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Moses yawned widely and stretched to ease the dull ache that had settled in the bottom of his back. He knew the cause of that dull throbbing. The wound there would forever haunt him and always got to him when the weather was cold like it was today. Unfortunately, it did little to distract him from what really controlled his thoughts, or rather who.
“But she is there anyway, waiting for me whenever I lower my guard, damn it,” Moss sighed.
Clementine plagued his every waking moment and haunted his dreams. She hovered over him like an etheric shadow, waiting to tempt when he least expected. She remained just out of reach only to dart forward with startling clarity when Moss found himself with a quiet moment. It was driving him nuts.
“God, I have to forget about her,” he hissed disgustedly. “That might be easier to do if I had not kissed her.”
That brief touch had ignited something within him that had refused to be extinguished ever since. It burned brightly in the darkest of hours and had seared him to his core. He knew what it was – he just refused to acknowledge it. If he did that, God only knew where he would end up.
“I have to focus on work. It will take my mind off her,” Moss sighed.
Forcing his mind off why he was seeking shelter, Moss studied the area and then waited a few more minutes before he left his hiding place. When he was certain he hadn’t been followed, Moss turned his attention to covering the two hundred or so yards he needed to walk to get home. As he walked, Moses, or Moss as his friends and close acquaintances called him, focused on the park he was in, but he wasn’t interested in enjoying the lush foliage, or the lavish display of flowers liberally adorning the borders lining the pathway. He wasn’t interested in the vast open lawn upon which several nannies were supervising their charges. Nor was he particularly bothered about the ladies enjoying their quiet amble through the large park while they took the air and chatted aimlessly about other people’s indiscretions. All Moss wanted to do was go home, have something to eat, and settle down in front of the fire with a large slug of his best brandy.
“Oh, God,” he growled when he looked up and saw a carriage pull to a stop outside of his office; the building located next to the house he called home.
His stomach clenched into burning knots because deep in his gut he knew exactly who that was. With an impending sense of doom, Moss watched the carriage door open and the delicate folds of a dress appear before a stunningly beautiful young woman slid out of the carriage and eyed the tall buildings before her with an aristocratic air of consideration.
“I must remember that she cannot ever be a part of my life,” he whispered fiercely to himself as he watched Clementine turn to speak to the driver before she ascended the stairs with all the elegant grace of royalty.
In that moment, it struck Moss that his and Clementine’s social circumstances couldn’t be further apart. The differences were many, he had to remember that yet to his horror, Moss was still attracted to the bundle of feminine trouble that was Clementine Marlborough. He had been from the moment he had set eyes on her, and suspected that he always would be. It irked him that despite his deepest wish to dislike her, he found himself liking her more and more. After the last time they had met, he had worked harder than ever to get on with his life, but it had been useless at best. This time, not even work had been able to distract him from his pressing need to see her again. He wasn’t the kind of man who usually acted on his emotions, not without careful and due consideration in any case. There was no reason why he should start with Clementine, but she made him want to do rash things, like cover the distance to her village just to be able to see her again, just to see her smile, or hear her laugh.
“Damned woman. I need to think when I am around her because I have an inkling that she has a penchant for getting herself into trouble. Or, worse, getting me into trouble,” Moss muttered. “But I suppose I am going to have to go and find out what she wants. It appears that something else has happened seeing as she has come all this way to see me. I hope to God she hasn’t come to tell me there has been another death.”
Moss only realised he had said that aloud when two passing ladies gasped and peered at him suspiciously before they hurried away. Moss cursed beneath his breath but understood that he looked suspicious seeing as he was loitering in bushes, talking to himself.
“Damn it, I don’t care what you want, Clementine Marlborough, nobody is being murdered and I am not going to help you no matter what madcap schemes you make up,” he grumbled, his gaze turning once more to the woman who was now standing on his doorstep.
Moss watched her delicate gloved hand lift and slap the knocker against the hard wood of the highly polished black door several times. While she waited for it to be answered, she turned to allow her gaze to wander over the surrounding area. Moss instinctively settled back into the shadows once more, determined to keep her at a distance for as long as possible. Despite his behaviour, his gaze was compelled to return to her. He studied her with more masculine interest than he was comfortable with, but there was nothing he could do about it. With a groan, Moss watched his housekeeper open the door and let her into his house. He suspected that Mrs Marks would have Clementine sitting beside the fire taking tea and cake within minutes and would engage her in idle chatter for hours if he left her to it.
“Jesus, Fate really does hate me,” Moss growled when he felt the first pitter-patter of raindrops began to fall about him.
Moss sighed heavily because he knew he had two choices. He could either stay where he was and wait until Clementine left, and get thoroughly soaked, which would add to his misery, or he could go to the house and give the woman her marching orders, and hopefully forget he had ever set eyes on her. This time, he would resist temptation and would not kiss her again.
But I know I am going to be plagued with dreams of her, just like always.
Eventually, when the rain became even heavier, Moss gave in. Privately, he wanted, needed, to make sure that Clementine knew he was never going to help her no matter what suspicions she had. As far as she was concerned, his services were not for sale. That said, despite his determination to send her packing, Moss still found himself creeping into his house several minutes later. He paused in the process of taking off his great coat only to find Mrs Marks in the doorway.
“Ah, there you are, sir. You have a visitor to see you. Isn’t that nice?” Mrs Marks gushed, clearly delighted that her employer had such a young, beautiful visitor.
“Is it?” Moss demanded with a dour look.
Mrs Marks blinked at him because it was highly unusual for her employer to be brisk with her. Moss was usually an affable gentleman who paid well and asked little of her compared to what would be expected of most housekeepers. To see him with a glower on his face the likes of which he had presently was more than enough to have her casting a wary glance back into the room behind her. Mrs Marks discretely eased the door closed so she could have a more private word with the master of the house.
“Is there a problem, sir? She seemed like a fine, up
standing lady,” Mrs Marks murmured.
“She is a fine, upstanding lady,” Moss growled quietly. “She is also a pain in the proverbial.”
Mrs Marks gasped because this too was unlike her employer. She cast another glance at the door, but this time it was considerably darker and warier. “Do you want me to send her on her way? I can tell her that you have another appointment, if you would like me to?”
“I will deal with her,” Moss sighed. He moved over to the door and looked back at her. “Get me some brandy, please, Mrs Marks, and plenty of it. Oh, and something to eat, if you would. I am starving.”
When Moss stepped into the room, and saw Clementine sitting in the chair closest to the door, he knew from the look on her face that she had just heard every word he had said. It was difficult to tell from the high flush in her cheeks, and brilliant sparkle in her gaze, whether she was angry, upset, or likely to smack him for his rudeness. With alacrity, he bowed in her direction and waited for her to scold him.
“Good afternoon,” he murmured.
Clementine curtseyed.
