The Hired Husband

When she’d looked out her window and seen the spectacular sunrise, she’d thrown on a day dress, no corset or petticoats. She twisted her hair into a careless knot, grabbed her art supplies and hurried outside. She’d kicked off her slippers to feel the grass against her toes and set to work trying to capture the sunrise.

She wasn’t fit to be seen by anyone. It simply wasn’t done.

Yet he looked so handsome standing there. From her seat on her little stool, he seemed even taller. The color of his suit and the necktie he wore complimented his hair, his eyes.

Eyes that, for a moment, seemed to see straight through her and know that her heart beat a little faster at the sight of him.

Determinedly, Rachel turned back to her easel. “I have only a few minutes to scrutinize the sunrise,” she told him, dabbing at her sketchbook with her brush.

He stepped closer and positioned himself beside her. His nearness sent a rush through her, producing a wiggly trail of paint across the paper.

“Is that supposed to be the sun?” he asked, leaning down, squinting at her work.

“Yes.” Rachel picked up more paint with her brush and swept it across the paper.

He leaned in a little farther until his face was even with hers. “Your sun looks like a circle.”

“I’m not painting the actual sun. I’m capturing its colors.” Rachel put down her brush and sighed. “Or trying to. What I need is a spectacular shade of pink, but I’m not finding it this morning.”

“You’re quitting?” Mitch asked.

“Yes, for now.” Rachel rose from the stool.

“Can I see your other paintings?” Mitch asked.

“No,” she said, holding the sketchbook closer. Occasionally, she showed her work to others, but never the things she’d put in this particular book.

“Why not?”

She backed up a little. “It’s…personal.”

“I was in a museum once,” Mitch said, easing a little closer. “There were pictures of naked people all over the place. Is that what you’ve got in your book? Naked people?”

“Are you offering to model?” she asked.

Rachel gasped. Her eyes widened. Goodness, had she actually said that aloud? Heat rushed up her neck and fanned across her cheeks. She saw Mitch draw in a quick breath and his gaze dip—and not to the sketchbook she clutched below her bosom.

How embarrassing. How humiliating. Rachel wanted to melt into the ground and disappear. How could she have said that aloud—how could she have even thought it?

Then Mitch reached out and cupped her chin. He lifted it until her gaze met his.

“Now there’s a spectacular shade of pink,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb over her cheek.

Her embarrassment fled. He’d done that before, turned her emotions with a look, a word…now with a touch.

Mitch leaned down and kissed her. He splayed his fingers across her cheek and touched his lips to hers. Rachel gasped as he settled his mouth over hers and moved with exquisite slowness.

He lifted his head and gazed into her eyes.

“You’re a bit pink now yourself,” she whispered.

“Shall I model for you?”

She smiled gently, caught up completely in this private moment with him. “Is that covered in the exorbitant fee I’m paying you?”

He grinned. “No extra charge.”

She looked at him for a few seconds, as if considering his offer, then shook her head. “I’m afraid that simply isn’t done.”

“My offer stands.”

“How very generous of you.”

He studied her and for an instant Rachel thought he might kiss her again. Instead, he backed up a step.

“I’d better get inside and earn my fee,” he told her.

Rachel watched as he headed toward the house, her head spinning slightly. Good gracious, what had just happened?

And how would she ever be able to ask Mitch the question that meant so much to her—without thinking of their kiss?

How the hell was he supposed to stay away from the woman when even the sound of her voice drew his attention? Sent his imagination reeling? Ratcheted up his desire?

Mitch pushed himself out of the desk chair and paced across the study. He’d been here since breakfast trying to work, trying to concentrate, trying to keep thoughts of Rachel out of his mind, and he’d failed miserably.

He’d tried to keep his body under control, but had failed miserably at that, too.

He’d kissed her. This morning in the yard he’d leaned down, put his mouth on hers and kissed her. Then he’d offered to model nude for her painting.

Mitch shook his head. Good God, what was wrong with him? He had to get Rachel out of his mind.

That was proving more difficult as the day passed.

Earlier, her friend had arrived and the two of them had been in the sitting room down the hall ever since. Whatever the two were discussing must have been important—to them, anyway. Mitch had heard nothing but giggling, gasping and a steady low murmur, all of which kept reminding him of how sweet Rachel’s kiss had been, kept him from concentrating on his work.

