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Hush, Valentine.
“What did you say?” I croaked.
The man blinked and smiled. “Do you recall anything that happened last night, Mister Anzio?”
“I er…” I rested back on a bank of pillows, only then noticing Rochefort had moved to stand beside a roaring fire. He peered at the fire like a man enthralled, or perhaps I was lost to his. HowhadI gotten here? “I’m sorry. I don’t recall.”
“My carriage ran you down,” Rochefort said, cheek flickering. He turned his head and fixed me with a stern stare. “What on earth were you doing running into the street so late at night? You could have been killed.”
The man… Devere or not… I’d seen him, but… “Was there another…? Another man?” I reached for my aching forehead and found a thick bandage fixed in place. “I was chasing him. Did you see anyone else?”
Rochefort nodded at the stranger—a doctor, I assumed—ordering him to leave. He muttered something to the lord as he left, then shut the door behind him, sealing me alone inside the opulent room with Rochefort. I might have been more concerned if my head hadn’t been ringing like a bell.
The lord propped himself on the edge of the bed, his smile soft, almost caring. “Rest now. You gave me quite the scare, Valentine.” He reached for my face, for the bandage.
I stilled, my thoughts trying to catch up with everything I’d learned. It would appear I owed this man a debt of gratitude. I expected the touch to brush my cheek, but he drew up short, curled his fingers into his palm, and smiled sadly. “Be grateful you did not have to see yourself bleeding in the snow. It is not a sight I’d wish on anyone. There’s more at stake than you know.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that. I am er…” I shifted myself higher against the pillows, grateful for the nightshirt someone had dressed me in. “I confess, I’m not entirely sure what happened.”
“Make it up to me by resting and joining me for dinner, if you’re well enough.”
After he’d clearly saved my life, it would be improper to refuse. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He pushed from the bed and strode for the door. “I’ll have my valet collect your items from the inn. You’ll be staying here.”
The door closed behind him, and slowly, his words sank in.
Oh dear.
I slumped against the pillows and gazed about the enormous room. Rochefort Manor was the last place I needed to be. And the lord, despite paying my fee, was not a man I needed to spend more time with than necessary. As kind as he was, my being under his roof would bring about its own unique challenges.
I’d speak to him at dinner and clarify my stance on our working relationship. He couldn’tforceme to stay.
I closed my eyes, and the heated thumping faded from my head. What a fool I was, chasing ghosts. This was my own fault. Never mind the carriage. What if the man had been real and I’d chased him into the dark? He probably hadn’t even been Devere. I’d warned Devere about walking the streets at night, and I’d made that very mistake.
When I next opened my eyes, someone had drawn the curtains closed and lit the lamps. My clothes had been folded and left at the foot of the bed. I’d slept the day away.
I climbed from the bed, used the washbasin, and dressed gingerly, wincing from multiple bruises. The bandage came off easily enough. I wet my fingers and ran them through my hair in front of the washbasin mirror, then ruffled my bangs, hiding the bruise. I was fine, just a knock. The headache had passed.
Telling the lord I had no intention of staying would not be an easy conversation. But short of physically restraining me, there was little he could do. I had every right to leave.
Taking a breath, I straightened my collar and stared at my reflection. The same reflection in Massalia had smiled more. I tried now but struggled some. A few lines had gathered around my eyes, probably from lack of sleep. Minerva was a hellish place and it showed on my face.
I had no choice. I had to be here. I needed the money, if only to escape back to Massalia with my reputation intact and a business to run. Surviving an overly enthusiastic lord shouldn’t be too hard a task. I’d survived worse.
Someone knocked at the door. “Milord,” a small female voice said. “Dinner is in half an hour.”
I opened the door, startling her.
“Oh!”
“So sorry.” I smiled, finding it easier among company. “Also, not a lord. Please don’t call me that.”
“Everyone’s a lord who is a guest, milord.” She curtsied and tried to turn on her heel and flee.
“Oh, I might…” I began, my words drawing her back. “Would you mind showing me some of the house?”
“Me, milord?”
