Pinch of Naughty (12 page)

“Henry, nobody knows she’s here. If anyone asks, tell ’em she’s been called back to Hartford to take care of her late husband’s estate,” Mable suggested.

Cyrus noticed the way Mable packaged the lie inside the truth.

“And my father—Eleanor’s grandfather—what do you propose I tell him?” Henry eyed both of them grimly.

“Tell him to go to hell and back,” Cyrus snarled. “He didn’t take care of Ellie when he should have, and he’s not getting the chance to mess her life up again.”

Eleanor waited impatiently for Aunt Mildred to come downstairs. If she guessed correctly, her aunt lurked above, inspecting all the rooms while she had the opportunity. During the time Eleanor had been a guest in Millie’s home, she’d complained more than once that she’d never seen the inside of Mr. Burke’s house. It seemed certain she wouldn’t miss this chance.

“I’m in the kitchen,” Eleanor called when steps coming downstairs alerted her of Millie’s return.

“I’ve put the coffee on in case Mable and Uncle Henry come in for dessert.” Aunt Mildred came into the room, looking around with interest. Eleanor cut one of the peach cobblers, already thinking about what to replace it with at supper time.

“You’re really doing all of this work, aren’t you?” Her aunt’s tone was amazed as she caught hold of Eleanor’s hand and turned it over, peeling back the work glove and displaying the new calluses on her palm.

“Of course. I told you, I’m earning the money to set up my pastry shop.” Eleanor spoke matter-of-factly.

“You know, Eleanor,” Millie said, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “Cyrus Burke is one of the richest men in the state. If you play your cards right, you could catch a fine husband.”

“So now it’s all right if I stay?” The hint of sarcasm was lost on Millie.

“Of course it’s all right. If anyone questions your stay here, should they come to know of it that is, I’ll attest to seeing your clothes in separate quarters. And I’ll tell Henry to forget this nonsense of your returning to Hartford. Child, he needs to understand we have bigger fish to fry right here.” She bustled around the kitchen chirping happily.

Aunt Mildred was energized in a manner Eleanor hadn’t seen before. It was interesting that this branch of the family also flinched under Grandfather Alcott’s whip.

“You have no idea what this could mean for Henry and me.
Your
family has treated our marriage with contempt.
I
am not considered worthy of an Alcott. Henry’s father, your grandfather, refuses to let us move to Hartford—not that I would choose to do so—but the insult is reprehensible. With you married to Cyrus Burke, Texas social and business doors will open, Henry’s banking career will advance and we will be out from under the family’s thumb.”

“I’ll bring the cobbler to the dining hall.” Millie held the pie dish aloft, making it clear she didn’t plan on leaving without first having dessert. “Henry has been lamenting the loss of your baked goods ever since you left.” Still carrying the dessert, Millie went to the porch and invited Henry and Mable inside.

Eleanor half expected a pointed suggestion from Cyrus encouraging Millie’s departure, but he dismounted as Henry jumped down, helping Mable from the buggy before all of them came into the house.

Deferring to Cyrus as the host of the occasion, Eleanor waited for his direction. He surprised her again.

“Eleanor, would you bring the coffee in here and join us?” Instead of his usual familiar attitude, his demeanor was formal—respectful.

Coolly she retreated to the kitchen. Once behind the closed door, she gasped for breath. They were all there, representatives of her past, future and now. She had an overwhelming desire to burst into tears and flee. She just wanted to be left alone.

Calming herself with one last gulp of air, Eleanor carried the coffee to the dining hall. As any good domestic would, she circled the table serving the guests before filling her employer’s cup. He’d kept the chair next to him empty and waved her to the seat.

“I have cobbler to serve,” she murmured.

Mable dished up her own before scooting the cobbler toward Millie who served Uncle Henry and then lifted a wedge to her own plate.

“Problem solved. Join us, please.” Cyrus was polite but insistent.

Eleanor sighed and sat down.

In this setting, she saw the man others envied and feared. Gone was his playful manner, replaced by the stern man she’d met on her first day here. Uneasily she looked around the table and felt control slipping away from her.

Aunt Millie, basking in her inclusion at Cyrus Burke’s table, smiled graciously, eating her dessert with dainty bites. Uncle Henry savored his cobbler but when her gaze met his, he looked toward Cyrus then back at her and frowned.

“Eleanor, you must return to Hartford.” Refusing to cede control to Mr. Burke, Henry interrupted the quiet, pushing aside the false social atmosphere. As her only male relative present, her uncle delivered the family patriarch’s edict.

