Had she expected more? She sighed. Formality would be the best recourse for them both, even if it somehow bothered her. But she was his housekeeper now.

She smiled at Mrs. Murdock. "It has been a very long, very tiring day. I imagine everyone is ready for a hot meal and bed." She refrained from rubbing her hip, which ached. She wondered what would happen now. Would he take the boys and vanish into the inn and their rooms? That would probably be for the best, too.

"My back cannot withstand the constant jarring," Mrs. Murdock complained, shifting in her seat. "I cannot wait to go to sleep. But we are fortunate that Lucille is such a good traveler."

Amelia smiled at the baby. They had dared to name her. She had so desperately needed a name-they couldn't keep referring to her as the child or the baby-and apparently Lady Grenville had liked Lucille. "She is a wonderful companion." She clasped her tiny, downy head. "At this rate, we will probably be in London late tomorrow, unless we lose a wheel or some such thing," Amelia said. Traveling from Land's End to London in two days was practically unthinkable, especially for such a convoy. It felt as if Grenville was in a rush to get to town, but she could not imagine why.

She saw the door of Grenville's huge black coach opening. Her heart slammed. He stepped out, his great coat swinging about his narrow hips and long legs, his handsome face set in an impa.s.sive expression.

A pang went through her. Her body dared to tighten. He was a magnificent, attractive man. Would it always be this way? she wondered miserably. Would she always look at him and have this yearning? But what, precisely, did she yearn for?

She was afraid to answer her own question; she knew she must leave it alone!

But she was so drawn to him. Even following his huge coach with their smaller carriage, she was acutely aware that he was just a few horse lengths ahead of them. A part of her antic.i.p.ated their next encounter, no matter how she tried to be oblivious to the fact that it would most definitely occur, and soon. If she counted the minutes-the seconds-to their every exchange, how would she manage as his housekeeper? And to think that she had thought, even if for a moment, that he wanted her to be his mistress!

How laughable that was!

Maybe, if she remained as formal as possible, if she did her best to forget the past-and his behavior in his rooms after the funeral-she would be able to successfully adopt the role of housekeeper. Maybe her yearning would fade away and die. She must focus on the reasons she had accepted the position. His sons needed her and she already loved both boys. And this poor child-Lady Grenville's b.a.s.t.a.r.d-needed her! She loved the baby, too. Who wouldn't love such an adorable infant?

But he hadn't slept with his wife in years.

She closed her eyes tightly for a moment. What did that mean, exactly? If only he hadn't told her such a thing.

She looked down at the infant, who had finished nursing and was yawning widely. She smiled a little. It meant that his marriage had been as troubled, as strained and loveless as the governess had described.

Her heart lurched. When they had been in the midst of their mad flirtation, he hadn't been able to keep his hands to himself. If she knew one thing, it was that Simon Grenville was a very pa.s.sionate and virile man.

After the funeral, he had tried to seduce her. What should she make of that equation, Amelia wondered. He had avoided his wife-but he had tried to kiss her.

That did not mean he had kept a torch burning for her, she told herself with as much conviction as she could muster. To even consider such a notion was dangerous! Surely she didn't want him to want her still? How awkward that would be.

If he desired her that way, he would not have asked her to become his housekeeper. He would have seduced her or asked her to become his mistress.

"Would you hand off the child to the governess and help Signor Barelli settle the boys?"

She stiffened at the sound of Grenville's soft, commanding voice and met his gaze through her carriage window. He opened her door, unsmiling. She vaguely heard a footman crying out in dismay as he did so.

Biting her lip, aware that her heart was racing, Amelia handed the baby to Mrs. Murdock. He was being so very formal and distant now. What she had to do was navigate her way through this difficult new beginning; she was his housekeeper, not the woman he was courting, and certainly not his mistress.

But Grenville took her hand without her offering it. Aware of his grasp, Amelia stepped down. He released her and gestured toward the front door of the inn, where William and John were racing about as if playing tag, the two of them shouting happily. Two small, yapping dogs had appeared and were chasing the boys. A heavyset man in a coat and breeches stepped out, smiling jovially. Amelia a.s.sumed him to be the innkeeper.

