundred-dollar bills. “Something to cover expenses. Keep two for yourself. It occurs to me you’ll need some cash. Consider this a moving allowance.”
She accepted the notes from him and closed her eyes on a quick prayer of gratitude. Bloody right she needed this. After the dastardly Simon’s incursions, she was seriously into negative equity. As a last resort she could ask her father to help, but she’d much rather not.
Jack resigned himself. British chicks, always on the make. Well, he wasn’t one to quibble about money. “Today I’ll organize a debit card for you, so you can use that for the household.”
Freddi shifted her weight. She dropped her gaze.
Jack noticed that her face was almost translucent. Shadows smudged the fine skin under her eyes. She looked pale, fragile.
“Feeling jet-lagged, are you?” In spite of his best efforts to stay stern, a sympathetic tone crept into his voice. “Tell you what, as you conjured up such an excellent breakfast, you can take some time off today. Catch up on that sleep you seem to need.”
Dark eyes stared up at him.
“What I need is exercise,” she said.
“I suppose you could come to the gym with me,” he offered.
“No, thank you, I don’t like sweat shops. And I need to get started here.”
Good. That let him off the hook. “Well, please yourself, go swimming, dancing, whatever. They’re all available nearby.” He turned away from her.
“Thank you, sir. I think I will.”
“It’s Jack, dammit.” Whirling around, he slapped the wall with a flat hand. “When you call me sir you make me feel as ancient and curmudgeonly as my Uncle Avery.”
“Yes, sir, er, Jack…Would you like me to answer the phone?”
“Please yourself.” He stepped back. “You can write down the messages, too.” Picking up his bag, he said, “In any case, I have an appointment tonight. I won’t be back for dinner.”
Jack was almost out the door when the marble bust caught his eye. On it, set at a rakish angle, was Freddi’s hat. He dropped his gym bag, rummaged in the closet and dug out his bike helmet. Eyes glittering with malevolent glee, he removed the hat and threw it up onto the shelf. Then he replaced it with the helmet.
AT TWO O’CLOCK, Freddi went to fetch her coat. Earlier she had received the first of a weekly delivery of flowers, including roses for her buttonhole. She had just finished arranging a vase.
Now she approached the closet and did a double take. Was she hallucinating? Instead of her hat sitting jauntily on the marble bust, she saw the shiny surface and aerodynamic lines of a bicycle helmet. Huh. Obviously that belonged to Jack and he’d swapped it, not approving of her funky headwear. All right, Mr. Carlisle, she thought. This calls for retribution. Quickly, her mind ran through all the schoolgirl tricks she’d encountered or perpetrated as a boarder; tricks like short-sheeting beds and exchanging the sugar in the sugar bowl for salt. No, nothing like that would do. She’d think up something more subtle to move her pawn forward and advance her game. Meanwhile, she had a class to attend.
She set off for the dance studio and the exercise she craved. Just as Jack had said, there was one nearby. Earlier she’d consulted the directory and given the studio a call. A friendly voice had given her the particulars of available classes and told her how to get there.
Well wrapped up against the cold north wind, Freddi was curious to get more of an impression of her environment. The row of narrow town houses, obviously newly built and in keeping with the Victorian feel of other nearby properties, made her feel at home. At regular intervals along the sidewalk, bare branches of trees promised pleasant shade for the summer.
She turned up Yonge Street and passed a small supermarket. It would be good to get a few supplies on her way back. Next was a boutique that specialized in leg wear. She regarded the display. One plastic leg showed off just exactly what she needed.
Freddi was early. She might as well seize the opportunity so