Page 8 of The Secret Suitor

“I am unprepared,” Wesley said. “But I shall fetch my own things.”

Millie started for the door, hoping her collar hid the blush rising on her neck. It was impossible to look at Wesley without imagining him standing at the looking glass, shaving blade in hand. The flex of his back muscles as he drew the blade over his jaw. The steadiness of his gaze while it tracked her through the mirror. How he had not even remotely blushed.

Clearly, Wesley Prescott’s composure was impenetrable. His dignity and restraint were second to none.

More to the point: where the devil had his valet been?

His heavy footsteps followed her up the stairs, and she had never been so aware of the way she walked. Did she look ridiculous from behind? Why did she care? Wesley surely was not looking.

Once she reached the first floor where her bedchamber was located, she made her way down the corridor as though completely unaware she was being trailed. Pretending Wesley was not there did not make the sounds of his footsteps fade or the prickling on the back of her neck subside.

When Millie turned into the smaller corridor and made it to her door, she stopped. Betty had left the room before her this morning, and Millie distinctly recalled the snap of the door closing behind her when she went to breakfast. Yet it stood slightly open, a crack of light filtering past the thick wood.

“Is there a problem, Mildred?”

She tossed a glare over her shoulder. Oh, how she hated her given name. “Yes.”

“Why are you hovering outside your door?”

“Because…I am trying to…remember what I came up here for.”

“Gloves,” he said. “And a muffler, if you have one. It is frigid outside.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.”

Wesley moved until they stood side by side, staring at her door in silence. He rocked back on his heels, watching her. “Now that you’ve been reminded of your purpose, why won’t you go inside?”

“Hmm?” She glanced at him, bending her neck in order to see his face. His deep green eyes were the color of the pine boughs they were about to hunt for, and they were fastened on her in his steady, unblinking way. “I…um…wanted to wait for you to go first.”

He was not so easily persuaded. “Why are you acting strange, Mildred?”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

She frowned, wrinkling her nose, and his eyes dropped to it. “My door is ajar,” she said.

Wesley’s forehead wrinkled. “Which is concerning to you.”

“Not if my maid has returned after I left for breakfast.”

“But you do not believe she has.”

“Why would she? I know how many tasks she must attend to this morning.”

A small furrow formed on his brow. “Shall I accompany you inside to inspect the room?”

Millie swung her attention to the door, drawing in a sharp gasp. “Wesley!”

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “To ascertain if there is any danger.”

“What if we are seen?”

“Who else sleeps in this corner of the house? We are entirely tucked away.”

“I haven’t any notion.”

“Since it is silent now, I think we are safe. The people in these other two rooms are likely outside hunting for greenery. We will be swift.” He was unruffled to such a degree that Millie felt silly for holding to her fear. Besides, Wesley was nearly a brother to her. That ought to count for something.