Bronson grinned suddenly, seeming not at all perturbed by her scowl. “The negotiations are over, my lady. You'll live here for a year and accept thirty thousand pounds, or there is no bargain.”
Filled with nervous trepidation, Holly felt herself tremble all over. “Then I accept,” she said breathlessly. “And I would like the carriage and team of four you promised for Rose to be written into the contract.”
“All right.” Bronson extended a hand, grasped her small one and shook it firmly. “Your hand is cold.” He retained her fingers in his for a moment longer than necessary. His lips curved with a smile. “Are you frightened?”
It was the same thing he had asked her in the conservatory the night he had kissed her. She felt much as she had then, overwhelmed by an extraordinary event she had never anticipated. “Yes,” she whispered. “Suddenly I'm afraid I may not be the kind of woman I've always thought I was.”
“Everything will be all right,” he said, his voice low and gentle.
“You can't pr-promise such a thing.”
“Yes, I can. I have a good idea of what your family's reaction will be to this. Don't lose your courage.”
“Of course not,” she said with an attempt at dignity. “You have my word that I will keep to our bargain.”
“Good,” he murmured, while his gaze held an unnerving glitter of victory.
Lady Holly's carriage departed along the drive, the sun striking the black-lacquered vehicle with a blinding gleam. Zachary nudged the curtains of a library window apart and watched until the carriage was no longer visible. He was filled with the same explosive energy that he always felt after making a deal that was clearly to his advantage. Lady Holland Taylor would be living under his roof, with her daughter. It was a situation that no one, including himself, would have ever believed possible.
What was it about her that affected him so deeply? He had been aroused from the moment she had entered the room, aroused and fascinated as he had been by no other woman in his life. That moment when she had removed her gloves, exposing her delicate pale hands, had been the erotic highlight of his entire year.
He had known many great beauties and women of great talent, both in bed and out. He couldn't fathom why one small widow should have such an effect on him. Perhaps it was the warmth that shone through her demure exterior. She was clearly a lady, but without the airs and pretensions he had seen in other women of her class. He liked the direct, friendly way she had spoken to him, as if they were social equals. She was luminous, warm and far too refined for the likes of him.
Troubled, Zachary jammed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, bunching the hem of his coat. He wandered through the library suite, glancing absently at the priceless collection of volumes and artwork he had amassed. Ever since childhood, he had been aware of an endless, nagging urgency inside, the drive to achieve and conquer. He was filled with a dissatisfaction that drove him to work, plot and plan long into the night when other men were sleeping. It always seemed that there was one more object to acquire, one more deal to construct, one last mountain to climb, and then perhaps he would be happy. But he never was.
Somehow in the company of Lady Holly Taylor, he had felt like an ordinary man, one who was able to relax and enjoy himself. During the hour that she had visited him, all his usual aggression had vanished. He had felt almost…content. That had never happened to him before. The feeling was impossible to dismiss, and he wanted more of it. He craved
Lady Holly's presence in his home.
And he craved her presence in his bed. Remembering the precise moment when she had realized he was the man who had kissed her, Zachary felt a smile tugging at his lips. She had turned scarlet, and her entire body had seemed to tremble. For a moment he had even wondered if she might faint. He wished she had—it would have given him an excuse to hold her again. But she had regained her composure and held her silence, clearly hoping that he would not recognize her. One would think she had committed a far greater crime than exchanging a hasty kiss with a stranger in the dark. For all her social knowledge, she was not sophisticated. He wasn't certain why that aroused him so.
She had a quality of innocence that married women didn't usually possess, as if she wouldn't recognize sin or depravity even if it was staring her in the face.
She had cried the second time he had kissed her, and now he knew why. He was certain she had not been kissed or caressed by anyone since the death of her husband. Someday, he thought, she would weep in his arms again. But the next time, it would be from pleasure, not grief.
Four
Holly berated herself all the way home for her impulsiveness. As the carriage bumped and rolled and jiggled over the unevenly paved streets of London, she decided that she would write Mr. Bronson a letter as soon as she arrived back at the Taylors' home. She would explain that she had made the decision too hastily, that it was clearly not in her best interests, not to mention Rose's, for her to alter their lives so radically. What had she been thinking, to agree to employment with a family she didn't know, a family that was clearly beneath her in society, a man who was known by everyone as an unscrupulous, mercenary scoundrel? “I've gone mad,” she whispered to herself.
However, the anxiety she felt over the decision was countered by a strange, mounting reluctance to return to the dull existence she had known for the past three years. For some reason the home that had been such a comforting haven since George's death now seemed like a prison, and the Taylors like very kind and well-meaning gaolers. It was unfair of her, she knew, to feel this way.
Everything will be all right, Mr. Bronson had murmured to her just before she left his estate. He had known that she would second-guess her decision, that even the fortune he had offered would not be enough to convince her to work for him, unless…
Unless there was something wild and reckless in her, something that would not allow her to retreat from this leap into the unknown. And the truth was, she wanted to take Rose and Maude and leave the Taylors. She wanted to break from the predictable path she had always followed until now.
What was the worst thing that could happen to her if she did so? She would face social disapproval…Well, what did that matter? The one person whose approval had mattered most to her was dead. The reaction of George's family was a concern, of course, but she could always insist that she did not want to be a burden to them any longer. There was Rose to consider, but Holly knew that she could persuade her daughter to look upon this as an adventure. And Rose would have such a magnificent dowry someday, and she would indeed be looked on as a highly desirable match for some well-titled peer.
Holly groaned and covered her face with her hands, knowing that she was not going to renege on her promise to Zachary Bronson. Because all her reasoning boiled down to one thing—she wanted to work for him.
Although everyone in the Taylor household, including the servants, was clearly eager to know what had transpired during the tea with Zachary Bronson, Holly said very little. In reply to the multitude of questions, she said that Bronson had been a gentleman, that his house was remarkably grand and that the conversation was perfectly pleasant. Rather than make a general announcement that she would be leaving soon, Holly decided that it would be easiest to break the news to George's brothers and let them tell the rest of the family. After supper, she asked to meet William and Thomas in the library, and they agreed, both of them surprised by the unusual request.
Port was brought for the brothers and a cup of tea for Holly, and she sat in a heavy leather chair by the fire. Thomas occupied the chair next to her, while William stood and leaned an elbow on the white marble mantel. “Well, Holly,” William said in a quiet, friendly way, “out with it. What in God's name did Bronson want with you? I think we've been kept in suspense long enough.”
Faced with the two men who looked so achingly similar to her husband, their blue eyes containing identical expressions of curiosity, Holly felt the teacup tremble in the saucer she held. She was unexpectedly glad that she would no longer live here. Perhaps it would be better, easier, not to be surrounded by so many constant reminders of George. Forgive me, my darling, she thought, wondering if George was watching over her right now.
Slowly, taking care not to sound uncertain, Holly explained that Bronson wished to employ her as a social guide and instructor for his family, for the period of a year.
For a moment the Taylor brothers stared at her in surprise, and then Thomas burst out laughing. “I'll just bet he wants to hire you,” Thomas gasped between spurts of laughter. “To think he could employ one of us—George's wife, no less! I hope you told the arrogant ape that you have far better things to do than teach him manners. Wait until I tell the fellows about this—”