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Her cheeks coloured with embarrassment as she avoided that gaze. To have emotionally broken down in the presence of a man she no longer knew seemed to her the height of embarrassment, to be verbally made aware of it, no matter how well intentioned, was unacceptable to her at this moment. ‘I’ve kept you long enough,’ she dismissed flatly.
Lucas looked at her searchingly for several long minutes before nodding abruptly. ‘I’ll leave you to rest. Mrs Harvey will be here at seven-thirty in the morning; she’ll get your breakfast for you whenever you care to get up. Take your time, there’s no rush.’
‘I don’t want to be any trouble.’
‘You won’t be,’ he assured her arrogantly. ‘Camilla stays with me for weeks at a time when she’s working in London.’
‘It isn’t the same,’ Chelsea mumbled, wishing he could see and understand that. Or maybe he did, and just ignored the fact. And she didn’t have the strength to pursue it after her bout of crying, just wanting to fall into bed.
Lucas seemed to guess her plight, going to the door. ‘If you need me during the night I’m just across the hall from here. Don’t hesitate,’ he added sternly. ‘You won’t be disturbing me, I’m a very light sleeper,’ he told her before he left.
And after already crying all over him once tonight she had no intention of disturbing his sleep, not for any reason. She had coped with her grief in her own way so far, and she didn’t intend to change that.
Which made the fact that she had broken down in front of Lucas in the way she had all the more surprising. She hadn’t cried once since the nightmare began, not when she found her mother, and not when they told her she was dead either. She couldn’t think what had prompted her to collapse in front of Lucas of all people; he wasn’t exactly an emotional man himself. Whatever the reason for her breakdown she didn’t intend letting it happen again.
The harsh November rain was still falling against the window when she woke the next morning, completely disorientated until she remembered she was in Lucas’s apartment, in his spare bedroom. And with that realisation came the renewed pain of her mother’s death.
She had drunk the brandy Lucas gave her the night before, had miraculously fallen asleep almost immediately she got into bed. The clock on the bedside table told her it was nine-thirty; she had almost slept the clock round!
Lucas had no doubt already left for the plush office Camilla had told her he had somewhere in town, and the invaluable Mrs Harvey would be in the apartment. Chelsea fleetingly wondered what he had told his housekeeper about her, the truth would be preferable as far as she was concerned. Although what little she had learnt about Lucas the evening before she doubted he felt he had to explain his actions, or those of his guests, to a mere employee.
It wasn’t until she threw back the bedclothes to go through to the bathroom that she gasped her dismay. She was wearing a black silk pyjama jacket that hadn’t been there when she fell into bed the evening before! And it could only belong to one person, Lucas! It was much too big for her slender frame, hung precariously off one shoulder, the sleeves turned back to accommodate her shorter arms, the length of it reaching almost down to her knees. And it smelt vaguely of the elusive aftershave Lucas had worn the evening before.
She had been sleepwalking in the nude!
There could be no other explanation for her to wake up in Lucas’s pyjama jacket. She had often walked in her sleep when she was a child, but much less so now that she was older, and it hadn’t really mattered that she did when there was just her mother and herself at home.
That the trauma of the last few days had brought on one of the rare occasions when it happened she had no doubt. And she blushed with embarrassment at the thought of Lucas having to cover her nakedness with his own pyjama jacket before guiding her back to bed. Whatever must he think of her! More to the point, how was she supposed to face him again after this? He might, as he said, have seen plenty of other women unclothed, but the circumstances of him seeing her made her writhe with embarrassment.
And uninvited came the question, had he liked what he had unwittingly seen?
It was a provocative thought, and one that she regretted as soon as it came into her mind. It put their relationship on too personal a level, and it was going to be difficult enough to maintain the tenuous link they had now without any added complications, such as her possibly rekindling the attraction she had once felt for him.
Nevertheless, the colour in her cheeks refused to recede as she showered and dressed, and she could only hope that Lucas had indeed left for the day; she had no idea what sort of hours lawyers kept in England.
A glance out of her bedroom window showed her that the central heating in the apartment was deceiving, that it was still very cold and wet, so she put on fitted blue trousers and a designer blouse in a beautiful rust colour. The wealth and publicity of her father’s career may have helped to destroy her parents’ marriage, it had also given Chelsea a taste for beautiful clothing that had always been indulged. She had been limited as to the amount of clothing she could bring with her on this trip, had had little inclination for packing, but at home she had a wardrobe full of designer-label clothing. A spoilt brat, she thought with a grimace. Oh well, she was what she was.
Her long hair was still slightly damp from her shower, but she knew from experience that the silvery fine hair would soon dry; its long silver length made a startling contrast to the rust colour of her blouse. Her eyes were still shadowed by grief, but at least the sleep seemed to have given her back some of her usual confidence, the ability to cope, and she knew that during the weeks and months that were to follow she would need every ounce of that confidence.
