Temptation and Surrender Read Free Page A

took the bull by the horns. “Yes, I know what I look like.” Soft light brown hair with a tendency to curl and a face everyone—simply everyone—saw as sweet, combined with a slight stature and a height on the short side of average didn’t add up to the general notion of a forceful presence—the sort needed to run an inn. “Be that as it may, I have experience aplenty, and I understand the position is still vacant.”
    The butler looked taken aback by her fierceness. He studied her for a moment more, taking in her high-necked olive green walking dress—she’d tidied herself as best she could while at Axminster—then asked, “If you’re sure…?”
    She frowned. “Well, of course I’m sure. I’m here, aren’t I?”
    He acknowledged that with a slight nod, yet still he hesitated.
    She lifted her chin. “I have written references—three of them.” She tapped her reticule. As she did so, memories of the inn, and the notices—and their curling edges—flashed through her mind. Fixing her gaze on the butler’s face, she risked a deductive leap. “It’s clear your master has had difficulty filling the position. I’m sure he wishes to have his inn operating again. Here I am, a perfectly worthy applicant. Are you sure you want to turn me away, rather than inform him I am here and wish to speak with him?”
    The butler considered her with a more measuring eye; she wondered if the flash she’d seen in his eyes might have been respect.
    Regardless, at long last he inclined his head. “I will inform Mr. Tallent that you are here, miss. What name shall I say?”
    “Miss Emily Beauregard.”
     
    W ho?” Looking up from the depressing pile of applications, Jonas stared at Mortimer. “A young woman?”
    “Well…a young female person, sir.” Mortimer was clearly in two minds about the social standing of Miss Emily Beauregard, which in itself was remarkable. He’d been in his present position for decades, and was well versed in identifying the various levels of persons who presented themselves at the local magistrate’s door. “She seemed…very set on applying for the position. I thought, all things considered, that perhaps you should see her.”
    Sitting back in his chair, Jonas studied Mortimer and wondered what had got into the man. Miss Emily Beauregard had clearly made an impression, enough to have Mortimer espouse her cause. But the idea of a female managing the Red Bells…then again, not even half an hour ago he himself had acknowledged that Phyllida could have run the inn with barely half her highly capable brain.
    The position was for an innkeeper- manager , after all, and certain females were very good at managing.
    He sat up. “Very well. Show her in.” She had to be an improvement over the applicant from Newgate.
    “Indeed, sir.” Mortimer turned to the door. “She said she has written references—three of them.”
    Jonas raised his brows. Apparently Miss Beauregard had come well prepared.
    He looked at the sheaf of applications before him, then tapped them together and set the pile aside. Not that he had any great hopes of Miss Beauregard proving the answer to his prayers; he was simply sick of looking at the dismal outcome of his recent efforts.
    A footstep in the doorway had him glancing up.
    A young lady stepped into the room; Mortimer hovered behind her.
    Instinct took hold, bringing Jonas to his feet.
    Em’s first thought on setting eyes on the gentleman behind the desk in the well-stocked library was: He’s too young.
    Far too young to feel paternalistic toward her.
    Of quite the wrong sort to feel paternalistic at all.
    Unexpected—unprecedented—panic tugged at her; this man—about thirty years old and as attractive as sin—was not the sort of man she’d expected to have to deal with.
    Yet there was no one else in the room, and the butler had returned from this room to fetch her; presumably he knew who she was supposed to see.
    Given the gentleman, now on his feet, was