Sapphire

“Work, work, work. It’s all you men do,” Miss Lawrence cooed as she rose. “Papa does the same thing, leaving early in the morning and staying at his office late into the night. Why, he’s just like you, Blake.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Which is probably why I’m half in love with you.”

She reached out to him, but he smoothly sidestepped her yet again. “Mr. Danz,” he called. “Could you see Miss Lawrence to the door?”

“What did I tell you?” Myra whispered, slipping back along the wall to return to her work without anyone seeing her. “Nothing but a whore, virgin or not. And them hoity-toity ones is the most dangerous. I’m just afraid Mr. Thixton is going to end up getting caught in her web whether he likes it or not.”

The next day, Sapphire accidentally ran into Blake in the second-floor hall; it was late, but she had thought he was still out, which was the only reason she had agreed to run upstairs and leave fresh towels in his bathing room. The bathing room, she had learned, was a magnificent space with a huge white tub and a rather interesting necessary that used a series of pipes and simple gravity to rinse the bowl clean with each use. Sapphire had been dying to ask Blake about the amazing invention, but she refused to allow her curiosity to get the best of her.

She was just about to enter through his open bedchamber door when he stepped out, wearing the same silk dressing robe he had been wearing the first morning she met him in London.

Sapphire took an unsteady step back as she clutched the thick white towels in her arms. “I’m sorry, sir,” she murmured. “We didn’t realize you’d returned home.” One look into his eyes and she felt her stomach tighten and her throat go dry. She was so miserable without him. But she knew that she would be miserable with him, too. She could not be this man’s mistress, or any man’s; she would not tarnish the memory of her parents in such a way. Yet nothing could quench her need for him.

“Sapphire, it’s all right.” He reached out but did not touch her. “I’ve been meaning to come find you.”

He was wearing silk lounging trousers and Oriental tapestry mules on his feet. She clutched the towels tighter. “You’ve been busy. A company to run, dinners and parties to attend, Miss Lawrence to escort.”

He chuckled. “Is that jealousy I hear in your voice, Miss Fabergine?”

“Certainly not,” she snapped. “If Miss Lawrence wants you, she’s welcome to have you. Of course, perhaps I should forewarn her. If she finds herself in your bed, she may soon find herself washing your laundry and emptying your chamber pots.”

“I don’t believe, Molly, that anyone in this house has emptied chamber pots. The necessary that I had installed at great expense put an end to that. And personally, I haven’t used a pot since I was out of leading strings.” Again, he chuckled. “Is this your way of saying you’ve had enough?”

“I’m saying what I said days ago. I want to go back to London.”

“Sapphire, you’re being childish.”

He grasped her arm, pulling her into his room. She tried to fight him, but he was too strong.

“Look at you. You look no more like an under parlor maid than…than President Jackson!”

“You’re hurting me,” she said stiffly.

He sighed and loosened his grip on her arm. “There’s got to be some way we can settle this, you and I.” He hesitated. “I miss you.” He reached out to draw his fingertip along the outline of her jaw and she suddenly could not breathe. “I miss you in my bed. And I know you miss being there, too.”

Sapphire felt her lower lip tremble. All she had to do was lift her chin and look into Blake’s eyes to have him take her into his arms. He would close the door and carry her to his bed. Even though it would not settle anything between them, for that short time, she would be happy. She would feel safe. Almost loved.

“No,” she said, setting her jaw with determination. “You’re not going to do this to me.”

“Do what?” he said, his voice husky. “Make love to you?”

The sound of that deep, baritone voice sent shivers through her. And he knew that. That was why he spoke to her that way, and that was why he touched her the way he was touching her now.

“Here, your towels,” she said abruptly, thrusting them into his arms.

“Thank you. I thought I would take a cool bath. You know, there are holding tanks in the attic that allow the water to flow through pipes directly into the tub. Wouldn’t a cool bath be nice right now, Sapphire? I could soap your back…I could soap you all over.” He reached out for her again, but she jerked her head back.

“Good night, Blake,” she said. And using every bit of determination she could muster, she turned in the worn, oversize shoes that gave her blisters and stalked out of his room.

“You’ll tire of this game,” he called after her, almost cruelly. “You’ll tire and then you’ll come to me. To my bed. On my terms,” he added.

“Never again,” she muttered under her breath as she hurried down the hall.

For the next three days, Thixton House was in an uproar. Blake was hosting an intimate dinner party for sixteen and Mrs. Dedrick was determined the Beacon Hill mansion would be cleaned top to bottom. Every bed was remade with fresh linens, every marble fireplace swept, every piece of furniture dusted, even rooms still void of furniture were aired and the floors scrubbed and polished. Sapphire’s task on the night of the party was to remain in the kitchen at Mrs. Porter’s side, but less than an hour before the guests were to arrive, Myra, dressed in a new black maid’s dress with a white apron and mobcap, came rushing into the kitchen.

Myra bobbed a curtsy in Mrs. Porter’s direction and then addressed Sapphire, who was practicing her hand at making butter curls. “Molly, you must come at once and change! Mrs. Dedrick’s orders.” She talked in excited bursts, her cheeks bright red with exhilaration. “You’re to serve with me in the main dining hall tonight. Felicity isn’t feeling well.” She cupped her hand around her mouth and leaned to whisper. “The one always making eyes at Mr. Thixton. Everyone says she’s free with her favors, if you know what I mean. Sick to her stomach. Morning sickness, they say,” she hissed. “If you ask me, she’s got a little coachman growing under her apron.”

Sapphire glanced at Mrs. Porter and then back at Myra. She shook her head. “No,” she said softly, taking a step back. “I don’t want to serve. I’m supposed to be here, helping Mrs. Porter.”

“Unfahseen changes occuh,” Myra announced, drawing herself up stiffly as she folded her h