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 Her warm, womanly fragrance was, fortunately, superseded by the aroma of coffee.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 had openly declared that he would test her resistance to the limits and he was not inclined to take no for an answer. Ashley wondered how far he would use the tug of attraction to get his own way. He found her desirable. She no longer had any doubt about that.
For several electric moments, when he had first entered her bedroom, she had felt the strong swirl of wanting from him like a physical touch on her skin, a clamp on her heart. He had tried to hide it, tried to ignore it, but it had been still pulsing from him as he poured her coffee. All her senses had been alive to it, treacherously responding to it even as she struggled for the same self-control he imposed upon himself.
But desire wasn’t love, Ashley cautioned herself. Desire could be manipulated for purposes that had nothing to do with love. Men and women had been doing that to each other since Adam and Eve. Desire could be a trap that would cost her dear in the end if she succumbed to it. Ashley had been the victim of one man’s ego. She didn’t intend to ever let that happen again.
Was winning uppermost in Harry’s mind?
Did he want to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him?
The wise thing to do, Ashley decided, was wait, watch and listen while keeping a good sparring distance from Harry Cliffton. Having settled on this sensible course of action, she headed downstairs for breakfast, confident of holding true to herself despite all the persuasive tactics Harry could come up with.
William