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shook his head and continued talking, not noticing that his wife was doing her best to turn him to ashes with her eyes. By the time she finally spun to follow the housekeeper, the woman's smile had blossomed to full-fledged happiness.
Alex bit back a nasty word and trudged up the stairs behind her, practicing her fiery stare on the woman's back. What kind of housekeeper could she be at her age? She couldn't be more than twenty-five. And she didn't look like a maid of any sort. Her skin was fine and pale as ivory silk, and her blond hair was swept into an intricate topknot that emphasized her long neck. If Alex didn't know better, she'd suspect Rebecca Burnside of being Collin's mistress, but she dismissed the notion out of hand. Collin was not a man to set up his doxy in his home, and he most definitely would never keep her after marriage.
A door at the top of the stairs stood open, and Rebecca hurried through, waving again for Alex to follow. She seemed averse to speaking to her new mistress. Did she dislike all English or just the one married to her employer? Alex narrowed her eyes and stepped into the room, determined to find out, but her curiosity about the room got the better of her and she spun in a slow circle as soon as she passed the doorjamb.
A large bed took up most of the space, high and wide and covered from head to foot in sable fur. Alex blinked. Sable. She took a tentative step to slide a hand over the throw. Oh yes, that was sable. My word.
Resisting the urge to rub her cheek against it, she pulled her eyes away and surveyed the rest of the space. Her dresser and wardrobe filled it. The shutters were thrown back on the one small window, but it was so narrow and deep that only the tiniest sliver of fading light shone through.
A door set against the right wall reminded Alex of Collin's description of the chamber, and she opened it with an anticipatory smile. Here was the turret room, round and cozy and furnished with a delicate table and chairs. There would be room here to dress and to breakfast. Hardly any light, but there were a few windows and it would have to catch sun at some point of the day. It was charming and suited her perfectly.
A small noise reminded her of the woman at her back, and Alex's smile faded. "You're a bit young for a housekeeper," she said, not bothering to look at her.
"Collin. . . Lord Westmore and I have known each other for years. He was happy to offer me the position."
Alexandra's jaw popped. She turned to sweep the woman with a cold look. "I'm sure we will be close companions then."
Her blond head inclined in the barest nod.
"I would imagine that Collin's letter was surprising."
"Yes."
"And I hope you were given adequate time to prepare for the arrival of a wife."
"Of course."
Well, the woman was not being helpful. She would have to solve the mystery later, though she'd bet her eyeteeth that Rebecca's dislike of her had nothing to do with England.
"Thank you, Rebecca. My maid's carriage should be arriving any moment now. She will lend any assistance I need. Please be sure that her room is ready."
"Milady." She did not curtsy or even nod her head this time, simply swept stiff-backed from the room.
Alex stuck out her tongue at the closing door, but forgot her annoyance when she turned back to the bed. The sight of that fur sent a shiver up her spine, and she wondered if she had time to strip off her clothes and roll naked over the bed before Danielle arrived.
Chapter 17
She rolled and slid and buried her fingers in the unbelievable softness. Then she fell asleep.
Her rumbling belly wakened her and the first thing she noticed was the presence of sunlight in the room—a clear shaft of sunlight that shot straight through the window and onto the closed door. Odd, hadn't it been almost sunset when she'd climbed up?
Air strained into her lungs on a wheeze as realization struck. Oh my God, she'd slept straight through her first evening in Collin's home. She sat up with a cry and whipped her head around, trying to make sense of what she took in. Her perfumes and powders, brushes and clips were laid out on top of the dresser. Her carriage dress had disappeared from the floor and a wrap and slippers were laid at the foot of the bed. Danielle had definitely made it to Westmore.
And what of her husband?
"Oh, no," she moaned in utter horror. Had he slept alone? No, the whole bed was rumpled, not just her side.
What must he think of her? What must everyone think of her? Surely Mrs. Cook had prepared something special for their arrival. Surely Collin had meant to consummate this homecoming in their new bed. Oh, why had they let her sleep?
Her mortification dissolved with a pop. Why had Collin let her sleep? Why hadn't he wakened her for her first meal in her new home? Why hadn't he at least roused her to make love to her in their very own bed? A growl was just working its way up her throat when the door swung open.
"You're awake, Madame?
"Danielle, what time is it?"
"Only eight. Shall I bring your breakfast?"
"I. . . I don't know. Why didn't you wake me last night? I should have gone to dinner, I should have . . ." She threw her hands high in exasperation.
