The Hired Husband

Rachel cringed inwardly. What would her mother think of her?

She paused near the entrance of the sitting room, smoothed down the front of her green skirt and drew in a breath to calm herself. It certainly wouldn’t do to rush into a room short of breath and lacking in composure.

Rachel had been alarmed when Uncle Stuart had reported that this Mr. Kincade—her knight in shining armor, her uncle had called him—insisted upon meeting with her and the family before making his decision on accepting the job. So much was riding on this meeting. She had to make sure everything went well.

Rachel called upon each and every hostessing skill her mother had ingrained in her since early childhood, lifted her chin and walked calmly into the sitting room.

Then stopped. A tall, broad-shouldered man wearing a dark suit stood with his back to her near the tea service. Her gaze swept the room, then landed on the man once more.

Where was the accountant? This wasn’t him.

Alarm filled her once more. Had Mr. Kincade been insulted that she was late? Had he left? Had her best chance of saving her family’s financial future simply walked out because of a lapse in her hostessing skills?

The man turned his head, saw her, then came around slowly to face her. Rachel’s heart thudded into her throat, setting her pulse to pounding. A jumble of emotions swept her, all too confusing to name.

Except for one. This wasn’t her accountant. It couldn’t be.

This man was huge. Tall. Muscular. Square everywhere—jaw, shoulders, knuckles. And he was handsome. Thick brown hair and blue eyes just short of being beautiful.

This couldn’t be her Mr. Kincade. Never in her life had she seen an accountant who looked like this.

He studied her for a moment, seemingly as lost as she, then came forward. “Miss Branford? I’m Mitch Kincade.”

“No, you’re not.”

He paused and his brows drew together. “I’m positive that I am.”

“You’re Mitch Kincade?” Rachel’s gaze swept him from head to toe, then landed on his face once more. “You’re my knight in shining armor?”

Rachel’s cheeks flushed. Good gracious, had she actually said that aloud?

Mitch’s lips twitched. “You probably don’t recognize me because I left my white steed out front.”

Then he smiled and the most glorious warmth welled inside Rachel, making her smile in return.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s it,” she said, her voice little more than a breathy whisper.

They stared at each other for an awkward moment, then Mitch asked, “Are you Miss Branford? Rachel Branford?”

“Oh, yes.” Rachel felt her cheeks warm. “And I’m so pleased to meet you. Thank you for coming.”

He kept looking at her—studying her, actually—until Rachel realized she suddenly couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“Would you care for some refreshment?” She blurted out the words, thankful that something intelligent had finally floated through her mind, and walked to the tea service. “I have—”

Rachel stopped, frozen in horror. This was the wrong tea service. Here it was mid-April and the servants had put out the winter service.

She pressed her lips together, holding in a gasp and silently berating herself. She should have checked it herself, should have made sure the table was properly set. This simply wasn’t done. No wonder Mr. Kincade had been staring at the tea service when she walked in.

Rachel turned to him, sure her cheeks had grown even more pink. What could she say? How could she possibly explain this social insult?

“Is Mr. Parker here?” Mitch asked.

A few seconds passed before Rachel realized what he’d asked. “Not yet. But I’m sure Uncle Stuart will be here shortly. Would you care to sit down?”

Hell, yes, he wanted to sit down. Mitch moved to a chair and managed to stay on his feet until Rachel lowered herself onto the settee at his right.

This was Rachel Branford? The ugly duckling of the family?

But she was lovely. Tall, slender. Nicely filling out the front of her shirtwaist. Big brown eyes. Coral lips that made him want to—

“How was your trip?” Rachel asked.

Mitch shifted uncomfortably in the cramped chair. He wasn’t much for making small talk, especially now, looking at Rachel.

She sat erect, back straight, hands folded primly in her lap, feet placed firmly on the floor. A lady. A genuine lady perfectly at ease in this elegant, dignified setting.

“Fine,” he said. She gazed at him, as if expecting more conversation. Mitch cleared his throat and tried again. “The train—”

“Run!”

Mitch surged to his feet as a young girl swept into the room, tears streaming down her face.

“Run!” she shouted at Mitch, then pointed a finger at Rachel. “Get away from her!”

