Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“Alessia, for heaven’s sake. It was a pleasure to hear you play. You can play anytime.”
Even if you do have a boyfriend.
She stares at the floor, and I can’t resist. Stepping forward, I reach out and gently tilt her chin so that I can see her face.
“I mean it,” I say. “Anytime. You play so well.” And before I can stop myself, I let my thumb trace her full bottom lip.
Oh, God. So soft.
Touching her is a mistake.
My body responds immediately. Fuck.
She draws in a sharp breath, and her eyes grow impossibly large.
I drop my hand. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, appalled that I’m pawing the girl. Though Caroline’s words come back to me.
She likes you and doesn’t want to give herself away.
“I must go,” Alessia says, and not bothering to remove the scarf from her head, she scoots around me and bolts for the front door. As I hear it close, I notice that she’s left her boots. I reach for them and rush to the front door and open it. But she’s disappeared. Looking at her boots in my hand I turn them over and I’m distressed to see that they’re so old that the soles are worn thin.
Hence the wet footprints.
She must be penniless if this is what she’s wearing. Scowling, I take them back to the kitchen and glance through the glass door that leads out onto the fire escape. The weather is fine today, so even in her trainers her feet won’t get wet.
What on earth possessed me to touch her? That was a mistake. I rub my thumb and forefinger together, recalling the softness of her lip. Groaning, I shake my head. I’m shocked and embarrassed that I’ve overstepped the mark with her. Taking a deep breath, I go to join Oliver in the drawing room.
“Who was that?” Oliver asks.
“My daily.”
“I don’t have her on the roster of employees.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Yes. How do you pay her? With cash?”
What the fuck is he implying?
“Yes. Cash,” I snap.
Oliver shakes his head. “You’re the Earl of Trevethick now. She’ll need to go on the payroll.”
“Why?”
“Because Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs will take a dim view of you paying cash to anyone. Trust me, they’re all over our accounts.”
“I don’t understand.”
“All employees have to go through the books. Did you organize her?”
“No. Mrs. Blake did.”
“I’m sure it won’t be a problem. I just need her details. She’s from the UK, yes?”
“Well, no. She says she’s Albanian.”
“Oh. Then she may need a work permit to be here—unless she’s studying, of course.”
Oh, shit.
“I’ll get the details for you. Shall we discuss the rest of the staff?” I ask.
“By all means. Shall we start with those who work at Trevelyan House?”
* * *
Alessia runs to the bus stop, unsure why she’s running or from whom. How could she have been stupid enough to get caught? He said he didn’t mind her playing the piano, but she doesn’t know whether to believe him. He may be calling Magda’s friend right now to have her fired! Her heart pounding, feeling confused, she sits on the bench to wait for the bus that will take her to Queenstown Road station. She isn’t sure if her increased heart rate is from her mad dash along Chelsea Embankment or from what happened in the Mister’s apartment.
She caresses her lower lip with her fingertips. Closing her eyes, she recalls the delicious jolt that went through her when he touched her. Her heart somersaults once more, making her gasp.
He touched her.
Like he does in her dreams.
Like he does in her imagination.
So gentle.
And tender.
Isn’t that what she wants?
Perhaps he likes her….
She gasps once more.
No. She cannot think like this.
It’s impossible.
How could he like her? She’s just his cleaner.
But he helped her into her coat. No one has ever done that before. She stares down at her feet.
Zot!
She realizes that she’s left her boots in the apartment. Should she go back and retrieve them? She has no shoes except the pair she’s wearing and her boots, one of the few possessions she retains from home.
She can’t go back. He’s meeting with someone. If she angered him by playing the piano, he is sure to be angrier still if she interrupts him. She sees the bus in the distance and resolves to collect her boots on Friday—if she still has a job.
Her teeth toy with her upper lip. She needs this job. If she gets fired, Magda might turn her out on the street.
No, that will not happen.
Magda wouldn’t be that cruel, and Alessia still has Mrs. Kingsbury’s and Mrs. Goode’s houses to clean, though neither of them has a piano. However, it’s not just the piano that Alessia needs—she needs the money. Magda and her son, Michal, are emigrating to Canada soon. They will join Magda’s fiancé, Logan, who lives and works in Toronto. Alessia will have to find somewhere to live. Magda charges her a pittance of a hundred pounds a week for the tiny bedroom, and from her research on Michal’s computer she knows this is a bargain. Finding other lodgings in London for so little is going to be a challenge.