The sight of the boys relieved her. She was thrilled that they were in such good spirits.

And Grenville seemed pleased, too, for he watched his sons, and he smiled. Her heart turned over, hard.

Then he faced her, the smile gone. "I hope you are not the worse for wear. I apologize for the day being overly long."

Amelia suddenly wished he would shed the facade of employer. "I am young and fit." She smiled. "I hardly mind traveling for twelve hours straight, but Mrs. Murdock has indicated that her back is bothering her."

"We did stop to change horses," he said, turning to look at the boys again.

"Yes, we did. But I am a bit concerned about her, Grenville." She knew she sounded tart, but surely he had some concern for the middle-aged governess, too.

He faced her abruptly. "I do not care about the governess. I am asking you how you are." His gaze held hers. "I do not wish to put you out, Amelia."

She did not expect him to resort to the pretense of addressing her as Miss Greystone, that would be absurd, but he was not acting like her employer now. And she was relieved, when she should not be. "I am fine." She smiled ruefully. "But I admit to being tired. And hungry." They had brought lunch baskets with them, but she was ravenous now.

"Tomorrow will be as long a day," he said tersely. "Can you manage?"

She wondered if there was some urgency on his part. "Of course I can manage."

"And your mother?" He glanced past her.

Garrett had helped Momma out, and they were coming toward them. Amelia faced Grenville. "Momma is thrilled to be returning to town. She spent half of the trip sleeping."

He nodded. "Then I am relieved." He touched her elbow and she started. He dropped his hand and gestured at the inn. Her heart racing, Amelia preceded him.

"How have the boys fared today?" she asked.

"They traveled well." He hesitated and she met his gaze determinedly. He said, "It has been enjoyable for me, traveling with them." The moment he spoke, his expression closed. She had the feeling he regretted sharing his feelings with her.

She wanted to ask why he had so rarely been in residence with his family. She wanted to ask if he had despised his wife so greatly that he had chosen to stay away from the children because of her. "I imagine they have been as pleased to spend this time with you," she said softly, aware that no housekeeper would ever make such a remark.

At first, she thought he would not answer. Then he said carefully, "Yes, they have regaled me with stories of their exploits over the past year."

She halted, touching his coat sleeve. His gaze widened, shooting to hers. But she could not remain in her new role now. "Lady Grenville's death was a tragedy. But you deserve the opportunity to be a father to your sons. Maybe some good will come from her death. Maybe it will strengthen your relationship."

His face hardened. "They need their mother, Amelia."

"Of course they do." She hesitated. "I know I am only your housekeeper, but I will do my best to help them overcome their loss."

It was a moment before he spoke. "I know you will. That is why I asked you to take this position." He paused. "Am I being too hard on everyone, rushing back to London this way?"

She was so surprised by the tentative nature of his tone, and the doubt he was evincing. "Unless there is an emergency, it would be far more pleasant for everyone to go halfway tomorrow, and make the journey in three days."

He inhaled rather raggedly.

There was an emergency, she thought, in surprise. "Simon-Grenville-if you need to get back to town, maybe you should go on ahead."

"No." He was flat. "Tomorrow you will travel with us. Leave the child with Mrs. Murdock, your mother with the Scot. They can take two more days to travel, but we will be in London by midnight."

She did not understand. But she had seen a frightening light in his eyes, and she also thought she had seen the shadow of fear flit through his gaze. What was going on? Why couldn't he go on alone, if he was in such a rush? "The boys could travel with me and my group," she began carefully.

"No!" The single word was an explosion. "My sons remain with me-you will join us tomorrow. It is for the best."

He started toward the inn without her. Something was very wrong, but she had no idea what could be frightening him, if fear was what she was witnessing.

Suddenly he halted, and turned back to her. He smiled grimly at her. "I apologize for the outburst."

"It's all right."

"No, it's not. I am trying very hard to be thoughtful and polite. I am trying to behave as an employer might. However, we were friends once, and I do not think your position can change that. As importantly, I value your wisdom and advice."

Her heart soared. She did not mind his reference to their past, not when he had made it in such a respectful manner. But she kept to the matter at hand. "Then, if you can, you might explain to me what is actually happening, so I could truly advise you."

