But the marquess instigated the worst traits within her.
Instead of becoming angry, the marquess’ lips twitched. He was amused. By Penny. She had never amused anyone. ‘How easily you judge me, Miss Smith.’
Stiffening her spine, she pulled away from him. ‘It is not my place to judge others, sir.’
‘I don’t know. You seem rather adept at it.’
The room had become insufferably warm. Her skin was flaming with something quite thrilling. The exhilaration of a fight.
‘I am adept at dusting tables, my lord. Folding linen. Polishing silver.’
He tsked, shaking his head slowly from side to side. ‘I’d wager your skills are far greater than that, Miss Smith.’
Penny was momentarily distracted by his gold-tipped lashes, highlighting the unusual hue of his eyes. She almost leaned forward again, her body drawn to him with some unseen force. But she caught herself, locking her knees. ‘My skills are no different than those of any other domestic.’
Lord Renquist’s eyes carried a dangerous magic, sparkling with untold mischief. ‘Never before has one of my domestics accused me of being cruel, ignorant, or both. I won’t let you off the hook, Miss Smith. You made the accusation, now you must defend it with evidence. Come now, you aren’t afraid, are you?’
He was baiting her. And damn it, it was working. Penny cleared her throat and clenched her hands in tight little fists. ‘Surely you must acknowledge that, as your servant, someone inferior to you in power and consequence – indeed, someone dependent upon your goodwill – there is no answer I can give about the worth of my opinions that is both true and appropriate.’
‘I’ve never cared much for propriety. I’d much rather have honesty. Give me your truth, Miss Smith. I’ll forgive your offence to decorum.’
Choking out a hoarse laugh, Penny dared to meet his brazen stare, attempting to discern his motivation. But he gave nothing away. His firm mouth pressed into a neutral line. His brows, several shades darker than his golden hair, raised in what appeared to be honest curiosity.
Fine. If candour is what he seeks, candour he shall have.
‘All right. I believe your existence is carved out of the flesh and bones of your servants, my lord. That your reality is only achievable through our efforts.’
Lord Renquist leaned closer, his face near enough for her to run her fingers over his freshly shaved jaw.
Not that Iwantto do that.
Thank God her hands were clenched at her side as her gaze touched the skin her fingers would never dare caress. His valet had missed a small line of whiskers on his neck. They glistened in the grey morning sunlight, and she found the imperfection perversely satisfying.
‘Can you elucidate exactly in what way my existence is carved fromyourflesh and bones?’ His mesmerising eyes flashed with an unspoken invitation. An invitation she would never accept.
I don’t want to accept it.
The darkness so natural to him twisted and swirled aroundherwords repeated byhismouth. Shockingly intimate, toconsume her thoughts and reissue them with such wickedly different intent. Her flesh and bones becoming a part of him. Not at all what she meant, but still a fascinating proposal.
Hardly! What an appalling idea.
But she didn’t feel appalled.
Penny shivered. This man was dangerous. To be such a blackguard and yet inspire a completely unexpected yearning within her to arch closer, like a sapling caught in a strong wind. No wonder the Devil’s Sons allowed him into their ranks. He could convince a young maid to do any manner of disastrous things.
But not me. I am the master of my own destiny.
Which wasn’t entirely true. Mastering one’s destiny required independence. And independence could only be bought with large sums of money. Money that rich swells like him took for granted and poor maids like her only imagined in their wildest daydreams.
She ignored the pounding of her heart. The sense of fight or flight he inspired within her – evidence of his intrinsic danger – emboldened her. In situations fraught with danger, Penny always chose to fight. It was her greatest flaw. She opened her mouth and let her words fly. ‘I would be happy toelucidatemy thoughts.’ If he could repeat her words, she would happily retaliate. Penny squared her shoulders.
I might be illiterate, but I am not inferior to you.
She refused to back away from him, regardless of his inappropriate proximity. It would be a sign of weakness. And Penny wasn’t weak. She wouldn’t be intimidated by his bigger, stronger body. Even giants could fall with a well-placed knee to the groin, a thumb to the eye, a heel to the kneecap.
But in this situation – standing in her employer’s study, battling with the very man who ensured her livelihood – perhaps words would be more appropriate weapons than fists or feet.
No weapon is appropriate, silly Penny. For once in your life, retreat!
