William was clearly a master at holding out carrots. Harry was quite a dab hand at it himself.
‘Whether I stay or not will be your mother’s decision, William. Right now I’m going to make her coffee and take it up to her.’ Harry winked conspiratorially. ‘Show her what a good butler I am.’
The boy laughed his delight in their mutual understanding. ‘That’s how I get into favour. Especially when I want something a bit tricky.’
Tricky was definitely the word, Harry thought as he set a tray for the coffee. As William had pointed out, he was already involved here to the extent of taking him to the cricket match and transporting Ashley in the Rolls to Olivia Stanton’s party. Letting either of them down after giving his word went against Harry’s grain.
He had to maintain the role he had cast himself in until a decision about the future was made, either by Ashley or himself. Confession might be good for the soul, but Harry had little doubt that he would be banished from the household before he could blink if he stopped being the butler. That would not serve the purpose of getting George an heir for Springfield Manor, nor the purpose of getting to know Ashley Harcourt better.
The latter purpose was far more on Harry’s mind as he carried the coffee tray upstairs. He had picked a red rose from Ashley’s garden and laid it beside the coffeepot. The romantic touch appealed to him. He hoped it would appeal to her, too. It was wrong that so much of her life had been barren of romance.
He heard the clock alarm go off as he approached her bedroom door and waited until it clicked off before knocking.
‘Yes?’ A drowsy question.
‘It’s Harry with your coffee,’ he answered.
‘Oh!’ A pause filled with rustling movement. ‘Come in.’
Harry fixed a bright smile of greeting on his face as he opened the door. ‘Good morning, Ashley.’
It was just as well he had the words ready to trip off his tongue, because desire hit him in the solar plexus with breathtaking speed, stopping him in his tracks. She was sitting up in bed, a sheet pulled up to cover her breasts but not the two red lace straps that were obviously attached to a very feminine nightie. The pale silk of her hair fell in tangled skeins around the smooth roundness of her bare arms and shoulders. Her face was no less lovely without makeup, and her eyes held a soft, uncertain appeal that pummelled his heart.
Harry knew in that moment it was criminal to deceive this woman in any way whatsoever, yet he was trapped in his own contrived scenario. He didn’t want her to reject him. He wanted to take her in his arms, assure her that she was safe with him. He wanted to kiss the slight quiver from her lips, wanted to fill the emptiness inside her with the wonder and pleasure of not missing out on anything. He wanted to give what Pen had given to him.
Perhaps it was another mad impulse, a quixotic urge that could backfire with disastrous consequences. This was not a time for dancing on the edge, he cautioned himself. This was a time for taking things slowly, but his hastily summoned control was severely tested by the sad searching in her beautiful grey eyes. He felt her need and wanted to answer it. Common sense hammered out that it was too soon to know if he could.
Keep it light, Harry, he sternly advised himself, pushing his feet forward again. ‘William told me you preferred coffee first thing. Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes. Yes, thank you,’ she answered distractedly, her cheeks pinking as she turned to clear some space on the bedside table for the tray. ‘And you? Were you comfortable enough?’
‘Very much so.’ He set the tray down and proceeded to pour her coffee. Best to keep his hands busy. It was so tempting to reach out and touch her hair, feel its silkiness sliding between his fingers. Her warm, womanly fragrance was, fortunately, superseded by the aroma of coffee. ‘Bacon and eggs and toast for breakfast?’ he asked, hoping to put her at ease with him.
‘I usually have a bowl of muesli. But please help yourself to whatever you’re used to, Harry,’ she added quickly.
‘It’s just as easy to cook for two.’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow. She was more composed now. ‘Is the muesli a matter of healthy conviction or a symptom of not wanting the bother of cooking and cleaning up afterwards?’
It drew a rueful smile. ‘A bit of both.’
‘Well, let the bother be mine. I’m here to serve you, Ashley, and I want you to enjoy the pleasure of being served.’
‘Then I guess I might as well…once in a lifetime,’ she added with a self-mocking twist.
‘It needn’t be,’ he reminded her. ‘It could be your lifestyle if you choose to take up residence at Springfield Manor. Everything should be tried…once in a lifetime,’ he repeated, feeling somewhat exonerated.
She shrugged. ‘What would I do with myself there?’ Her eyes flashed derisively. ‘In between being waited on hand and foot.’
‘Interest yourself in the occupations of others. As you do now. There are estate farms and a village and—’
‘I’d be welcome to poke my nose into their business?’
‘Helping and interfering are two different things.’ ‘I’d be an outsider, Harry. A fish out of water.’
‘We’re all outsiders at one time or another. I’m an outsider here, but that doesn’t stop me from getting involved and being helpful and caring. Saying you’re an outsider is an excuse for do-ing nothing.’
‘Is it your duty as a butler to hand out homilies with coffee?’ she asked dryly as he put down the coffeepot.
He flashed her a smile. ‘I’m a man with a mission. You can’t expect me not to argue my case.’
‘You do it very well.’
His eyes held hers. ‘I think you could make a place for yourself anywhere, Ashley. Given the desire to.’
Her gaze didn’t waver. ‘I think you could, too.’
The zest of contest rippled through Harry again. A defiant pride and a will of steel had overlaid the vulnerability that had so touched him when he had entered her bedroom. The simmering challenge in her eyes put him and his beliefs and his heritage on notice that she was not about to be bowled over by any of them. Anything he won from her would be hard earned. But worthwhile.
Harry’s blood stirred. ‘You’ll join me for bacon and eggs?’ he asked, pressing for a crack of compliance.
‘I’ll dance with you, Harry, but don’t assume I’ll accompany you home,’ she answered.
He grinned. ‘Then let’s make the dance a merry one.’
His feet were light as he exited from her room. Ashley had accepted the game, come what may, and it was fun again. Apart from which, playing the butler wasn’t so deceptive because she would have all that he represented if she came with him in the end.
And more.
ASHLEY PONDERED HER position as she dressed for the day. Harry had reaffirmed his mission, leaving little room for the pipedream that she might be able to keep him in Australia with her. He would go back to England. That was the inevitable reality, and it ill behove her to let it slip from her mind and think other foolish thoughts.
England represented Roger’s side of the family. It also represented closer memories of Harry’s beloved Penelope. The prospect of taking up residence in Springfield Manor held no attraction for Ashley. Unless Harry overcame all her objections to it.
He