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"Or when Desmond puts Gillian to bed for her afternoon nap, he's going to ask you the exact same thing. And if he doesn't like the answer, he's going to fire you."
A plate slipped from the housekeeper's fingers and crashed into the stack of dirty dishes. Mrs. Waters gripped the counter with soapy fingers.
"You're lying. He wouldn't do that."
Rebecca stopped and counted silently to ten. She'd lost her temper and rushed into this confrontation, but she could still get control of the situation. And that's what she needed. Picking a fight with Mrs. Waters wouldn't accomplish anything, other than forcing Desmond to get rid of someone his daughter clearly adored. A chill washed over Rebecca as she drew the parallels between her wish for a peaceful homelife by getting rid of Mrs. Waters and her own father's banishment. She couldn't hurt Gillian the same way she'd been hurt.
"You're right. He wouldn't fire you. At least, not until he'd tried every other solution. But how can we find a solution if we don't know the problem?"
"The problem? The problem is you." Mrs. Waters steamrollered over Rebecca's indignant response. "Nothing personal, you understand. It's been over two years since Mr. Lacroix's wife passed on. I don't blame him for moving on. But whatever's between you should stay between you. You don't belong here, and you don't belong with Gillian."
"You think I'm having an affair with him?" Rebecca smiled, anticipating the look on the housekeeper's face when she learned the truth.
Desmond walked in before Rebecca could deliver her coupe de grace. He sized up the situation as soon as he entered the room, and turned to her with a frown. "I see you entered the fray without waiting for me."
"Did Gillian go down for her nap all right?" Mrs. Waters asked.
"Perfectly. She's more well-behaved than the so-called adults around here. Care to explain what you were fighting about?"
"She said I was sleeping with you!"
Desmond smiled, a slow indulgent smile that drove everything from Rebecca's mind but his presence. He was so near, she could feel the heat radiating from him. She stepped toward him, drawn to him with a single-minded desire to lose herself in his fire. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer still.
"You are sleeping with me," he whispered to her. When he turned aside to speak to Mrs. Waters, the separation caused an almost physical shock. "You've mistaken the nature of our relationship. Rebecca and I are going to be married."
"Married! But...that is...I mean...Congratulations," Mrs. Waters finally stammered out.
"Thank you. This isn't how I intended to tell you." He favored Rebecca with an irritated look that dissolved into another indulgent smile.
She grinned back at him. "Years from now we'll look back on this and laugh, right?"
Mrs. Waters interrupted them. "When will the ceremony take place?"
"This Saturday," Desmond answered.
"Saturday?" Mrs. Waters pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and slumped into it. "So soon?"
Rebecca snuggled closer to Desmond. "We didn't want to wait."
"Besides," Desmond added, "you've already agreed to spend the day with Gillian."
"I'll miss her," Mrs. Waters said.
"Miss her?" Rebecca asked, just as Desmond asked, "Why?"
Mrs. Waters looked at them in confusion. "Well, I just naturally assumed..."
"Good grief, you didn't think I wanted to take care of her, did you?" Rebecca couldn't help laughing. "I mean, she's a nice kid and all, and I really like her, but I don't know the first thing about caring for children. And when would I have time to learn? I'll still be traveling a lot for my stories."
"You will?" Desmond quirked an eyebrow.
"Uh, yeah." This seemed to be her day for blurting things out. She'd meant to present her future plans to Desmond in an orderly, rational way, outlining why they'd both benefit from her career, and why her career would be improved by traveling. Instead, she'd handed him a fait accompli, like it or lump it.
"Why don't I leave you two alone to discuss your plans," Mrs. Waters suggested, heading out the door.
Desmond sighed and settled into one of the chairs. "Rebecca, your independence is one of the things I admire most about you. But there's such a thing as being too independent."
"Meaning what? You don't want me to have a career?" She balled her hands into fists, and glared at him. "I'm like your sister— I'm a girl so I don't count?"