He paced to the door and gazed down the hall. He couldn’t see inside. What was Rachel wearing? he wondered. The same yellow thing she’d had on this morning when he’d looked out his bedchamber window and seen her painting at her easel? Had she changed clothing?

He hoped so. If he walked in on her now and saw her dressed as she’d been this morning—obviously without the armor of under things women wore—he didn’t know how he’d control himself.

Still, he wondered what sort of clothing she might have changed into. If he walked past the doorway, glanced inside he could—

Mitch drew himself up and pushed the thought from his mind. What the hell was wrong with him? Determinedly, he stalked back to his desk.

A few minutes later, the voices of the women grew louder. A cloud of the most delicate scent floated into the study. Mitch looked up as Rachel and Claudia walked past his doorway, heading toward the foyer.

Blue. She had on blue. A fresh wave of desire surged through Mitch. He leaned sideways, watching her drift down the hallway until he nearly fell out of his chair. He caught himself in time but sent a stack of ledgers tumbling onto the floor.

“Damn it…” Mitch grumbled under his breath as he dropped to his knees, gathering the ledgers.

Good God, what was he doing? Acting like a schoolboy instead of a grown man. Letting Rachel occupy so much of his thoughts that he—

“Mr. Kincade?”

Mitch’s head jerked up and he saw Rachel walk into the study. He dropped the ledgers again.

“Let me help you,” she said, coming toward him.

“No,” he barked, grabbing for the ledgers.

To his horror, she sank to her knees beside him. Her scent cascaded over him. She was so near that if he leaned forward, just a little, he could touch her. Kiss her. Lay his mouth against hers and once more feel the warmth of—

“Are you ill, Mr. Kincade?” she asked, gazing at him with concern.

Mitch drew back, clutching the ledgers against him, unsure whether or not she’d spoken.

“You look a little flushed.” Rachel smiled. “A little pink.”

He was pink and flushed, all right. And if he didn’t get some distance from her quickly, he’d lay her back on the floor—

“Mr. Kincade?”

He struggled to his feet and needed to slide into his chair, but he couldn’t leave her on the floor—for his own good as well as hers.

He offered his hand and she took it. Her small, soft palm pressed against his, sending his desire up another few notches. Another hot wave crashed through him.

How could this keep happening? When he only touched her hand?

Thankfully, Rachel got to her feet quickly. Mitch dropped into his chair and snatched up a pencil.

“I’m—I’m busy,” he grumbled, opening a ledger and flipping through the pages.

She lingered at his side for a moment, looking down at him. Then she bent low. From the corner of his eye, Mitch saw her bosom, filling out the front of her shirtwaist, coming closer. Then her breath brushed his ear.

“Your ledger is upside down,” she whispered.

Mitch’s cheeks flamed. They actually burned. He couldn’t remember a time—not once in his entire life—when that had happened.

He ground his lips together, pushing through his embarrassment and looked up at her. “I told you I’m very good at this.”

“I can see that you are, Mr. Kincade,” she said, giving him a knowing, secretive smile.

Mitch smiled back. He couldn’t help it. Rachel had seen his embarrassment and allowed it to pass without calling attention.

He wished he’d kissed her on the floor when he’d had the chance.

“I wanted to see if there’s anything you need,” Rachel said, easing around to the front of the desk again. “I can have Cook make your lunch now, if you’d like.”

Rachel, or the cook, or somebody had decided on his morning meal for him and brought it to him in the breakfast room. Oatmeal and fruit. He’d been hungry again fifteen minutes later.

“Nothing now,” Mitch said, thinking maybe he could sneak into the kitchen later and scrounge up a real meal.

“Oh, well then. All right.”

Rachel gave him a quick smile but didn’t leave. Silence yawned between them. She ran her finger along the edge of his desk.

How pretty she was. The thought ran through Mitch’s head as the afternoon sunlight beamed in through the window, highlighting her hair, turning a few strands golden. Her brown eyes sparkled. Her pink lips glistened.

If she didn’t leave soon, he was going to round this desk and kiss her. On the mouth. Right here in her father’s study.

“I, uh, I was wondering how things are going?” she said, gesturing around the room to nothing in particular.

“Fine,” Mitch said, though he hadn’t made as much progress as he’d expected to. But that was Rachel’s fault, thanks to his body’s reaction to his every thought of her.

