Page 62 of One Night with a Rake

“Georgette, this inquiry is likely—”

“I think, under the circumstances, you should refrain from using my Christian name.”

He stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted a second head. Then his complexion darkened. It didn’t take much whimsy to imagine that little wisps of steam were escaping from his ears. He stood and leaned toward her with his knuckles pressed against the pristine tablecloth.

“Under the circumstances?” The softer he spoke, the more menacing he sounded. “You mean the fact that we rutted each other’s brains out last night? Those circumstances?”

Whatever this was between them crackled in the air like heat lightning. It devastated her, hollowed her out like a rotten oak, still green on the outside, but weak and dying within. Since she didn’t trust her voice to make a reply, Georgette twisted the napkin on her lap and wished the floor would open and swallow her whole. She willed herself to feel nothing.

“Very well, my lady.” His tone managed to turn the title into a curse. “This inquiry is likely to involve persons of exceedingly low caliber, lower even than your estimation of me, so if you think I’m going to allow you to lark along endangering yourself and—”

He was treating her like a child. Anger flared in her belly. Yes. That she could let herself feel.

She rose and leaned across the table, glaring right back at him. “If you think you have anything to say about where I go or what I do, you are deluding yourself, Lord Nathaniel.”

He straightened to his full height, then reached into his pocket for a pair of dove gray gloves and tugged them on. An unpleasant grin stretched across his handsome face. “Regardless, you won’t be accompanying me this morning.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because first I’m off to O’Roary’s gymnasium to find a replacement for Bagley. Then I’ll nip down to White’s to question Lord Gobberd. He’s the gentleman from whom I won that misbegotten house of ill repute in the first place. And thank God, both O’Roary’s and White’s still do not allow members of the fair sex entrance to their fine establishments.”

He nodded curtly and strode from the dining room without a backward glance.

***

“Mr. Humphrey, a word in your ear.” Mrs. Thistle, the housekeeper, cornered the steward at the door to the below-stairs dining hall. Before the sun rose, members of the household snatched pieces of toasted bread or a bit of leftover tart to tide them over till the Family was dressed, fed, and set to embark on whatever sort of doings quality folk filled their idle days with. The staff was beginning to assemble for their late breakfast now during the lull between launching their employers’ day and serving the midday meal.

“What is it?” Humphrey asked the housekeeper with brusqueness. No one could be served till he took his place at the head of the table.

Mercy lingered near the pantry where he and the housekeeper were, tucking stray locks of her hair up under her frilly mob cap.

“Well, I’m not rightly certain, but I thought as you ought to know about this. When Hildie went to make up Lord Nathaniel’s bed this morning, she found she had to change the sheets.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “There was a bloodstain on them.”

“Has the gentleman been injured in some way?”

The housekeeper shook her head. “I’m afraid the blood likely wasn’t his.”

Mr. Humphrey’s brows rose. “Do you think the gentleman has meddled with some of the help?”

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Thistle said, tapping her front teeth with a neatly trimmed fingernail. “I shouldn’t like to think so, but Dora, that new scullery maid, seems a bit flighty and she was heard to remark over and over what a fine figure of a man that Lord Nathaniel is.”

Humphrey glanced over at the girl, who’d taken her place near the foot of the table across from the bootblack boy. “That’s not enough to accuse her. I’ll speak to the staff during breakfast on the importance of maintaining professional distance from the family we serve. And its guests. And—I say, Miss Atwood, where are you off to?”

The lady’s maid had snatched up a scone and headed for the back stairs.

“I thought I heard my lady ring,” Miss Atwood said, one foot on the lowest step.

“No bell has sounded.”

“No? I was certain I’d heard a little jingle. Well, I should check in any case, shouldn’t I? Just to make sure.” Without waiting for his answer, she bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

***

Lady Georgette’s nose was red when Mercy slipped into her chamber.

She’s been blubberin’ and no mistake.

But the lady wasn’t the sort to let anyone see her tears. Instead, when she noticed Mercy, she covered her nose with her hanky and blew it like a trumpet.