His stare became blank. "Nothing is happening. My sons have lost their mother. They must remain with me. And I have pressing business matters to attend to in town." He shrugged.

She did not know if she should believe him, but why would he lie about his children? And what he had just said made sense. There was really no way to fault the explanation.

But she did not like the look that she had seen in his eyes. Nor had she mistaken the tension within him.

"Papa!" John came running up. "I am hungry!"

Amelia smiled at him and tousled his hair. Then she glanced up at Grenville. She was thrilled their old friendship might return, despite her position as housekeeper.

"I am also starved," he said, smiling at his son. "Could you politely ask Mr. Hayes to have supper trays sent up to our rooms?"

John nodded and ran off.

"I imagine they will be asleep within moments of lying down, never mind that they seem so filled with energy now." Grenville's smile faded.

He was worried, Amelia realized. And she was afraid he was worried about more than his sons surviving the ordeal of their mother's death. "Yes, I imagine so."

They had reached the front doors of the inn. The innkeeper came down the steps, beaming. "Good day, my lord. I have been expecting you. Your rooms are ready." He glanced at Amelia and she knew he couldn't decide if she was a servant, a relative or the earl's guest.

"Thank you, Mr. Hayes. I am appreciative. This is Miss Greystone. Did my son ask for supper trays?"

"Yes, he did, my lord, and you will have them within a half an hour. May I show you to your rooms?"

"I think that is a good idea." Grenville looked at her. "You do not mind sharing a room, with your mother?"

"I prefer it that way," she said.

"Good. I will see you at sunrise, then." He hesitated, his gaze intense upon her face. "Amelia, make no mistake, I am very appreciative that you are here with my family."

And she realized that Grenville needed her, too.

London, April 19, 1794 SHE HAD NEVER BEEN to Grenville's London home. Amelia slowly moved around the extraordinary, lavishly furnished bedroom she had been given. The upper halves of the walls were painted pale green, the lower halves were molded wood, painted white. The white ceiling boasted mauve and green starburst plastering. The canopied bed had green floral curtains, the coverlets a paisley. Most of the furniture was gilded, and fine Aubusson rugs were underfoot. The fireplace was white plaster, with a huge gilded clock atop it.

It was well past midnight. They had arrived in town just an hour earlier. A handful of staff had greeted them, and Grenville had told her he would get the boys to bed himself. He had ordered a housemaid to show her upstairs, and she had been taken to this bedchamber.

The maid had made a mistake. She was not Grenville's guest; she was his housekeeper. Tomorrow she would be given lodging appropriate for a servant.

We were friends once, and I do not think your position can change that.

Still dressed for travel in a pale blue jacket and skirt, Amelia sat down on a white ottoman. His implication had been clear-that they remained friends of a sort.

But there was a fine line between them now, she thought. On the one hand, she was in his employ; on the other, they shared a past and some affection for one another. A great many challenges faced them.

She had certainly just pa.s.sed the longest day of her life. If she had been a mere housekeeper, it would not have felt that way! She wished for a brandy, but had already surmised that no decanter graced any table in the room.

The coach had been too small for them both. She had sat facing Grenville, with William beside her. In hindsight, facing him had probably been worse than being seated beside him. She had spent almost eighteen hours trying not to meet his gaze, determined not to feel his presence or experience any attraction to him.

But she had looked at him, repeatedly, although she had pretended to read for most of the trip. The boys and their father had kept up a nearly constant conversation, except when the boys had napped. They had discussed their studies-William excelled at languages, and was taking both French and German; their hobbies-John was apparently an excellent horseman, even at his young age; what they would do upon arriving in London-both boys wanted to go to the circus; and some recent world events. They had stopped three times, briefly, to change horses and answer nature's call.

Amelia had been fascinated by every exchange. The boys adored Simon; he adored them. How was it possible that he had not been in residence over the years? Had Mrs. Murdock been exaggerating?

Every now and then, as she had stolen a glance at him over the edge of her book, it had been impossible not to marvel at how handsome and n.o.ble he was. But he had caught her in the act, more often than not. When their gazes met, he had looked away, as she had. But the tension between them remained.