She made her bed before leaving her room, the door to Lucas’s bedroom firmly closed, the lounge empty, the only sounds to be heard coming from the kitchen. Bracing her thin shoulders in expectation Chelsea entered the room.
A middle-aged woman looked up from the vegetables she was peeling to put into the huge roasting pot on the table in front of her, the woman’s expression becoming as wary as Chelsea’s own.
‘Good morning,’ Chelsea greeted lightly.
‘Miss Stevens,’ the woman acknowledged abruptly.
‘Chelsea, please,’ she returned smoothly.
‘Miss Chelsea,’ the woman nodded abruptly, tall and thin, her short curled hair a very light brown colour, beginning to grey at her temples.
‘No, I meant——’
‘Can I get you some breakfast now?’ Mrs Harvey turned to wipe her hands on the towel, a pristine white pinafore covering her severely styled blue dress. ‘Mr McAdams had his meal some time ago.’
There was no rebuke in the words for her own tardiness, just a statement of fact. ‘Lucas is here?’ she asked half in anticipation, half in dread, the memory of that sensuous black silk against her flesh, and its reason for being there, still too new for her to be able to look forward to seeing him again.
The housekeeper shook her head. ‘He always leaves at precisely eight-fifteen,’ her voice was flat as she stated her employee’s movements.
Chelsea mentally concluded that Lucas lived his life in altogether too precise a manner, that the last seven years had made him cold and unemotional. Or perhaps a woman had brought about the change. Maybe he had once been very badly hurt and now preferred to live his life in this stiffly rigid pattern that allowed no room for a woman to hurt him; Jennifer didn’t sound as if she had penetrated his emotions, just his need for sexual fulfilment. Somehow Chelsea couldn’t even imagine Lucas with ruffled hair and a flushed face of satiation after the throes of lovemaking. Probably even that was an automotive reflex to him!
‘I’ll just have a slice of toast and some coffee,’ Chelsea answered Mrs Harvey as she realised she was still looking at her expectantly.
She nodded. ‘If you would like to go through to the dining-room I’ll bring it through to you.’
‘Oh I didn’t mean for you to get it——’
‘It’s what I’m here for,’ the woman insisted, her light blue eyes wide with indignation.
Chelsea shook her head. ‘You’re here to take care of Lucas, not any unexpected guests that suddenly appear,’ she smiled so that the woman shouldn’t once more take offence.
‘I’m perfectly capable of getting breakfast for two people instead of one,’ Mrs Harvey snapped as she prepared the coffee perculator.
The housekeeper had taken offence despite all her efforts, and with a shrug of resignation Chelsea pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and sat down. ‘I’d rather sit in here and eat if you don’t mind?’ Once again she gave a friendly smile.
The woman looked surprised. ‘I’m sure you would be more comfortable in the dining-room.’
Chelsea shook her head. ‘This is just fine,’ she insisted, envisaging nothing more dismal than sitting alone in that huge dining-room, where everything was tidily in its place, with not a speck of dust anywhere. At least here in the kitchen the apartment looked lived in, an orderly clutter on the work units as Mrs Harvey prepared the food for the evening meal.
The housekeeper shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want.’ But she didn’t look very comfortable with the idea of a guest sitting in her kitchen to eat toast and drink coffee.
Chelsea sipped the coffee greedily, the brandy Lucas had insisted she drink the evening before leaving her mouth feeling like sandpaper, even after cleaning her teeth twice. But Lucas had been right about its effect on her; she had slept soundly. At least, she had thought she had! The hot colour returned to her cheeks as she thought of the black pyjama jacket that lay across her bedroom chair.
‘Lucas said you’ve worked for him for five years,’ she burst into speech with the first thing that came into her mind, not wanting to dwell on the memory of last night.
‘Yes.’ The other woman had returned to her preparation of dinner after giving Chelsea her breakfast.
‘That’s a long time,’ she added conversationally.
‘Yes.’
‘I imagine Lucas is nice to work for.’ She tried once again to draw the other woman into conversation.
‘He’s a very thoughtful employer,’ Mrs Harvey confirmed abruptly.
Because he didn’t want to lose his ‘domestic help’? She couldn’t believe Lucas was as unfeeling about people as he liked to appear to be. ‘I imagine so,’ she answered in a preoccupied voice. ‘Will he be home for lunch?’
The housekeeper frowned at the suggestion. ‘He doesn’t usually—But perhaps with you here?’ she added uncertainly.
Chelsea shook her head, her hair moving silkily against her slender back. ‘I’m sure Lucas won’t alter his routine for me.’ She stood up to pour herself some more coffee, receiving a disapproving look for her action. ‘Our maid at home doesn’t usually mind my getting my own coffee,’ she excused lamely.
