Caroline Anderson - Housekeeper at His Command - The Spaniard's Virgin Housekeeper / His Pregnant Housekeeper / The Maid and the Millionaire

Her own bathroom. Of course—what else? The urge to explore was almost overwhelming, but the imperative to put Cayo Garcia straight was stronger. Smartly stepping in front of him, she folded her arms across her slender middle, lifting her face to his. ‘Hang on a tick. I have to say something. It’s really important.’

‘Sí?’ Strongly marked brows drew together as his eyes met hers. So deep a blue, with the almost childlike clarity of innocence. Deeply misleading. He sucked in a sharp breath. She had an exquisite face. Taken individually, her features were not perfect, but they added up to an exquisitely fascinating whole, framed by wayward strands of silver-gilt that looked as soft as silk.

’Tis a Pity She’s a Whore , he thought with mental dryness, then, inexplicably, felt his heart lurch with a spasm of sadness at the waste of all this luscious loveliness, packaging, as it did, a mercenary and immoral soul.

‘Listen—’ Izzy knew she sounded breathless. She was having difficulty stringing words together in her head, never mind getting them out of her mouth. It was the way he was looking at her that was so dreadfully unsettling. It made her tummy squirm, then tense, her mouth run dry.

‘Well?’ Cayo murmured without intonation, grimly amused as he pondered on what she was going to come up with—what was now so important. Something as twisted as her last outburst, at a guess.

Izzy just stared, moistening her dry lips with the tip of her tongue, fighting the awful dart of heat in the pit of her tummy that looking into his dark eyes always produced. Eyes as beautiful as his commanding masculine features …

Making a huge effort, she got out, ‘I know what you think of me, and I don’t blame you. I guess you’d always take the word of a big-wheel banker and his wife over a lowly domestic servant. But I promise you it wasn’t like that. I’m sorry to have to say this about your friend, a man you obviously respect, but Señor del Amo was the one trying it on, not the other way around.’

Once she’d launched forth, the words just came tumbling out. ‘And I had no idea that Miguel wasn’t dirt-poor until he told me on the way here. Truly! He told me that he was born here, that the family wealth had been divided between him and your father. It was the first I knew of it—and you could have knocked me down with a feather!’

Nice try. But not nearly good enough. Cayo’s eyes followed the movement as she brushed a silvery strand back from her forehead, pink with effort. His thick black lashes drifted down over sparkling jet eyes as he took in the taut expectancy of her voluptuous body. She was waiting for him to say he believed her, to treat her as if she was all sweetness and light, take the heat off and leave her free to wheedle her way even further into Miguel’s affections. Did she think he’d been born yesterday?

‘I see.’ He was almost purring now. ‘So let’s recap.’ His smile was devastatingly challenging. ‘You took pity on a poor old man, and agreed to keep house for him for the sort of miserable wages that would have had any normal working girl heading for the hills, out of the goodness of your heart?’

Izzy shifted uncomfortably. From his point of view her decision would look suspect, she recognised sickly. It was up to her to make him understand. She squared her slim shoulders and said, with far more confidence than she felt, ‘I was in a fix, and so was he. He needed someone to keep house. I needed a job and a roof over my head. And, yes, the wages he offered were even less than I received from the del Amos—and, believe me, they were nothing to write home about. I was sorry for him, and anyway I only intended to stay until something could be arranged for his future care. You know how not with-it he is when it comes to noticing what goes on around him—remembering to eat—that sort of stuff.’

‘Indeed.’

Izzy let out a huff of relief. He was beginning to believe her. She hated it when people thought badly of her—particularly him. Why him particularly? she wondered dazedly—and then the beginnings of exultation took a smart nose-dive.

‘Yet you are here. Still with him. Even though you know his future wellbeing is secure, and when you have already said you intended to leave as soon as that situation arose. I wonder why that is?’

She could recognise the note of sarcasm when she heard it. Izzy felt her skin crawl with the heat of discomfiture. Believing that honesty was the only policy, she mumbled, ‘Well, I guess it might look odd. Only you did invite me. I told your uncle that as I was no longer needed I wouldn’t tag along. But he refused to come if I didn’t.’ She raised her head, her eyes very wide, willing him to understand. ‘You see, as I felt responsible for him, I guess he feels responsible for me.’

His gaze was calmly assessing. ‘I see.’

Izzy swallowed jerkily. Did that mean he believed her? Had decided not to make her regret the day she was born?

Her bones turned to water when he gave her the benefit of his high-voltage smile and told her, ‘I suggest you make yourself at home—rest until we meet at dinner. I will have a pot of English tea sent up to you.’

He walked out, his smile vanishing as he closed the door behind him.

She was devious and clever. She’d got her ingenuous patter down to a fine art. She could put on that look of earnest innocence and talk her way out of a double-locked and barred dungeon!

Only he wasn’t gullible. His firm jaw set, he strode down to check on how his uncle was settling in, reflecting that her look of wide-eyed innocence didn’t gel with the sexy body that oozed temptation.

His mouth tightened. Time to put his plan into action. Show her the sort of luxury she could only have dreamed of. Dangle the prospect of great wealth in front of her pretty nose. No need to actually bed her—just let her believe he wanted to, give her the impression that he was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of his uncle’s companion. He would wait for her to get desperate enough to secure a massive fortune and openly encourage him, then make sure Miguel saw and understood what was happening—saw her in her true colours. Saw her as the greedy little sex-pot she was and hardened his highly moralistic heart against her.

Then Izzy Makepeace would be history!

Cayo laid down his dessert fork and leaned back in his chair, his smile just slightly apologetic. ‘I asked for a simple meal. It’s been a long day for you, Tio. Which is why I decided we wouldn’t dress for dinner.’

Izzy, her mouth full of delicious ice cream layer cake, widened her eyes. If this had been a simple meal, then what would a lavish spread have been like?

Too hungry to be nervous—her stomach had been rumbling alarmingly when one of the maids had appeared at nine o’clock to escort her down to dinner—she had tucked in to a salad of roast peppers, then turbot fillets poached in wine, followed by slices of guinea fowl on a bed of tomatoes and onions, and ended with a pudding that had practically made her swoon!

And as for dressing down instead of up, as would seem usual—well, she was already wearing her best: a plain blue cotton shift. Now she did feel nervous—even more so when Cayo remarked, apparently idly, as he toyed with the stem of his wine glass, ‘As you might remember, Tio, at the end of this month I host the annual ball for my tenant farmers and estate workers, my business associates and their wives.’

‘Indeed.’ Miguel pushed his do-it-yourself repaired spectacles back up his nose. ‘Am I expected to—as Izzy would doubtless say—strut my stuff?’ He beamed at her and she gave back a hesitant smile, dreading the thought that she would be expected to put in an appearance at what would be a glittering event, and wondering if his High and Mighty Cayoness was busily chalking up another black mark against her for teaching his scholarly relative low-grade slang.