Free Nine Buck's Row by Jennifer Wilde Page B

lunch, and she insisted I spend the rest of the afternoon on my own. After I finished giving Scrappy his milk, I intended to visit Millie.
    The kitten looked indignant when I stepped into the room. He made it quite clear that he didn’t like being left alone, mewing and posturing and making hateful faces at me as I set down the saucer. After I had poured the milk, he examined it cautiously, dipped one paw in, licked the paw, tilted his tiny head to one side and then lunged at the bowl, splattering milk all over the carpet.
    â€œOutrageous animal,” I scolded, pouring more milk.
    As he devoured the milk, I stepped over to the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door, thinking about what Maggie had said at lunch. Colleen had come in to say that Mr. Nicholas had left word he would be gone most of the day. Maggie frowned, reaching for the bowl of spinach.
    â€œIf I didn’t know him better, I’d think he had a mistress stashed away somewhere,” she muttered. “Maybe he does , though after Valerie—” She dished the spinach onto her plate and let the sentence fade away.
    â€œNicky doesn’t like women,” she added a moment later. “Don’t misunder stand me—it’s not that he prefers boys. He carries this bitterness around with him, you see, and—” She passed the spinach, insisted that I have another muffin and said no more about her nephew.
    I stared at my reflection in the mirror, suddenly wishing that I were twenty-eight instead of almost nineteen, wishing I could wear black velvet and ropes of pearls, and wear my hair in sculptured waves on top of my head. Nicholas Craig was a worldly man, rather dissipated and weary of it all, and he would never be interested in a girl with rosy cheeks and clear blue eyes. I hadn’t an ounce of sophistication, despite the worldly knowledge I had accumulated during my years with Marietta. It was utterly foolish to cherish any thoughts of capturing his fancy.…
    I cut myself short, refusing to carry this chain of thought any further. There was no need trying to deny it any longer. I was attracted to my guardian. I was acting exactly the same way Millie acted when she met a good-looking soldier with blond hair and smoky gray eyes. It happened to her three or four times a month, but it had never happened to me before. I didn’t know how to handle it. Last night he had been about to take me in his arms, and I had wanted him to do so. His sudden angry outburst had shattered the moment, and the frustration I had experienced was partly bewilderment and, I admitted now, partly disappointment. I had wanted him to kiss me.
    I was appalled, but I accepted the truth. There was no way to evade it. Very well, I had wanted him to kiss me. That wasn’t so shocking, was it? He was an attractive man, fascinating in his way, and it was only natural that I should have responded to that fascination. But I wasn’t a flirtatious little featherbrain, swooning in ecstasy over a pair of dark eyes and a wide, mobile mouth. I had dignity, and I would maintain it. Nicholas Craig would never know about this. I would nip in the bud any feelings he might have aroused before they blossomed into something stronger. I intended to be cool toward him, civil, of course, but cool, and no doubt I would soon forget this nonsense. Twenty-eight years old and black velvet indeed! What in the world had come over me?
    I was suddenly aware of the silence in the room. A moment before there had been the noisy slurps of a kitten devouring milk, and now the sound was gone. The small blue bowl was empty. The kitten was nowhere to be seen. I glanced around the room anxiously, then spied the open door. He must have slipped out to go exploring. I hurried into the hall, just in time to see a fluffy silver-gray ball scurrying up the stairs to the attic rooms.
    â€œScrappy!” I called. “Come here at once!”
    He ignored me and scampered on up the