Page 20

FOURTEEN

M rs. Kern, what a pleasure it is to welcome you again.” Webster’s scar crinkled the side of his face when he beamed at Ursula. “Mrs. Webster will be delighted, as well. I shall inform her immediately.”

“Thank you, Webster,” Ursula said, touched by the warm greeting.

Slater looked hard at Webster. “It’s not as if Mrs. Kern has just returned from a voyage around the world. She was here only a couple days ago, if you will recall.”

“Yes, of course, sir,” Webster said. “It’s just that the staff had been afraid that she would not be returning soon. This is a delightful surprise.”

Hurried footsteps sounded in the hall. Mrs. Webster came onstage.

“Mrs. Kern, you’re back,” she exclaimed as though she was the heroine in a play who had just discovered that a long-lost relation was alive after all. “How wonderful to see you again.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Webster,” Ursula said. She smiled. “I’m afraid I won’t be staying long—”

She stopped abruptly because Slater’s powerful hand closed around her elbow. He hauled her off in the direction of the library.

“Mrs. Kern and I have work to do,” he announced over his shoulder. “Kindly see that we are not disturbed.”

Mrs. Webster gave him a steely look. “You’ll be wanting a tea tray.”

Slater groaned. “Fine. Bring us a tea tray, make sure there is coffee on it, and then see to it that we have some privacy.”

Mrs. Webster relaxed into an approving smile. “Of course, sir. I’ll just be a moment.”

Slater drew Ursula down the hall and into the library. He closed the door and turned around.

“The Websters have missed you,” he said.

“They are a very nice couple.” Ursula tucked the veil up onto the brim of her rakish little hat. “And somewhat unusual.”

“My mother offered to hire my staff two months ago because I had absolutely no idea how to go about the process, nor did I want to be bothered with learning how to do it properly.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Ursula said. “I’m quite certain that hiring the household staff is not something that a gentleman is taught. That is the work of the lady of the house.”

His expression became unusually grim, even for him, she thought. He walked behind his desk chair and gripped the back with both hands.

“There are times when living in this household with a staff composed of failed actors and other assorted theater people is like living in the middle of a melodrama,” he said.

“The actors are especially unreliable. They quit on the spot if they get a hint of a bit part in a play. Then, when the play folds after two nights, they’re back, asking for their posts.

But it is not as if I’ve got much choice in the matter.

I can hardly toss them onto the street.”

“Why not?” Ursula asked calmly.

The question clearly stopped him for a moment.

“Well, among other things, it would be very difficult to find more traditional, more professional replacements,” he said finally. He exhaled slowly. “Very few well-trained people in service would tolerate what the press and the gossips are pleased to call my eccentricities.”

“Mmm. Perhaps. But I don’t think that is the only reason why you do not let the Websters and the others go.”

“No?” His brows rose. “I can’t think of a better reason.”

“You don’t dismiss your servants because you have some sympathy for them.

If they end up here on your doorstep it is because your mother has sent them to apply for a post. If you don’t take them in and give them work until the next role comes along, some of them—particularly the women—will end up on the street. And some will not survive at all.”

“I’m a charity house for unemployed theater people?” He winced. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“That seems to be the case. As charities go, it seems a fine one. It is certainly one of the reasons I agreed to take the position with you back at the start of this arrangement.”

He pinned her with a look.

“And then you quit,” he said very softly.

“Yes, well, it was not my intention. And I did hope to return.”

“Did you?”

“May I ask what sort of... eccentricities you possess that you feel would likely put off potential applicants for posts here in this house?”

He released the chair, widening his hands. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a cook who will serve vegetarian fare at every meal?”

Ursula blinked, caught entirely off guard. She tried to stifle a giggle but failed.

“Good heavens,” she said in mock horror. “You’re one of those? A vegetarian?”

He seemed disgruntled by her teasing, as though not quite certain what to make of it. He took off his glasses, whipped out a pristine white handkerchief and began to polish the lenses.

“Is that really so strange?” he demanded. “There is no need to look at me as though I had grown a second head or turned green.”

She smiled. “Sorry. Your answer was not quite what I was expecting, that’s all.”

