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“Hestia,” she said promptly. At least this was a safe topic of conversation. “Goddess of hearth and home.”
“Oh, no,” he said. “You’re much more interesting than that. You’re more like Diana, the chaste huntress. Then again, what are you hunting?”
That managed to unse
ttle her further. How in the world could he guess that she was looking for something? “I would hardly qualify as a goddess, my lord.” She didn’t bother to gesture to her face—it was there to see quite plainly in the bright sunlight.
For some reason he didn’t seem horrified by it. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice it at all. “You might qualify as Ariadne, for all the clever webs you’re trying to spin. Or you might be Persephone, trapped with an ogre like me.”
“You’re hardly an ogre, my lord, and I’m not trapped. I can leave anytime I choose.”
“Can you?” He sounded doubtful, and that troubled her even more. “I think the closest you could come is Demeter, worried about her lost children. But you’re too young to have children, and besides, you’re a virgin. It must be your… sisters you’re worried about. Brothers would be on their own, but sisters usually require someone to look after them, and I presume your parents are dead.”
He was getting hideously close to the truth. He was a clever man, and he could put clues together. If she wasn’t careful he’d guess who she was before the month was up. She couldn’t let that happen.
“My parents are dead, and I have neither sisters nor brothers. I was an only child.”
“Then who are the people you send your salary to?”
“I beg your pardon?”
His smile was catlike, no longer the dispassionate employer. “You told my wife you were still in service because the money your previous employer left you went to your family. What family?”
Bugger. The forbidden word danced in her head, and she wanted to groan. She should have been more careful.
But she rallied quickly. “My uncle, my great-aunt, and an unending series of young cousins all rely on my help,” she replied. “I can give you their direction if you doubt me.” She flung the last at him, a dangerous offer.
“Oh, there’s no need, my darling Miss Greaves. I know as much as I need to know about your personal life.”
It felt like a slap in the face. Of course the personal life of a servant was of no interest. Even the family life of a courtesan would be unimportant. “Certainly, my lord,” she said, trying to sound meek and almost succeeding. “Did you have any questions? About the household,” she added hurriedly.
“None at all. You manage things quite beautifully, Miss Greaves. I don’t know how we shall manage without you.”
She froze. “I wasn’t aware you were about to face such an eventuality. Have I somehow failed to give satisfaction?”
Something about her commonplace phrase amused him. “You have been admirable, my dear Miss Greaves. So admirable, in fact, that I doubt you’ll wish to stay with us for long. But our household will delight in your presence for as long as you care to grace us.”
She blinked at his flowery words. Too flowery. Unease trickled down her spine and then danced up again, making her throat tighten beneath the stiff, choking collar. “You are too kind, my lord.”
“Oh, my dear,” he said softly. “I’m afraid I’m not very kind at all.”
For some reason that phrase sounded blatantly sexual, and she remembered the vial she had found.
As she remembered the leather folio beneath the mattress. Mr. Peach’s men would be dismantling the place in a few hours, and she needed a chance to get her hands on whatever lay there, assuming he hadn’t removed it, but there was no reason for him to think last night was anything other than a search for something to help her sleep. He’d be much more likely to consider it an approach on her part, but she’d disabused him of that notion, at least for now. He could have no idea how he affected her.
“If your lordship will excuse me, I have a great deal to do. Are you certain you want the yellow chamber? It’s quite small.”
“Yes, but the bed is big, and I’m a tall man. And I certainly want room for a companion. Or two.”
She wasn’t about to rise to that bait. “Certainly, my lord. And I’m sure Collins will let Mrs. Harkins know if she needs to provide an extra breakfast tray. Or two.” Her tone was dulcet.
“Oh, they don’t stay till morning. I fuck women, I don’t sleep with them.”
She stiffened. “I’m afraid I find that word offensive, my lord. I’m not used to language of that sort.”
He smiled at her. “Well, I could say I bugger them, but that’s not true. Usually,” he added blithely.
All right, she conceded. Bantering words with him was a waste of time—he was far too good at saying things to startle her and she had no experience talking to men.
