Filed To Story: Alessia Mistaken as Mistress Book PDF Free
“I suggest you seek assistance on the stairs. We wouldn’t want you to take a tumble and break anything else.”
The following morning Alessia discovered her bottom worked quite well to make her way down the stairs. Sliding her crutches ahead, she slowly, determinedly, made her way to Nicholas’s office. She had only William’s nap time to use. Someone would come looking for her if she wasn’t there when he woke.
Nicholas’s filing cabinets were exceedingly neat and organized, but since she had no idea what Claire’s maiden name had been, the search proved tedious. The top drawers were especially difficult to reach because of the need to balance on one leg and rest often, but after nearly an hour she’d systematically gone through each file and folder without success.
In frustration, she discovered his desk drawers locked, and searched the top of the desk and every nearby surface for a key. Of course it wouldn’t be in plain sight. What would be the point of locking something if the key were readily visible?
William would be awake by now. She would have to discover the whereabouts of the key and return.
Alessia grabbed her crutches and left, sliding the doors closed behind her.
Leda and William took their naps about the same time each afternoon. She would risk less chance of discovery then than in the morning when the maids were cleaning. The following afternoon, Alessia left Mrs. Trent dozing in the rocker beside the crib and made her way along the upstairs hall, checking doors, and investigating rooms.
She recognized Leda’s rooms by merely cracking the door. The scent of violets wafted into the hallway. Alessia closed the door silently and continued her search.
The corridor turned into a separate wing. Alessia hobbled along the hallway, listening for servants, but hearing nothing save the steady muffled clump of her crutches on the carpeted floor.
Massive double doors stood at the end of the hall. Leaning on one crutch, she tested one and it opened.
Maneuvering herself as quickly as possible, she entered and closed the door behind her, noting the maid had already been there, for the bed was made and the chamber conspicuously clean.
The enormous room held a heavy grouping of furniture before a fireplace on one side, a writing desk in the corner, and a massive bed with ornately carved headboard and foot-board on a platform on the opposite side. A matching armoire stood against the wall, and one door led to a dressing room, another to a small, unfurnished room.
Where to start? This was all a waste of time and a foolish risk, especially if Nicholas carried the key with him, which he probably did. But the papers she wanted might be here.
The desk was the most likely place to begin her search. The drawers were unlocked, and unfruitful, occupied by neat stacks of writing paper, pens and ink and an assortment of letters.
Alessia shuffled through them, finding they were all from Stephen. She opened the first one, dated several years previous, and read an account of his experiences at a production in London. The next one related a tale of an interesting woman he’d met in the East, and another the excitement of an opening night for a play he’d been wanting to see in New York.
She replaced all but a few and slipped them into the deep pocket of her skirt. Nicholas wouldn’t miss these, and she would return the remaining missives after she’d learned more about Stephen. The knowledge would be useful when Nicholas tested her again.
The other drawers held nothing of any interest and, disappointed, she headed to the armoire. The scent of freshly starched cotton and linens assailed her. The smell triggered the disturbing memory of being held close against his hard chest, and for a moment the recollection was so strong, she could have sworn he was right there. Guiltily, she looked around, but she was alone.
A unique scent, perhaps something he used on his hair, combined with clean linen and a faint trace of tobacco to represent Nicholas.
Quickly, Alessia went through the drawers, careful not to disturb anything and feeling criminal for going through his private things. The top of the cabinet held a wooden chest. A logical place to keep a key. In one compartment she discovered two roses, one dried, one looking as though he’d placed it there within the past few days. But why? Alessia pulled the dying flower to her nose.
She remembered the flowers heaped upon Stephen’s grave, and the answer came to her. Where had the old brittle one come from, then? The portrait over the fireplace in his office came to mind. His father’s funeral? The sentimentality of the idea seemed incongruous with the stern, untrusting man she knew.
Perhaps a woman had given them to him. She replaced the flower.
A garnet ring in a heavy gold setting, several diamond stickpins, a pocket watch and some gold coins were all she found in the other compartments.
The stand near the bed came next, followed by the drawers in the tables beside the chairs.
A soft gong sounded, and Alessia jumped and glanced around. A clock on the armoire ticked a vigilant accusation. She took her hand from her thumping heart.
