[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

wanted him to apply his brilliant mind to some problem or other. People visited him at all hours,
and it seemed a quarter hour couldn t pass without someone, usually Jake Valentine, tapping on
the
apartment door.
When Harry wasn t busy with his various intrigues, he meddled with the hotel and its staff. His
demands for perfection and the highest quality of service were relentless. The employees were
paid
generously and treated well, but in return they were expected to work hard and, above all, to be
loyal. If one of them were injured or ill, Harry sent for a doctor and paid for their treatments. If
someone suggested a way to improve the hotel or its service, the idea was sent directly to Harry,
and
if he approved, he gave a handsome bonus. As a result, Harry s desk was always laden with piles
of
reports, letters and notes.
It didn t seem to have occurred to Harry to suggest a honeymoon for himself and his new bride,
and
Poppy suspected he had no desire to leave the hotel. Certainly she had no desire for a
honeymoon
with a man who had betrayed her.
Since their wedding night, Poppy had been nervous around Harry, especially when they were
alone.
He made no secret of his desire for her, his interest in her, but so far there had been no more
advances. In fact, he had gone out of his way to be polite and considerate. It seemed as if he were
trying to get her accustomed to him, to the altered circumstances of her life. And she appreciated
his
patience, because it was all so very new. Ironically, however, his self-imposed restraint gave their
occasional moments of contact the touch of his hand on her arm, the press of his body when
they
stood close in a crowd a charge of vibrant attraction.
Attraction without trust... not a comfortable thing to feel for one s own husband.
Poppy had no idea how long he would continue this conjugal reprieve. She was only grateful that
Harry was so consumed with his hotel. Although... she couldn t help thinking that this sunrise-
tomidnight
agenda was not at all good for him. If someone Poppy cared for had been working so
relentlessly, she would have urged him to ease his pace, to take some time to rest.
Simple compassion got the better of her one afternoon when Harry came into their apartment
unexpectedly, carrying his coat in one hand. He had spent most of the day with the Chief Officer
of
the LFEE, the London Fire Engine Establishment. Together they had meticulously gone through
the
hotel to examine its safety procedures and equipment.
If, heaven forbid, a fire should ever break out at the Rutledge, the employees had been trained to
help as many guests as possible leave the building expediently. Escape ladders were routinely
counted and inspected, and floor plans and exit routes were examined. Firemarks had been
mortared
onto the outside of the building to designate it as one the LFEE had been paid to protect.
As Harry entered the apartment, Poppy saw that the day had been especially demanding. His face
was etched with weariness.
He paused at the sight of Poppy curled in the corner of the settee, reading a book balanced on her
drawn-up knees.
 How was the luncheon? Harry asked.
Poppy had been invited to join a group of well-to-do young matrons, who held an annual charity
bazaar.  It went nicely, thank you. They are a pleasant group. Although they do seem a bit too
fond
of forming committees. I ve always thought a committee takes a month to accomplish something
a
single person could have done in ten minutes.
Harry smiled.  The goal of such groups isn t to be efficient. It s to have something to occupy
their
time.
Poppy took a closer look at him, and her eyes widened.  What happened to your clothes?
Harry s white linen shirt and dark blue silk waistcoat had been streaked with soot. There were
more
black smudges on his hands, and one on the edge of his jaw.
 I was testing one of the safety ladders.
 You climbed down a ladder outside the building? Poppy was amazed that he would have taken
such an unnecessary risk.  Couldn t you have asked someone else to do it? Mr. Valentine,
perhaps?
 I m sure he would have. But I wouldn t provide equipment for my employees without trying it
myself. I still have concerns about the housemaids their skirts would make their descent more
difficult. However, I draw the line at trying that out. He cast a rueful glance at his palms.  I
have to
wash and change before going back to work.
Poppy returned her attention to her book. But she was intensely aware of the quiet sounds
coming
from the other room, the opening of drawers, the splash of water and soap, the thud of a
discarded
shoe. She thought of him being unclothed, at that very moment, and a dart of warmth went
through
her stomach.
Harry came back into the room, clean and impeccable as before. Except...
 A smudge, Poppy said, conscious of a flutter of amusement.  You missed a spot.
Harry glanced down over his front.  Where?
 Your jaw. No, not that side. She picked up a napkin and gestured for him to come to her.
Harry leaned over the back of the settee, his face descending toward hers. He held very still as
she
wiped the soot from his jaw. The scent of his skin drifted to her, fresh and clean, with a slight
smoky tinge like cedarwood.
Wishing to prolong the moment, Poppy stared into his fathomless green eyes. They were
shadowed
from lack of sleep. Good heavens, did the man ever pause for even a moment?
 Why don t you sit with me? Poppy asked impulsively.
Harry blinked, clearly thrown off guard by the invitation.  Now?
 Yes, now.
 I can t. There s too much to 
 Have you eaten today? Aside from a few bites of breakfast?
Harry shook his head.  I haven t had time.
Poppy pointed to the place on the settee beside her in wordless demand.
To her surprise, Harry actually obeyed. He came around the end of the settee and sat in the
corner,
staring at her. One of his dark brows arched questioningly.
Reaching for the tray beside her, Poppy lifted a plate laden with sandwiches, tarts, and biscuits.
 The kitchen sent up far too much for one person. Have the rest.
 I m really not 
 Here, she insisted, pushing the plate into his hands.
Harry took a sandwich and began to consume it slowly. Taking her own teacup from the tray,
Poppy
poured fresh tea and added a spoonful of sugar. She gave it to Harry.
 What are you reading? he asked, glancing at the book in her lap.
 A novel by a naturalist author. As of yet, I can t find anything resembling a plot, but the
descriptions of the countryside are quite lyrical. She paused, watching him drain the teacup.
 Do
you like novels?
He shook his head.  I usually read for information, not entertainment.
 You disapprove of reading for pleasure?
 No, it s just that I don t often manage to find the time for it.
 Perhaps that s why you don t sleep well. You need an interlude between work and bedtime.
There was a dry, perfectly timed pause before Harry asked,  What would you suggest?
Aware of his meaning, Poppy felt a bloom of color emerge from head to toe. Harry seemed to
enjoy
her discomfiture, not in a mocking way, but as if he found her charming.
 Everyone in my family loves novels, Poppy finally said, pushing the conversation back into
line.
 We gather in the parlor nearly every evening, and one of us reads aloud. Win is the best at it
she [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]