Free His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish by Louise Allen Page B

seem to be much alternative. If she stayed on the streets she would either be assaulted, taken by some brothel keeper or she would freeze to death.
    Tess slipped her hand though the slit in the side of her skirt seam and touched the reassurance of her purse. Thanks to Alex she still had the stagecoach fare from Margate to London in her pocket and some guilders that she could probably change at a bank in the morning. They were all that stood between her and penury, so she just had to pray that lodgings were cheap.
    ‘What do we have here?’ A man’s voice, so close behind her, had her spinning round. There were two of them.
    ‘Good evening.’ She tried for a confident tone. ‘Could you direct me to a cab rank, please?’
    ‘We can direct you, missy, that’s for sure.’ There was a chuckle as one of them moved round behind her. ‘Right down our street.’
    * * *
    On a cold, dank evening there was nothing quite like the simple pleasure of one’s own chair, by one’s own fireside with a bottle of best cognac to hand. Alex stretched out stockinged feet to the blaze and swirled the glass under his nose. He had the rest of the evening before him to digest a good meal, catch up on his correspondence, read a book...
worry about Tess in that bleak convent
.
    No wide hearth with unlimited coals for her. Certainly no brandy to keep her warm after a plain dinner. He shifted, searching for a comfortable position in a chair that had always been perfect before. She was used to convent life. Just because he’d hate it didn’t mean that she wouldn’t be feeling as though she was home again.
    And surely they’d find her a good position soon, one where she wouldn’t be run ragged by some acid-tongued old woman or harassed by her charges’ older brothers. Who did he know who might be able to employ her? The problem was, he didn’t know any respectable matrons well enough to ask them to employ an unknown young woman without them leaping to conclusions based on his reputation, not Tess’s. One look at that oval face with the expressive blue eyes, that soft, vulnerable mouth...
    She was none of his business. Alex gave himself a mental shake, sat up and reached for the pile of letters his secretary, William Bland, had produced when he’d gotten home.
    ‘The financial matters are all docketed and on your desk, my lord. There is nothing of pressing importance. There are a few invitations despite the fact that your return date was uncertain.’ He’d handed over a stack of gilt-edged cards. ‘And these items appear to be of a personal nature and have not been opened.’
    By
personal
, William meant he had separated out all those with fancy-coloured wafer seals and any that had a whiff of perfume about them. They could wait, too, Alex decided, dropping them back on to the table beside his glass and picking up the invitations again.
No, no, possibly, definitely, no...
    There was the sound of the knocker. Curious. No one, surely, knew he was home yet? Alex squared off the pile of pasteboard rectangles and listened to the murmur of voices from the hall. Because he was away from home so often he did not trouble to employ a butler, and MacDonald, the younger of the two footmen, was on duty tonight.
    The caller was still talking. Alex swung his feet down off the fender and pushed them into his shoes. Damn it, MacDonald was inexperienced, but even he should be able to get rid of unwanted visitors in less time than this. Alex stood up as the door of the study opened.
    ‘A Miss Ellery has called, my lord.’ MacDonald, who had a fine set of freckles to go with his red hair, was blushing painfully. ‘I have told her that you are not at home, my lord, but she says she will sit on the front step until you are. So I have seated her in the front room because she does seem to be a lady, my lord. Only—’
    Hell, what had gone wrong with the confounded female now?
Alex told himself he was exasperated, not pleased. Not anxious.