This was hopeless. If he wanted to hide a key it could be behind a painting or in any of the hundreds of pockets in his clothing. More and more she leaned toward the theory that it was on his person.
It would be inconvenient for him to come up here to use this desk. And he obviously didn’t keep any kind of business papers in his sleeping area. If he had, they would have been with Stephen’s letters. She would never have access to the key if he carried it with him.
Alessia propped the crutches beneath her arms and prepared to leave. The unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hallway struck terror into her heart.
As quickly as she could, she hobbled in the opposite direction, in a quandary over where to hide. She passed into the unused room just as one of the huge walnut doors flew open behind her, followed by the sound of Nicholas’s angry cursing.
Reaching the privacy of his room, Nicholas swore to his heart’s content. He jerked out of his blood-spattered jacket and tossed it over the valet, his shirt following.
The safety of his workers was of supreme importance to him. He’d been working in his office at the foundry when he had heard the emergency bell and run to see what had happened.
Thomas Crane, one of the metal workers, had been injured when a pulley broke loose and struck him. He’d fallen several feet but had been conscious. Nicholas had immediately taken control of the situation, sending for a wagon and stanching the flow of blood from the man’s arm with his own hand while the foreman fashioned a tourniquet.
He’d accompanied Thomas to the physician in town, and waited while the wounds were stitched and dressed and his ribs were wrapped.
Gruver entered with the copper tub. “Is Thomas going to be all right?” he asked.
“Dr. Barnes said he’d lost a lot of blood and at least one rib was broken, but he thought Thomas would have adequate care at home. He’ll need a couple weeks of rest to get him back on his feet.”
The Cranes had several small children. Nicholas had seen
Thomas’s family at Halliday Iron’s picnic each summer. Even a week’s wages would be sorely missed. He would instruct Milos to see that food was provided over the next few weeks.
Gruver placed the tub on the stone hearth. Two of the maids followed with pails of water, shying away, apparently having heard Nicholas’s angry entrance.
“I’m not going to bite, Mrs. Pratt. You needn’t look like I’ve lost my good sense.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.”
“Don’t bother with more water. This will do. I have a meeting in thirty minutes, and I haven’t time. Lay out my gray serge with the vest, please, before you go.”
He always took care of his own dress, but he was in a rush just now. She hurriedly did as asked and left.
“Can I help you?” Gruver asked.
“Thank you, Gruver. I would appreciate a hand this once.” He stripped off his trousers and stepped into the half-full tub. “Find a shirt and accessories, if you will.”
Alessia heard each terse word from her hiding place just inside the next room. Her heart pounded erratically. A quick glimpse revealed a door she prayed led to the hallway. But her clumsy tread with the crutches on the bare floor would surely echo in this empty room.
Water splashed.
Did she dare attempt to transverse the room? How much time did she have, and whom would she run into in the hall?
The keyhole just below the brass doorknob drew her attention, and awkwardly she bent forward at the waist. The afternoon sun lit the room she peered into, and the gleaming copper tub sat directly in her line of vision. And standing in that tub…
Mercy!
Alessia had never seen a man in all of nature’s glory before.
Nicholas stood facing away from her, scrubbing at his arms and hands, soaping his chest.
The sinewy muscles in his broad back, flexing with each movement, tapered to a narrow waist and the most arresting sight she could ever remember seeing: firm muscled buttocks, strong thighs, proportioned in an incomparable manner that stole her breath.
Mercy, mercy! Her heart hammered so loudly she feared it would give away her hiding place.
He leaned to the side, picked up a pail of water and poured it over his head, the water sluicing down his broad back and strong limbs. Rivulets streamed from his elbows, creating shiny puddles on the stone hearth.
Alessia straightened quickly, heat suffusing her face and neck. She couldn’t stay a second longer. She’d escape now while he was bathing, and pray that Gruver was still occupied with selecting clothing. William might be awake by now, and Mrs. Trent might come looking for her.
Painstakingly, she made her way across the bare wood floor, careful to keep her crutches from tapping. Perspiration broke out on her forehead and down her spine. Any minute he could throw open that door and…and…