“Chelsey, please.” Rachel rose and said to Mitch, “My sister.”

“Run now! While you still can!”

“She’s fifteen,” Rachel told him in a low voice, as if that explained everything.

Mitch looked back and forth between the two of them, bewildered. Chelsey, in the throes of an all-out hissy fit, and Rachel, somehow managing to remain calm and composed.

Chelsey approached Mitch, not bothering to wipe the tears from her puffy eyes. “She’ll take over your life! She thinks she runs everything around here! Everything!”

“Chelsey, please, this is hardly the time,” Rachel pleaded. “We’ll discuss your situation—”

“It’s not a situation! It’s my education!” Chelsey drew in an anguished gulp of air. “You’re ruining my life!”

“Chelsey—”

She flung out both arms, as if beseeching the heavens. “And no one cares!”

Mitch was nearly overcome with the need to do something. Intervene, get to the bottom of the problem, comfort one of them—both of them. Do something.

But his attention darted to the doorway as a young man ambled inside. Dark haired, brown eyed. He vaguely resembled both Rachel and Chelsey. Their brother, surely.

Mitch guessed the boy fell between the two of them in the family line, probably around sixteen years old.

He ignored Mitch and his sisters, as if he hadn’t noticed any of them in the room, and went to a low cabinet beside the fireplace. Opening the door, he withdrew a bottle of whiskey, then turned.

Mitch’s chest tightened. The left sleeve of his shirt was knotted just below his shoulder. The boy had lost his arm.

“Noah?” Rachel called, making Mitch realize that both she and Chelsey had fallen silent. “Noah, please come meet our guest, Mr. Kincade.”

With practiced ease, the boy pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth, then caught it in his fingers as he turned up the bottle. He kept walking.

“Noah?”

Rachel spoke again, and Mitch heard the quiet desperation in her voice. A knot wound so tight in his stomach that Mitch didn’t think he could bear it.

Noah managed a salute in Mitch’s direction with the bottle, then disappeared out the door.

A heavy silence hung in the room. No one moved. No one spoke.

Then Chelsey turned to Rachel. “I hate you,” she declared, then put her nose in the air and stomped out of the room.

Mitch watched her go, his gut aching. He turned to Rachel. Her cheeks had lost their pretty little blush. They were white now. Her hands were clenched in front of her. She looked small and frail, suddenly, yet she stood straight, as if she’d put up a wall to protect herself from…everything?

Mitch took a step toward her. Then stopped.

No. No, he couldn’t do this.

“I hope you’ll excuse my family,” Rachel said softly, unable to meet his eyes. She straightened her shoulders. “Uncle Stuart should be here shortly. He can explain the details of—”

“No.” Mitch shook his head. “No, our deal is off. Forget it.”

He strode out of the room.

Chapter Three

“W ait! Mr. Kincade! Please, wait!”

Mitch didn’t acknowledge the plea he heard behind him as he headed toward the foyer. He was getting out of this place—now.

“Please?”

The desperation in Rachel’s voice touched his conscience. Mitch stopped and turned. Rachel, dress hiked up to ankles, rushed toward him. He fidgeted. He had to get out of here. Leave, and not look back.

But something about Rachel held him in place. A tug he couldn’t fight, at the moment.

“It’s the tea service, isn’t it,” she said, squeezing the words out as if they pained her.

He frowned down at her. “The tea—”

“I knew it,” she declared. She pressed her lips together and, for an instant, Mitch thought she might cry, though he didn’t have the slightest idea why.

“This is my fault. All my fault,” Rachel insisted. “I should have made sure the tea service was—”

“What are you talking about?” Mitch asked, walking closer.

“It’s a winter service. Completely inappropriate for spring. I saw you eyeing it when I walked into the room,” Rachel said.

Mitch just looked at her. She thought he knew the tea set—of all things—was wrong? That he was gentleman enough to realize the error?

For an instant Mitch didn’t know what was worse: to tell her that he didn’t know one tea service from another, or to reveal the real reason he wouldn’t accept the job.

He decided to take the easy way out.

“Stuart Parker mentioned that things have been difficult for you and your family,” Mitch said.

Rachel gazed up at him, her eyes wide with hope. “You’re not leaving because the tea service is all wrong?”