‘I imagine a lot of things are done differently in America.’ Mrs Harvey stiffly passed her the jug of milk.
The middle-aged woman somehow made it sound as if she suspected all sorts of decadence occurred in the other country. ‘I imagine they are,’ Chelsea smiled, having felt the same nervousness herself about an alien country seven years ago when her parents had decided to make the move to her father’s homeland. As it had turned out she loved it over there. ‘So you don’t think Lucas will be home for lunch?’ she persisted.
‘I can’t say for certain,’ Mrs Harvey frowned. ‘He doesn’t inform me of his every move.’
‘I think I’ll risk it and go out anyway,’ Chelsea decided.
‘Oh, I don’t think he expected you to leave the flat today,’ the housekeeper said worriedly. ‘His last instruction was that I was to see that your day here was comfortable.’ The woman looked concerned that she may already have disobeyed that instruction.
And Chelsea was well aware of the reason Lucas had made it; he didn’t want her to possibly see a newspaper. She had been aware of the absence of all such literature both in the lounge and here, and yet she was sure Lucas was one of those men who read several newspapers as he ate his breakfast. The story of her mother’s death would be front-page news in America once the information leaked out, and she didn’t doubt it would be the same over here. Being protective was one thing, it was the reason she had let Jace send her here after all, but she didn’t intend becoming a self-inflicted prisoner in Lucas’s apartment; she would go insane in a matter of hours, needed to get out, to have breathing space.
‘And it has been,’ she assured the other woman warmly. ‘I just need some air.’
‘But——’
‘Don’t worry about me, Mrs Harvey,’ she deliberately interrupted the other woman. ‘It may have been some time, but I used to live here.’
Light blue eyes widened in surprise at this information. ‘You did?’
‘Yes,’ Chelsea laughed softly. ‘I was born here. Have I lost my accent so completely?’
Mrs Harvey’s expression softened a little. ‘Well, no, I suppose not, not now I think about it. But Mr McAdams said an American guest…’
‘I suppose I am now,’ she shrugged. ‘But when I lived here seven years ago I knew London quite well.’
‘We’re slow-moving over here; you’ll find it hasn’t changed much!’
‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ Chelsea smiled.
The frown returned to the older woman’s brow. ‘I’m sure Mr McAdams would rather you stayed here today, in fact I’m sure he assumed that you would.’
‘Don’t worry.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll tell Lucas it was all my own idea.’
‘That isn’t the point——’
‘The point is, Mrs Harvey,’ cool determination entered her voice, ‘that if I don’t soon get out of here I shall go quietly insane!’
Compassion entered the light blue eyes. ‘Maybe you should just rest today,’ her voice had softened noticeably. ‘You must be very tired.’
And suddenly Chelsea knew that the housekeeper was well aware of the reason for her visit. No doubt Lucas had asked the other woman to keep a friendly eye on her. And she just wished everyone would stop treating her like a child who couldn’t accept the truth!
‘I’m fully rested,’ she stated stubbornly. ‘And now I intend going out.’ She turned and left the room, sure that the housekeeper would instantly telephone Lucas. But she would already have left by the time he was able to stop her.
The black silk pyjama jacket caught her gaze as she pulled on her thick sheepskin coat, frowning as she debated whether or not she should return it to Lucas’s room or leave it here. She didn’t doubt that despite having made the bed and tidied the bedroom that Mrs Harvey would come in later and clean in here. And Lucas’s pyjama jacket in her room looked very suggestive, too suggestive to just leave there.
She picked up the sensuous-feeling garment and crossed the hall to Lucas’s room, entering quietly, the decor in here as she had imagined it would be, stark and masculine in brown and white, not warm and inviting as the room Camilla had decorated was.
There was little in this room to actually say it was occupied, just a leather jewellery box on the dressing-table and a picture of Camilla next to it, several paperbacks on the bedside table; with no sign of the bottom part of the black pyjamas! The double bed with its brown quilt was already made, the adjoining bathroom that could be seen through the open door was meticulously clean and tidy. Her own untidyness was likely to drive Lucas to drink in a week!
A week? How long was she going to be here? No time had been set for her visit, but she didn’t intend imposing on Lucas for too long.
She blushed guiltily as she turned to find Mrs Harvey watching her from the doorway. ‘I—er—I came to return this,’ she indicated the jacket she had left on the chair, her blush deepening as she realised how that must sound. ‘Lucas lent it to me when I realised that in my haste I had forgotten to pack a nightgown,’ she excused lamely, not wanting to have to admit the real reason she had been in possession of half Lucas’s pyjama set, although she knew the explanation she was giving now was even more damning than the truth, giving the impression of an intimacy that just wasn’t there.
Blue eyes were sceptical, although Mrs Harvey didn’t dispute or question the explanation. ‘I’ve just spoken to Mr McAdams, and he is coming home to lunch after all, so he would like you to be here.’
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