Rachel gave him another smile and he tapped his fingernail on the desk. Still, she made no sign of leaving.

“Did you want to ask a question?” Mitch asked, coming to his senses and realizing that something troubled her.

“Well…” She cleared her throat and looked at him. “Yes, just something small, really. Before Georgie left he mentioned a factory he was thinking of purchasing. I wondered if you knew whether or not he’d done that.”

“A factory?”

“The City Ceramic Works. A Mr. Prescott owned it.”

Mitch’s gaze bounced around the room to the crates of documents he still had to review. “I haven’t seen anything about it. Not yet, anyway.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

“But I’ll look for it,” he said quickly. “I’ll find out what’s going on with it and—”

Mitch stopped as Chelsey swept into the room. She drew herself up and narrowed her gaze at Rachel.

“I’m going out,” Chelsey declared, pushing her chin higher. “Trudy telephoned. She’s home for two days. She invited me over. And I’m going!”

“Please give Trudy’s family my regards,” Rachel said.

Chelsey shot her one final scathing look, whipped around and stomped out of the study.

The girl had worn on Mitch’s nerves the first time he’d laid eyes on her. He didn’t know how Rachel managed.

“Is there a reason she’s so unhappy?” Mitch asked. “Any reason at all?”

“Chelsey wants to finish out the term at the Franklin Academy for Young Ladies. It’s in San Bernardino. She’s attended for two years,” Rachel said. “She misses her friends and her studies. I understand that.”

“Then why isn’t she attending now?”

“She hasn’t attended since Mother died.”

“Why not?”

“Because the family is in mourning. It simply isn’t done.” She spoke the words as if the reasoning should be obvious.

“Does that have anything to do with the luncheon she spoke of at supper last night?” Mitch asked.

The reserve Rachel seemed to wrap tightly around her a moment ago, slipped completely. Her shoulders sagged and she pressed her fingers to her forehead.

“That luncheon…”

Mitch jumped out of his chair at the distressed look that had overcome Rachel. He didn’t know how a luncheon could do that to a person, but he had to find out.

“What about it?” he asked, the words coming out more harshly than he’d intended as he rounded the desk to stand next to her.

With some effort, Rachel drew herself up. “It’s the La-La luncheon,” she said gravely.

Mitch stopped. “What’s a la-la luncheon?”

“The Ladies Association of Los Angeles,” she said. “The La-La’s, for short. It’s the premiere women’s organization in the city, and the upcoming luncheon is the single most important event on our annual calendar. The luncheon is always—always—hosted here, in our home.”

So far, this didn’t seem like too big a problem to Mitch. “And…?”

“Mrs. Aurora Chalmers—she runs everything in the city—expects me to host the event, as always.”

“And…?”

“And it’s really Mother’s event. She always plans it, arranges things and does a beautiful job. But this year—”

“Your mother’s dead.”

Rachel nodded, sadness causing her shoulders to droop farther.

“And it’s too upsetting for you to do it this year,” he concluded.

She nodded again.

Mitch shrugged. “Then don’t host the luncheon.”

Rachel came to life then. “I can’t back out. Good gracious, what will people think? What will they say?”

“What difference does it make what people think or say?”

She looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses.

“It makes all the difference in the world,” Rachel declared. “What sort of reflection would that be on Mother, if I didn’t host the luncheon? What would people think of her? Of the family?”

“Let me get this straight,” Mitch said. “Chelsey can’t return to school, but you can host a luncheon?”

“These are two entirely different circumstances,” Rachel insisted. “There are parties, dances and outings at the school. This luncheon is for a service organization.”

Mitch didn’t really see the distinction, but he let it go and said, “You don’t have to host the luncheon. Not if you don’t want to.”

Rachel’s shoulders sagged again. “I’m afraid you simply don’t understand.”

She left the study. Mitch’s heart ached watching her go. She was right. He didn’t understand.

Chapter Seven

R achel couldn’t muster enough of an appetite for supper, Chelsey hadn’t returned from her friend’s house and this was one of Noah’s days to lurk on the staircase, so Rachel told Cook what to prepare for Mitch and went into the rear garden.

Evening shadows slid across the green grass as Rachel settled onto a bench surrounded by blooming shrubs. She looked at the tablet she’d brought outside with her. All afternoon she’d tried to work on the luncheon arrangements. She had yet to accomplish anything.