He paused in the act of polishing the spectacles. His startling eyes locked with hers. Once again she wondered why he bothered with eyeglasses.

“What sort of eccentricity were you expecting me to admit to?” he asked.

She waved a hand in an airy manner, aware that she was starting to enjoy herself.

“There have been some rather bizarre speculations in the press,” she said.

“I was inclined to dismiss them, of course, but when you mentioned that potential staff might be put off by your eccentricities, I did wonder precisely what you meant. Rest assured that vegetarianism was not the first thing that came to mind.”

He started to put on his spectacles. Then, very deliberately, he set them on the desk. For the first time there was a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Mrs. Kern, and tell me exactly what sort of eccentricities popped into your mind?” he said.

She had known that it would be a mistake to tease him about the vegetarianism.

She did not know what had come over her.

For whatever reason, making the small, lighthearted comment had been irresistible.

But she should have heeded her intuition that had warned her that any conversation of a personal nature was a high-risk venture with this man.

She sat down on a chair and tweaked the folds of her skirts, aware that she was a bit flushed. “I think perhaps we should change the subject.”

“This may come as a shock to you, but I also read the press,” Slater said. “I believe there is some concern in certain quarters that I have a secret chamber here in my house and that I have forbidden the servants to enter it.”

“Oh, dear. You know about that nonsense, do you? I assure you I put no credence in the story.”

“Evidently there are some who are convinced that I lure unsuspecting females into my secret chamber and practice the odd exotic ritual upon their persons.”

“The definition of an exotic ritual is in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?”

“Do you think so?” Slater asked.

“As far as I’m concerned, the necessity of wearing fashionable gowns that feel like a suit of armor and weigh approximately the same, with skirts so heavy and voluminous that they make the simple act of walking a difficult endeavor, is an exotic ritual.

Yet ladies here in London do it every day.

” Ursula paused for emphasis. “Including me.”

She felt quite daring, she realized. Perhaps even a bit reckless. Something about being alone with Slater had that effect on her.

Slater looked startled by her response for about two seconds and then he laughed his short, rusty laugh.

“It is good to know that you take such a worldly view of exotic rituals,” he said.

She opened her mouth, determined to use the opening to urge him back to safer ground but an ominous knock stopped her.

Webster opened the door as though it was the entryway of a crypt, allowing Mrs. Webster to sweep in with the tray of tea things.

She set the tray on the one table near Ursula’s chair and stood back.

“Shall I pour?” she asked with a hopeful air.

“No, thank you,” Slater said. “We can manage.”

Mrs. Webster did not bother to conceal her disappointment. “I’ll be off, then. Ring if you need me.”

“I’ll do that,” Slater said.

He waited until the door closed behind her and then he looked at Ursula. The brief moment of sensual amusement that had charged the interior of the library dissipated. She reached for the pot and filled two cups.

Slater came out from behind the desk and crossed the room to accept the cup and saucer she held out to him. He returned to the desk and stood in front of it.

“I’m aware that, in addition to the rather annoying speculation about exotic rituals carried out in a secret chamber, the press has also suggested that the experience on Fever Island may have affected my mind,” he said.

“And, in truth, perhaps it did. It certainly changed me in ways that are difficult to explain.”

“That is hardly surprising,” she said.

She spoke quietly and calmly, trying to let him know that he was free to tell the story in his own way. She was a woman with secrets. She understood that if they were confided, they needed to be confided carefully.

“Torrence and I were friends.” Slater set the cup and saucer on the desk, the coffee untouched.

“We had a mutual interest in antiquities. Early on we became intrigued by the legend of Fever Island. At some point the search for the island became an obsession for both of us. It took us two years of research before we finally got the first clue to the actual location of the damned place.”

He broke off, gathering his thoughts. Ursula waited, making no effort to hurry him along.

“The charts that I discovered were buried deep in an old sea captain’s journal and they were vague, to say the least,” he said.

“Torrence was half afraid that they were the product of a deranged mind but he agreed to make an attempt to find the island. In the end the captain of the ship we chartered discovered the place more by accident and good luck than because of the charts.”