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“You know we have not even been introduced. You should not address me so.”
“No doubt you miss the days when you were my lady.”
“Now who is proclaiming to know someone,” she shot back.
He chuckled. “Very well. I shall keep my assumptions to myself. But you have run into me twice and are skulking around my gardens in a disguise. I think you have forgone any demands for propriety.”
“I believe given your unapologetic behavior at the ball, propriety is not your first concern anyway.”
“Ah, yes, how is your shoe? Recovering well I hope. How will you manage without that one shoe? Will you seek comfort in the hundreds of other pairs you no doubt own?”
Her frown deepened. “This might be a laughing matter to you, but this is about the reputation of my sister.”
Valentine’s smile dropped at the tremor in her voice. She cared deeply for her sister it seemed. A quality he did not mind admiring, even if it was one of the few good ones she possessed.
“I do not believe Mr. Harper would take his life either,” he stated.
She stilled, glancing around as though she could not quite believe what she was hearing, then peered up at him. A butterfly drifted past while she stared, nonchalantly unaware of the critical analysis that seemed to be buzzing through her mind. He shouldn’t care but there was something uniquely intriguing about what went on behind those eyes. He supposed he could put it down to her manner of dress and disguise. After all, it was an unusual thing for a lady to do and warranted at least a little curiosity.
Only a little, though. As soon as he had discovered her plot, he wanted her gone.
“You do not?” she finally spluttered.
He nodded.
“My sister said he talked of his love for a young woman briefly. I want to find out more.”
He nodded again. “Me too.”
“I want to be your servant.”
The words hit him like a lightning bolt to the mind. Blinding him. Tightening his muscles. He could not decide whether to laugh in her face or simply walk away. His mind flooded with images of how it would be to have her in his employ. Never mind how ridiculous it was to have a duke’s daughter as his servant. How would he survive having this brazen woman in his house for any length of time?
“Impossible.”
“I have a way with people.”
“No doubt,” he muttered.
“Maybe not with you but you are an exception.” She pressed her lips together and moved her hands to her hips as though analyzing him like some strange new species discovered in a wild jungle somewhere.
They were both analyzing each other, it seemed, and he could not help but admit she had him more intrigued than he would have expected. He’d had his fill of spoiled, self-involved society women who cared for nothing more than the next ball or scandalous piece of gossip, even during his short time in Society. Women just like Mrs. Whitaker had effectively killed his father and ensured his sister did not get the care she needed. Women who meant his nephew had never be claimed as his.
Despite all this, he held his breath and waited for whatever absurd statement she had to say next.
“I can find out things you cannot,” she insisted. “Let me be your servant and I shall find out more. I shall find out who truly killed Mr. Harper.”
“What do you even know about being a servant? You shall be discovered within moments. I doubt you have even lifted a finger in your father’s house let alone come to understand the role of a maid.”
“I see you have me marked as entirely useless and lazy but that is simply not true. I know the value of hard work, my lord.”
“Oh yes. All that embroidering, and piano playing, and calling on one’s friends,” he drawled. “So much work.”
He expected her to run away then. For her cheeks to pinken and for her to gather her skirts and flee. Instead, she moved closer, thrust her chin upward and met his gaze firmly.
Damn it, did she have to make him admire her again?
“We just established we know nothing of each other’s lives, Lord Kendall. I am entirely capable of performing the duties of a maid and I have never been fearful of work.”