A proper tea service. Why the hell would a person give a damn one way or the other about a tea service? But reputations were made—or destroyed—because of just such details. Mitch had forgotten that.

Rachel leaned a little closer and rose on her toes. The fragrance of her hair wafted up to him. A most delightful scent. She touched his arm.

“Please, Mr. Kincade, if you would just hear me out?”

She whispered the words. Her sweet breath brushed Mitch’s ear warming him, yet somehow sending a chill down his spine.

“Won’t you please come back?” she breathed into his ear. “Let me explain things. I don’t want Chelsey or Noah—or the servants—to overhear us.”

Indecision seesawed through Mitch, a condition that he almost never experienced. A head full of old memories warred with the vision of this woman standing before him. He knew what he should do. Knew what was best for him. No question about it.

But the warmth of her body so close to his called to him. Made him want to ease forward just a bit. Brush against her soft—

“Please?” she whispered.

Mitch drew back, drawing on a familiar store of willpower. All right, he decided. He would listen. Just listen to what she said, then leave.

He gave her a brisk nod then was annoyed with himself because the little smile she gave him pleased him so. He followed her swaying bustle down the hallway and into the sitting room once more.

“We’ll have some tea,” she told him, as if that would make things better.

Wrong service or not, Rachel Branford looked perfect with the delicate cup and saucer in her hand. Easy, practiced motions. Flawless movements. Grace and charm. She’d done this all her life, obviously.

Mitch accepted the tea, though he didn’t really want it. He preferred a steaming mug of coffee with cream and lots of sugar.

“Would you care for a cake?” Rachel asked, gesturing to the tray on the table.

The little cakes on the platter held no appeal for Mitch. He was hungry, but he craved beef with potatoes smothered with gravy. He doubted such a meal had ever been served in this house.

“Thank you for staying, Mr. Kincade, for hearing me out.” Rachel sank onto the settee and sipped her tea.

Mitch’s cup rattled in the saucer as he sat down and placed it on the table beside him.

“I suppose Uncle Stuart told you that our family situation is…well, desperate,” Rachel said.

Had Parker told him that? Mitch didn’t remember, nor did he care. Every family, every company he worked for had a sob story of some sort. An illness, a death, a disgruntled ex-employee, a crooked partner. Mitch never listened to the details. All he cared about was doing his job and collecting his fee.

“It began last year,” Rachel said, “when Father turned the business over to my brother Georgie. A few months later my mother…well, she—”

“Died?” Mitch asked.

Rachel glanced away for a moment, then looked at Mitch again. “The train derailed. She and Father were taking Noah to look at colleges.”

“That’s how your brother lost his arm?” Mitch asked.

“Yes, and I think that was the start of Father’s health problems, too. Seeing them there in the wreckage…” Rachel shook her head as if shaking away the vision, and set her teacup aside. “Father’s been in decline since. A minor stroke, the doctors said. But it’s more than that. They can’t seem to pinpoint exactly what’s wrong.”

Mitch just waited.

“With Father ill, Georgie took complete control of the business several months ago.” She shook her head. “If only Georgie were here I’m sure he could handle everything.”

Mitch frowned. “He’s away now?”

“He didn’t even tell us he was leaving. We don’t know where he is or when he’ll come back.”

Mitch paused. “Your brother, who ran the business, disappeared suddenly, then shortly thereafter the family money vanished also?”

“Yes, isn’t it terrible? At times, I fear something dreadful has happened to him.”

Mitch shifted in the chair. “You don’t think it’s more than a coincidence?”

Rachel looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Whatever do you mean?”

Of course, there could be several reasons why George and the money’s disappearance coincided, other than the obvious. Mitch decided not to pursue it with Rachel.

“Georgie is my half brother, actually. My mother’s son from a previous marriage,” Rachel explained. “But Father never treated him any differently than the rest of us. He gave Georgie his name, educated him.”

“Turned the business over to him?”

“Oh, yes. Of course,” she said. “And I just know that as soon as Georgie returns, everything will be fine. The police are looking, and a detective agency of some sort has been engaged. We’ve learned nothing about his whereabouts, though. I just hope—”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Mitch said, wanting to relieve her distress. Making her feel better suddenly seemed important to him.