“You’ll have to convey my apologies to Grandfather. I won’t be returning to Hartford, Uncle Henry.” She shuddered under a wave of revulsion, tensely gripping the china cup until Cyrus pried her fingers loose. Then he poured her coffee, adding a dollop of cream the way she liked it. The intimate gesture wasn’t lost on her or the others in the room as he radiated possessive authority.

Henry cut a bite of cobbler and studied it, his approving gaze sliding from the dessert on his fork to her before he continued. “On the other hand, Mr. Burke has explained that he has made you an offer of marriage.”

It wasn’t a question, but nevertheless he waited for her to confirm his statement.

“Are you marrying Cyrus Burke?” Aunt Millie burst out, not bothering to hide her excitement.

Out of sight of the others, Cyrus nudged Eleanor’s foot with his, stretching beneath the table until his leg touched hers.

“Mr. Burke’s offer is certainly flattering.” Her tension disappeared and her voice was serene when she answered.

I’ll let you throw your rope around my neck.
She imagined throttling said neck and avoided looking at him, seeing instead Millie’s hopeful gaze.

“We haven’t finished negotiating.” His growled words were heard by all. She refused to let him fluster her now that she felt in control again. It was possible his foot anchoring her under the table and promising her support had something to do with her inner calm.

“Before decisions are made, I have to fulfill my contract as your housekeeper, Mr. Burke.” Her words were a prim reminder of their status.

“So you do,” he agreed.

Eleanor looked down the table and as she caught Mable’s glance she was reminded of her business partner’s earlier advice.
Don’t let Burke get between you and your pastry shop.

“I also have desserts to bake for Mable, my pastry business to plan, and building preparations to oversee.” Her firm commitment resounded up and down the table, bringing frowns from her relatives and a beaming smile from Mable.

“The building will be ready.” Cyrus’ bland promise left her wondering what chicanery he was up to.

“As per my specifications,” Eleanor reminded him.

“Exactly to your specifications, Eleanor.” The underlying hint of laughter in his voice made her risk a quick peek at him. His expression remained that of a landlord negotiating terms but he rubbed his knee against the thick folds of her skirt, spreading warmth through her limbs to her core.

At this most inappropriate time, heat pooled in her lower regions, sending shivers of desire coursing through her.

“I have supper to prepare. I’m afraid I will have to bid you all good day.” Eleanor stood and walked toward the kitchen door, pausing to speak to her pastry partner. “Mable, I’ll double the order for Wednesday.”

Not waiting for a reply, she continued from the room on unsteady legs, the power of her arousal magnified by Cyrus’ gruff tones as he ushered the uninvited guests outside.

“I’ll take Eleanor’s things to her.” Cyrus walked to the back of the buggy after seeing Millie seated and Henry behind the reins. He wanted them gone.

“What the hell did she pack in here?” He grunted, hoisting the big steamer trunk to his shoulder, groaning under the weight as he carried it to the porch.

“Everything she could bring from home, I expect,” Mable told him. “Eleanor said she’s never going back. It might make more sense to carry these back to my place.”

“No.” The word leapt from his mouth in a guttural snarl. He didn’t need to say more when Millie inserted her opinion.

“Mind your own business, Mable. Eleanor will need her possessions. You sent her looking for a job and she convinced Mr. Burke to hire her. He’s got no complaints and as far as I know, neither does she. Stay out of it.”

Cyrus returned to the buggy, letting Millie have her say. He didn’t have to look at her face to know there was a determined gleam in her eye. Good. He slid the second trunk from Henry’s fancy conveyance, letting it land on the ground with a thump.

“Hope she didn’t have any breakables in there, Cyrus, because if she did, they’re broke,” Mable scolded him.

Cyrus sneaked a quick look at the house hoping Eleanor hadn’t seen him maybe smash her valuables. Raising his voice in case she was listening, he changed the subject. “Like I said earlier, Mable, get some men started on fixing her pastry shop.”

“Like I told you earlier,” Mable bared her teeth, her words mimicking his. “I’ve got no room for a full-time operation so you know I found carpenters as soon as you left. Since that shack’s currently held together with rusty nails in rotten wood, it’ll cost you a pretty penny to get the work done in time for her to set up shop.”

“Don’t spare the cost. Eleanor and I will negotiate an agreement that covers it in her lease.” After Ellie came to her senses, Cyrus had a dozen men who’d pony up good money to rent the place once it was ready. It was a solid investment.

“No more uninvited guests. Remember what I said,” he reminded Mable. She nodded agreement and Henry took up the reins, ready to head for home.

“Henry, about these allegations made against your niece.” As far as Cyrus could tell, Henry was the closest male relative Ellie had protecting her, and so far, he’d made a poor job of it. He walked to her uncle’s side for a final talk and could feel the ice frosting up in Alcott’s veins as Millie’s look changed to one of horror.

