me...” Was he really considering this? “I will expect you to adhere to my rules.”
“That goes without saying.”
Nevertheless, it needed to be said. “I mean it. Attempt to do things your way, or act on my behalf without my knowledge, and we’re done.”
“I understand completely.”
Did she? Time would tell.
“I will draw up a list of the most important qualities I want in my future bride.” Giving her specific requirements appeared the best way to retain control of the situation. “You will stick to the list.”
“Mr. Bennett.” She looked up at the ceiling and sighed dramatically. “Finding a suitable woman for you to marry cannot be approached with studied calculation.”
He stood. “Then I will bid you good day.”
“Now, now.” The widow sprang to her feet with less grace than usual. “Let’s not be hasty.”
He paused, eyebrows lifted.
“Oh, very well.” She puffed out her cheeks. “Draw up your list, if you must. I will look it over and see what I can do.”
“Very good.” He made his way to the door.
The widow joined him halfway across the room. “You will not regret putting me in charge of your bride hunt.”
He offered a bland smile. “We shall see.”
A tentative knock on the door had him turning at the sound.
“Come in,” Mrs. Singletary called out in a cheerful voice.
The doorknob twisted. The hinges creaked. And then...
Callie Mitchell popped her head through the open slit, only her head, not any other part of her body. Odd. “You wanted me to let you know when it was noon.”
“Yes. Thank you, Callie. But my dear, there is no cause for you to hover in the hallway. Join us.”
Giving her no time to argue, the widow reached around the door and pulled her companion into the room. For several beats, the two women stared at one another. It was one of those silences far more eloquent than words. Clearly something had put them at odds.
Finally, Callie floated deeper into the room. She caught sight of him and froze. “G-good afternoon, Mr. Bennett.”
He gave her a curt nod. “Miss Mitchell.”
Breaking eye contact, she reached down to pick up the large tabby cat threading around her skirts like a black-and-white ribbon. Despite the added weight in her arms, she stood perfectly straight, her spine as unbending as a board, her lips pressed in a flat line.
While she held completely still, and silent, he took the opportunity to study her more closely. She’d pinned back her hair too tightly again. And the dull gray of her dress made her look almost sickly. All she needed was a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of her nose to complete the masquerade of a spinster twice her age.
Reese’s lips twisted in annoyance.
Callie Mitchell was deliberately masking her beauty. A gorgeous swan draped in ugly duckling’s clothing. And she was doing so on purpose. But why?
Why did the woman wish to make herself unattractive?
What was she hiding?
Callie held Lady Macbeth tightly against her for two equally important reasons. The first was so the cat could serve as a kind of furry shield between her and Reese. The other was a bit more practical. Holding the overweight animal gave Callie something to do with her hands.
Oh, but she desperately wanted to reach up and smooth her palm over her hair, to tuck away any stray curls. The gesture would only reveal her nervousness.
No one could know how anxious she felt in Reese’s company, least of all the man himself.
But, really, why was he watching her so intently?
His unwavering focus made her beyond uncomfortable, slightly breathless. Perhaps a little afraid.
Not of him—never of him—but of herself. Of what she might do if he continued looking at her like...like that. His eyes practically bore into her, as though she was a puzzle that needed solving. That if he looked long enough and hard enough he could uncover her secrets.
She shivered at the prospect. He could never know the terrible mistake she’d made in Boston.
If only he wasn’t standing so close, Callie might have a better chance of regaining her composure. She could smell his familiar scent, a pleasant mixture of books and leather and some woodsy spice all his own.
The man should not smell so good. The result left her poised in stunned immobility. And badly wanting to fidget.
At least he seemed equally uncomfortable. He was as self-possessed as ever, but also appeared wary. Of her? Possibly.
Probably.
No doubt her being Fanny’s sister accounted for Reese’s discomfort. But there was something else, too, something much more disquieting than their connection through his ex-fiancée.
“Mr. Bennett.” Mrs. Singletary’s voice broke through the tension hanging in the air. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss before you depart for your office?”
Jerking slightly at the question, he turned to face the widow directly. “No. Our business is sufficiently concluded.”
“I assume I can expect your list by this afternoon.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will work on it later today, as soon as I’ve revised the contracts.”
“That will be acceptable.”
Tucking his leather briefcase under his arm, he squared his shoulders. “Good day, Mrs. Singletary.” He nodded in Callie’s direction. “Miss Mitchell, always a pleasure.”
His stilted tone said otherwise.
Callie didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as she watched him leave the room. The moment he stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him with a determined snap, she set Lady Macbeth back on the floor.
The cat waddled over to her mistress, pawing at the widow’s skirt. Mrs. Singletary ignored the animal and fixed a scowl on Callie.
She winced. “Is something the matter, Mrs. Singletary?”
Fists jammed on her hips, the widow circled Callie, her gaze narrowing over the dress she wore. “I am waiting for an explanation.”
Callie feigned ignorance. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“You are an impertinent, headstrong young woman, Callie Mitchell.” Although she attempted a stern tone, the widow’s lips twitched, as if fighting back a smile. “If you didn’t remind me so much of myself I would be seriously displeased with you right now.”
“Your disappointment would be no less than I deserve.”
The widow’s smile came fully now. “Indeed.”
“So you are not angry with me?”
“I should be, but no.”
Best not to push the subject, Callie decided.
“Cook has several questions about the menu for Friday evening.” Callie moved casually through the room, running her fingers along a stack of books on the shelving to her left. “She seems to be confused as to how many guests will be attending. I told her twelve. She thought it was only ten.”
“Cook is right. You are wrong.” The widow wagged a finger at her. “And that was a wonderful attempt at distracting