“Noah is having a particularly difficult time of it,” Rachel went on. “And Chelsey…well, Chelsey is a situation that must be handled, also. So you can see, Mr. Kincade, that our circumstances are, indeed, desperate.”

Mitch nodded. “They are.”

She leaned forward a little. “So you’ll reconsider? You’ll stay and help us?”

“No.”

A few seconds passed before his words seemed to dawn on her.

“But you just said you understood—”

“I do understand,” Mitch said. “But it doesn’t make any difference.”

“You know my father’s holdings are vast and complicated. You come highly recommended,” Rachel said. “There must be something I can say that will convince you to stay.”

“There’s not.”

She sat up straighter. “Then why come all this way? Why get my hopes up just to refuse the work?”

“I don’t have to give you a reason,” Mitch told her. “I choose my clients, not the other way around.”

“You must help us.” Rachel gave him a hopeful little smile. “After all, that’s what knights in shining armour do.”

“I’m not here to rescue you,” Mitch said, though he knew that’s what she wanted. He knew her type. He’d seen it dozens of times. Pampered and spoiled by a life of leisure. Circumspect, reserved, a slave to social status. And now she was completely out of her element after being thrust into these dire circumstances, and expected someone else to fix the problem.

“Then your reason must be…” Rachel nodded. “Oh, I understand.”

Mitch frowned. “Understand what?”

“That after arriving here, you can see that you aren’t up to the task.” Rachel smiled pleasantly. “It’s perfectly all right. I wouldn’t want you to take it on if you can’t handle it.”

Mitch uttered a laugh. “Let me assure you, Miss Branford, that I’ve untangled finances far more complicated than those of your father. I checked before I came here so I know what I’m talking about. I can have this job finished in less than two weeks.”

“Then you are the perfect man for the job,” Rachel insisted. “You are the only one who can help us.”

Mitch pushed out of the chair. “Listen, Miss Branford, I’m not your preacher, your helpful brother, or your knight in shining armor. I do this for money. That’s all.”

“Fine. If that’s what you care about, then that’s what you’ll have. I’ll double your salary.”

“No.”

“Triple it.”

Mitch shook his head. “I don’t want to work for you.”

“Quadruple it.”

He glared at her.

Rachel got to her feet and drew herself up. “We’re talking about my family, Mr. Kincade. Name your price.”

“I don’t want the job.”

She flung out her arms. “You don’t want four times your usual fee? For less than two weeks work? Really, Mr. Kincade, what sort of businessman are you?”

“Do you even know what my salary is?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea?”

“Whatever it is,” Rachel told him, “it’s nothing compared to the survival of my family.”

He’d be a fool to turn it down. The sum was impressive. In his mind, Mitch reviewed the ledger he kept that tracked his money and thus his dream, and imagined the balance shooting upward. That much closer to the things he’d worked for his entire life.

And all he had to do was stay here.

“Well?” Rachel asked.

A few moments dragged by while Mitch wrestled with his conscience, old memories and the ache in his stomach it all caused. Finally, the money won out.

“All right. I’ll do it,” he said. “For four times my usual fee.”

“Good. Then it’s settled.” Rachel drew in a breath. “I’ve already prepared a very nice room for you overlooking the rear gardens. You’ll—”

“You expect me to stay here?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“No.” Mitch paced a few feet away.

“You must stay with us,” Rachel told him. “And you must work here, too.”

“No,” Mitch said. “That’s out of the question.”

Rachel huffed. “Fine. Then I’ll pay you five times your salary.”

He swung back to face her. “You don’t even know if you can afford that.”

“Then you’d better see to it that I can,” she told him.

A long moment dragged past with the two of them glaring at each other. Finally, Mitch broke the silence.

“Just so we’re clear,” he said. “I don’t care about you or your family. I’m here to do a job. That’s all.”

She drew herself up and raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what sort of services you’ve provided for your previous employers, Mr. Kincade, but all I need you to do is the job for which you’ve been hired.”

“I expect to be left alone to do just that.”

“You can work in my father’s study. No one will disturb you.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

They glared at each other for another moment, then the reality of his decision and the situation it left him in struck Mitch like a kick in the knee. He’d finish this job. Get it done and leave.