Before the two of them could babble stupidity, he said, “Shuffle some of my money around. See what you can free up to invest.”

“In what?” Alcott asked, looking relieved at the fast shift in topic.

“Those four sonovabitches that lied about Eleanor—wipe them out and bury them alive.” Cyrus dropped his amiable guise and let his rage show as he delivered his order.

“Oh my,” Millie whispered.

“My pleasure.” Henry’s grim look softened to a smile. By the time he turned the buggy toward town, his expression had changed to thoughtful anticipation.

Cyrus stood watching the three unwanted visitors until they disappeared from sight. His heart thumped so hard he thought it might leap from his chest. Damn the Alcotts or anyone else who tried taking Eleanor from him. His thoughts were savage when she joined him on the porch.

“Here’s your things. Hope to hell you’re stayin’ awhile because I don’t relish hauling them more than once.” He pointed at her trunks before wrestling the smaller one from the ground to his knees, then his shoulder.

“For goodness’ sake, let someone help you with that. It took two men to carry each when they were loaded on the carriage at home.”

“Easterners—what do you expect?” Cyrus snorted, ignoring her advice. By the time he got to the top of the stairs, he knew he should have listened. His back and shoulder hurt like hell. Not wanting to appear like a weakling himself, he went back for another shot of torture.

The second time he staggered up the steps to the spare bedroom, he felt the muscles in his back spasm. Grunting, he set the cumbersome box on the floor. When he straightened, he couldn’t disguise his wince of pain. Eleanor spotted it.

“You’ve hurt yourself. I told you the trunks were too heavy.”

“If you’ve got nothing better to do than stand around and watch me work, go sew some more buttons on,” Cyrus snarled, in no mood for her
I told you so.

She nodded and left the room without a word—until she hit the stairs. Her “yes, master,” floated up to where he stood.

“That is one mouthy woman,” he muttered, wincing around a grin as he tried to get the kink out of his back. He bypassed the kitchen and went out the front door, not eager for Eleanor to see the results of his stupidity. By supper he was taut with pain, easing into his chair at the table, trying to appear natural.

“What’s got you all stove up, boss?” Pete noticed and asked.

“He carried my steamer trunks upstairs without help. It was a splendid effort but he hurt his back.” Eleanor set a basket of rolls on the table and retreated before he could comment, not returning to the dining hall until the rest of the men had gone for the night.

“Pete said it works on horses.” She set a bottle of liniment on the table. “It should be fine for a stubborn mule.”

“That stuff burns like fire and stinks to high heaven. I don’t need it. I’ll be good as new by tomorrow.” He glared at the bottle.

She nodded with no more argument, cleared the table so he could work and went to the kitchen. He enjoyed the sound of her puttering around but his back hurt too damned bad to go out and see what she was doing.

When he heard her slip up the stairs he was disappointed she’d not said good night. Then, as though remembering the oversight, in a few moments she descended partway and called to him.

“Good night, Mr. Burke. I hope your injury is better by tomorrow. I’ll sleep in the spare bedroom so I don’t disturb you. I appreciate your effort to deliver my trunks.”

Cyrus glanced up to growl a good night and almost swallowed his tongue. She wore a filmy negligee, lavender in color, clinging in style. Plump swells of her pink breasts spilled over the beribboned bodice.

“Thank you for the rolling pin. I will always remember you when I roll out dough.” She was a picture of demure innocence flashing him a smile that went straight to his groin.

I’ll remember you when I roll out dough. What kind of memory is that?
But then he had a mental image of Eleanor flattening pie crust with his kitchen tool in her hand and his other tool buried inside her.
Maybe just wearing an apron.
His cock saluted the idea.

Cyrus groaned loudly as if in dire pain.

In a flash, she came down the steps and stood beside him, smelling the strong contents of the bottle she held.

“Come here,” he said, drawing her in front of him and removing the bottle from her hand. “I like this,” he growled, smoothing the filmy folds of her nightgown over her hips.

“Let me make you more comfortable.” She sank to her knees before him, stroking the rigid member tenting his pants before fumbling his belt open, freeing his cock so it stood tall and waiting. Ellie’s mouth was wet and warm, better than any liniment or medicine she could have concocted.

Leaning forward, she ran her hands up his sore back, kneading the kinks from his flesh as she sucked him. He closed his eyes, groaning in pleasure as her lips and tongue danced along his turgid length before taking him deep in her throat. He came with a shout as her hands worked magic on his back.

Cyrus slumped weakly in the chair, stroking her hair, enjoying the way her head rested on his thigh. He was almost asleep when she stood and patted his arm.

“I need to put some liniment on you and wrap you tight.”