Of course there were lots of other things on her mind. Her father, for one. Dr. Matthews had come by the house today, as he did several times each week. She’d pressed him for details but the doctor had said nothing new, nothing hopeful. It irritated Rachel that he was always so evasive.

Though she hated to admit it to herself, she’d enjoyed the quiet of the afternoon, made possible by Chelsey’s absence. Her younger sister had no problem making her feelings known on each and every issue that crossed her path.

Unlike Noah. Though she’d seen him several times today, skulking through the upstairs hallway, peering over the railing and dawdling on the staircase when he thought no one was looking, he hadn’t spoken to Rachel. She’d learned months ago to ignore him on days like this.

Dr. Matthews had looked in on Noah, but the doctor had refused to answer any of Rachel’s questions about her brother. Everything was proceeding “as expected,” he’d assured her, though Rachel didn’t feel assured at all.

Her heart fluttered a bit as Mitch Kincade’s image floated into her mind. His presence here was unsettling, but Rachel didn’t know just how or why.

She did know that the big, strong, capable man had become completely flustered in the study this afternoon, pretending to read his ledger upside down. And it had brought on the strangest reaction in Rachel. She’d wanted to comfort him, make things better, see him without his shirt on—

Rachel gasped and shook her head at her own disconcerting thought. Yet that wasn’t as bad as this morning when he’d kissed her. Right there in the garden. For any neighbor who might be up at that hour to see. Or any of the servants who may have glanced out the window.

Rachel’s insides seemed to hum at the memory of Mitch leaning closer, his scent wafting over her, then his lips closing over hers. Was that recollection the reason she’d accomplished so little today? Could a kiss do that?

For an instant she considered discussing it discreetly with Claudia. She was officially engaged now. She might be willing to talk about men. She’d come to the house today showing off the gorgeous diamond and ruby ring Graham Bixby had presented her with, and given Rachel all the wonderful details of the upcoming nuptials.

Rachel sighed heavily as dusk settled over the garden. She was happy for Claudia. Happy and, perhaps, just the smallest bit—

The French doors that led inside opened, drawing Rachel’s attention. Mitch stepped out. Her heart gave an unexpected little jerk.

He stood on the porch for a moment, hands thrust deep in his trouser pockets, gazing out over the garden. He looked solid and strong standing in the dim light. After a moment, he spotted her. Rachel saw the quick intake of his breath, the straightening of his shoulders. He hesitated, glanced back inside as if deciding something, then walked over.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for not joining you for supper,” Rachel said. “I had Cook prepare one of my favorite dishes for you.”

“Nothing like a plate of vegetables after a hard day’s work,” Mitch said. “And fruit to top it off.”

She slid over a little on the bench. “Would you like to join me?”

He looked down at her for a long moment. Even from a distance she sensed the heat rolling off him.

He glanced at the tablet on her lap—at least, she thought it was the tablet he was looking at.

“I’m working on the luncheon preparations,” she said. He glanced again at the tablet, at the blank page staring up at both of them. “I’m not getting very far,” she admitted.

“You don’t have to put yourself through this, Rachel,” he said softly. “If your friends don’t understand that, then hell with them.”

Rachel gasped. The idea. The very idea. Could Mitch really mean that? She couldn’t imagine.

Of course, Mitch didn’t know the situation in its entirety. He didn’t know that Rachel’s father had married beneath himself when he married her mother. A woman from outside their elite social circle, a widow once married, with a young son.

Rachel had watched her mother struggle to be “good enough” in the eyes of Father’s friends. Always careful to do exactly the right thing. Always worried about what other people thought. With the best of intentions, she’d impressed upon Rachel to worry about the same things. The actions of one family member were a reflection on them all.

Her father never seemed to notice the subtle slights, the whispers that her mother endured; she’d been too proud to bring them to his attention. Rachel often wondered if his love had been worth it.

She placed her tablet aside and got to her feet. “I feel like a walk through the garden this evening.”

Mitch hesitated a moment, then fell in step beside her as they headed off across the lawn.

“I saw your friend here today,” he said. “Claudia.”

“She’s officially engaged now to the most perfect man,” Rachel said.

“You don’t sound very happy for her.”

She paused, surprised that Mitch picked up on the subtle tone in her voice. “I’m happy for her. Really.”

“But?”

“Well, maybe I’m just a little envious. Claudia’s life is perfect now.”

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