And in only a few weeks, he’d have his old life back again.

Chapter Four

E verything would be all right now. Wouldn’t it?

The thought ran through Rachel’s mind once again as she sat on the settee, watching the late-afternoon shadows crawl toward her across the sitting-room floor. Yes, everything would be fine. Mr. Kincade had come highly recommended. At this very moment he was in Father’s study discussing the situation with Uncle Stuart. He’d fix their problem.

If he kept his word and stayed.

Another wave of anxiety rumbled through Rachel, setting her heart to beating faster. Mitch had said from the outset that he didn’t want the job. He’d refused it outright, initially. She’d had to bribe him with more money to get him to agree to stay.

But what if he changed his mind? What if he simply up and left?

Was that fear the reason she felt so anxious?

Rachel glanced down at the tablet in her hand and the blank page that taunted her, and realized Mitch’s potential abrupt departure was one of the many troubling things on her mind right now.

The pages of her tablet should be nearly filled by now. The guest list. The menu. Flowers. All those things still needed to be put into motion.

Usually, preparing for this sort of event delighted her.

Usually, she and her mother did it together.

With a heavy sigh, Rachel pushed the tablet away. She’d work on the luncheon preparations later.

Mitch came into her thoughts once more at the sound of his voice rumbling in the background. Not loud enough that she understood his words as he spoke with Uncle Stuart in the study down the hall, but a constant companion as she’d sat here.

The image of him filled her mind. Tall. Yes, he was certainly tall, strikingly tall. Broad shoulders. Big hands. They’d looked ridiculous earlier holding the teacup. Was he seated behind the desk in Father’s study? Had he taken off his jacket? Loosened his necktie? Opened his shirt collar…

Rachel gasped and hopped off the settee as if her own thoughts had given her a pinch. Good gracious, what had come over her, imagining Mr. Kincade—an accountant, of all things—without his shirt on?

Commotion at the sitting-room door caught Rachel’s attention. She turned, grateful for the distraction and expecting to see Chelsey in tears again, but found Claudia Everhart rushing into the room instead. Rachel hadn’t even heard the door chimes.

Gracious, had she been that deep in thought over Mitch Kincade’s chest?

“Rachel! It’s happening!” Claudia announced, her eyes wide, her cheeks as pink as the frothy gown she wore. “Tonight!”

Rachel gasped. She and the pretty, blond Claudia had been friends for years. That look on her face could mean only one thing.

“Graham?”

“Yes!”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight!” Claudia rushed to Rachel and clasped her hands. “Mother told me that Graham has asked to speak with Father. Tonight! He intends to ask Father’s permission to marry me. I rushed right over here. You’re the first to know!”

Rachel shared a quick hug with Claudia. “Graham Bixby asking for your hand. He’s the perfect husband.”

“Oh, yes he is, isn’t he?” Claudia sighed. “The Bixbys are one of the finest families, and Graham is so handsome and so refined, and so dignified. He’s terribly successful. He’s—he’s perfect.”

“He’ll look gorgeous in his tuxedo,” Rachel said, smiling along with her friend. “Your groom waiting at the altar for you.”

“Oh, and our wedding will be perfect. Absolutely perfect—” Claudia gasped and her eyes widened. “Oh, goodness, Rachel. How thoughtless of me. Rushing over here, prattling on about my news when you—”

“Don’t give it a thought,” Rachel insisted, forcing aside the unpleasant memory.

“But if things had been different, you and—”

“Please,” Rachel told her, shaking her head. “It’s over and done with.”

“Benjamin Blair,” Claudia said, disdain in her voice. “He should be shot for—”

“Has your mother started planning?” Rachel asked, anxious to talk about something different.

Claudia smiled. “Mother started planning a year ago when Graham asked permission to court me.”

Rachel’s heart swelled with delight over her friend’s good news. Claudia Everhart and Graham Bixby would truly make the perfect couple. They would have the perfect wedding, the perfect reception.

“I must get back home,” Claudia declared, rushing out of the sitting room. “I have to decide what to wear this evening when Graham comes over.”

“Something pink,” Rachel suggested, hurrying alongside her. “It’s your favorite color and it will—”