She stared at the beautiful room. It seemed obvious to her during the journey that he had been determined to treat her as his housekeeper, just as she had been determined to remain in that role. It had been difficult and awkward. She wasn't sure why he had slipped into the informality of friendship last night. She supposed that it was probably best that they tried to remain in the roles of employer and employee, as much as was possible. But she also knew that when he needed her, she would gladly return to being his friend.

The day had been the most trying of her life, she decided, sighing. She was so glad it was over. But one fact was glaring-she was not immune to her employer. His presence overwhelmed her.

She slowly got up. In any case, she could brood about it at another time. They had just arrived in town, and she had been hired to manage his household and help in the raising of his sons. She had so much to do!

She was tired-exhausted-but she knew she wouldn't sleep. The house was mostly empty; two maids, a manservant, the boys and Grenville were its only occupants. But by tomorrow evening that would change.

Rooms had to be aired. Menus had to be planned, meals served. Cook would not arrive in time to make even the evening meal, so she would have to make breakfast, lunch and supper herself. She did not mind. She wanted something to do!

Given the fact that she had an entire household to organize, with very little help, would she be able to see to the boys, as well? She began to worry. It would not hurt to take the boys on some kind of exciting outing, if she could. Or could she enlist Grenville to do so while she worked on the tasks necessary to getting the household up and running?

She paced. She already missed Lucille terribly. She was worried about her. She hoped Mrs. Murdock had kept her calm and content while traveling. She was so afraid the baby had fretted-and missed her. But not having the infant there tomorrow would allow her more freedom to take care of the rest of her responsibilities.

She needed a quill and parchment. She had so many lists to make, and while she was searching for writing instruments, she would also find herself a drink. She longed to sneak a peek at the boys, but as they were in the family wing of the house-where Grenville slept-that was not a good idea. She decided she must avoid that part of the house, at least for now, and especially at such a late hour.

His image a.s.sailed her, but not as he had been during their journey that day. Instead, she recalled him as he had been in the days after the funeral, locked in his rooms. His hair was down, he was more unclothed than clothed, and his smile was so very suggestive....

Her heart lurched and she shoved the recollection aside. That encounter must be forgotten! Determined, Amelia hurried across the room. As she did, she glimpsed her reflection in the mirror.

Her traveling ensemble was a sensible outfit, one she'd worn a hundred times. She would hardly turn heads in the robin's-egg blue jacket and skirt. She'd already removed the simple beret, trimmed with ribbon, that she had been wearing. Her honey-colored hair had been teased and pulled back, one long coil hanging over her shoulder.

For one moment she stared at her reflection. Her cheeks were rosy, her gray eyes bright. It was as if she'd just taken a brisk walk upon the moors. But she wasn't flushed from walking. Attraction to her employer had done that. She did not look plain now. She did not look like an aging spinster....

Then she dismissed her thoughts. It didn't matter how she looked. She was not in Grenville's home to parade before him. Besides, it was very late. She wasn't going to run into anyone, and not Grenville-or she certainly hoped not.

Taking a candle in its holder, Amelia left the sanctuary of her temporary room.

She was not accustomed to the house. She had been led inside an imposing entry hall, with high ceilings and marble floors, then ushered into the south wing of the house. Grenville and the boys had gone off in the opposite direction. Every door she had pa.s.sed on her way up to this guest chamber on the second floor had been closed. Now, she traversed a mostly dark hall, a single pair of wall sconces boasting lit candles. The stairwell was dark. The candle she held barely helped her see.

She made her way down the stairs carefully. The hall below was better lit and she followed it, intending to return to the entry hall. From there, she would surely find a salon with a secretaire and a bar cart. Or perhaps she would find the library.

But a pair of handsome doors was just ahead, wide open. She could tell from the glow that a fire was burning in the hearth. She faltered. Only one person could be within that room, at this hour.

Grenville stepped abruptly onto the chamber's threshold, holding a gla.s.s of wine in his hand.

Their gazes met. Amelia felt her heart surge.

"I heard footsteps." He lifted his gla.s.s as if toasting her, but his thick lashes lowered. She had not a clue as to what he was thinking, or if he was displeased to find her wandering about his home at such an hour.