“Just tie strapping around me,” he muttered, wincing as he looked over his shoulder. Damned if she wasn’t standing there with her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed, holding the bottle, still determined to have her way. For once, he had sense enough to keep his lips buttoned, it being obvious Eleanor would win this round.

“There, that should do it.” After rubbing in the ointment and hurrying to get the strapping cloth tied on him, she stepped back and wiped her hands on a towel. “Slide your arm around my waist and lean on me when you’re climbing the stairs.”

Cyrus wasn’t so stiff he couldn’t make it up the steps on his own but he took her offer anyway. Draping his big frame over her shoulders gave him a chance to appreciate her rosy flesh peeking at him from lavender silk.  Once upstairs, when she would have gone to the other room, he turned her in the direction of his.

“Our bed,” he told her. “The damn trunks can stay where they are, but you sleep with me.”

* * * * *

“Neither one of us will get any sleep if this continues.” Eleanor sat up, preparing to move to the other room when Cyrus shifted for the fourth time

“Lie back down and curl around my back. Your heat might make it feel better,” he coaxed.

“Mr. Burke, I think being a warming pad is a highly irregular housekeeping task,” Eleanor teased him but obligingly rolled to the center of the bed and pressed her chest to his back.

“Go to sleep, Ellie.” He put his arm over hers, holding her in place and cradling her hand on his belly.

Curled protectively around him, she whispered softly against his back, “Thank you for your help today.”

His answer was little more than a grunt.

“How old are you, Mr. Burke?”

“Thirty-five,” he said grimly, “and right now I’m feeling every one of the years.”

Eleanor rubbed his back with her cheek, turning her face to plant a kiss on his shoulder.  “So you’ve been alone a long time.”

“Not by a long shot.” He snorted at the idea. “I’ve got men who’ve been here on the ranch damned near as long as me. Beckett and I go back to the schoolyard. We fought each other on a regular basis until it got boring. Then we teamed up and took on others.”

“And your mother…?”

“Rounded up wild strays with me to help me get my start. We did it together. She took sick right after I sold our first herd. I started the house and Sage pitched in, but we couldn’t finish it in time for her to move in.”

“I just wondered,” she whispered snuggling closer, trying to absorb old pain and new.

Her support against his back seemed to be the only thing needed to send Cyrus off into snores. One arm was pinned under her side, the other on his abdomen under his big paw.

Her breasts, molded as they were to his back, were caressed by every breath he took. She squirmed enough to get her arm free, pillowed her head and tried to relax. Finally Eleanor fell asleep, her nose pressed against Cyrus’ back, matching her breaths to the rhythm of his.

* * * * *

She woke at first light, her mind a disturbing mix of confusion. An offer of marriage from a man of Cyrus’ stature would withstand even Grandfather’s scrutiny. It was the simplest means of escape from the scandal she’d fled.

She pulled on her silk robe, glad to have access to her fine clothes again. Fingering the purple garter she’d pocketed, she studied Cyrus where he slept and squashed thoughts of practicality.  She’d married William because it was the sensible thing to do and William had wed her to solidify his bank shares.

The fact that Cyrus prized her for her domestic skills, though somehow less offensive, still galled her. Washing quickly, she hurried to start breakfast, smiling as she contemplated her employer’s maneuvering.

Foiled. Her grandfather’s machinations were derailed by an autocratic cowboy. Her sense of humor—only recently discovered—displayed itself in occasional giddy laughter as she fixed breakfast, stacking the trenchers high and setting them out.

She banged the breakfast bell and then filled the coffee mugs before setting the pot next to Cyrus’ chair. She avoided the dining hall after that, well aware that regardless of the bath she’d taken she reeked of liniment and him. Remembering his injury, she poked her head around the edge of the door to see if all was well and blatantly listened to his story. “She fixed up a hot pad and doused it with Pete’s horse medicine.” Cyrus rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck. “It worked.”

“Eleanor, you’re wearing more liniment than I am.” He must have been listening for the door hinges to squeak. He held the empty coffee kettle out to his side, expecting her to take it while he continued his story.

She refilled the pot and returned it to the table in time to hear his latest declaration.

“I’ve offered Eleanor a permanent place here, boys. She’s considering it.” Cyrus scooted the coffeepot down the line, avoiding her gaze.

“Good.” Bill grunted his opinion, speared a pancake and lifted his cup, saluting her.

“Better mind your manners, boss. We’ve got a lot riding on this deal.” Pete grinned, motioning at the food on the table.

Playful teasing and respectful glances were cast her way as she retreated to the kitchen and stayed there.

“You gonna hide in here all day?” Carrying a load of dirty plates with him, Cyrus joined her after the rest of the men left.

“Mr. Burke, what are you doing?”

“Helping you clear up,” he answered, ignoring the real question.