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Ready to face him, she stopped with one hand on the door. What if the kiss had been nothing special to him? What if her reaction had been nothing more than a result of her keyed up nerves?
She had to find out for sure. Even if her reaction had been a fluke, or he didn't feel anything special, she'd still help Gillian. Rebecca wasn't the sort who went back on her promises. At least, not if the promises hadn't been extorted from her.
But she needed to know where she stood with Desmond. Was he interested in her for her own sake, or just because of what she could do for his daughter? Better ask now, before she started thinking silly thoughts. Sometimes the truth hurt, but she preferred knowing it anyway. She opened the door and followed the smell of toast into the kitchen.
The housekeeper she'd met the other night stood by the stove, grilling a sandwich. Gillian sat at the table, drinking a glass of milk.
"Good morning," Rebecca said. "How are you this morning, Gillian?"
Gillian frowned, and slurped her milk.
"Good morning, Ms. Morgan," the housekeeper said. "I suppose you'd like some lunch? Or breakfast?"
"Yes, thank you. Whichever one you're making now is fine."
Rebecca walked over to the stove. Mrs. Waters watched the sandwich as she answered, "I'm making grilled cheese. You may have this one if you like."
"I can make my own— "
"Nonsense. I'll do it. If you want to help, get a glass of milk or juice out of the refrigerator."
Rebecca opened the refrigerator door, and tried to ignore the medicine bottles. She didn't want to think about Desmond being ill. A half-full can of tomato juice appealed to her, and she poured it into a glass.
Gillian shook her head as Rebecca sat down at the table.
"No medicine at lunch," she scolded. Rebecca looked to Mrs. Waters for help.
"She thinks the tomato juice is Mr. Lacroix's medicine."
"Oh." Rebecca looked at her glass. It didn't look anything like medicine to her, but Gillian was only three. Didn't kids mistake aspirin for candy at that age? "Is it okay if I drink it?"
"You've poured it. It'd be a shame to waste it." Mrs. Waters said. Then her voice warmed a good twenty degrees as she told Gillian, "That's not medicine, sweetheart. That's tomato juice." Gillian ignored her.
Rebecca sipped her juice. Mrs. Waters didn't like her. That much was obvious. But why? She'd never get any useful information from the woman at this rate.
"We didn't really have a chance to say much when we were introduced. But I'll be staying here for a few days."
"Yes, Ma'am. Mr. Lacroix's told me everything I need to know about you." From the frost in her voice, Mrs. Waters hadn't liked what she'd heard. She flipped the sandwich out of the frying pan onto a plate, slashed it into quarters and set the plate in front of Gillian. "Here you go, sweetie."
Mrs. Waters threw bread and cheese into the frying pan. "Yours'll be done soon."
"That's fine."
Mrs. Waters didn't say another word until the sandwich finished cooking. Then she merely tossed the plate in front of Rebecca with a muttered, "Here."
Rebecca took a bite. The gooey cheese and crisp bread mingled with the tomato juice, and reminded her of pizza. The housekeeper might not be much of a conversationalist, but she was a great cook.
"Mr. Lacroix suggested you'd be happier in the study, while he was at work," Mrs. Waters announced Desmond's wishes with all the weight of a royal proclamation.
"All right." She was, after all, a guest. But she'd had just about enough of this frigid politeness. Time to find out what was going on. "I'll be there or in my room."
"Mr. Lacroix thought you'd like to look at his books. You should stay in the study, rather than go back into Mrs. Lacroix's room."
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bsp; Rebecca heard the subtle emphasis on the word Mrs. Why did everyone assume she was sleeping with Desmond?
Rebecca's cheeks heated. The thought had crossed her mind a few times during the long night, too. But that didn't mean she'd done anything about it.
