Liam raised a brow. ‘Really? What if I dared you? You seem like someone who enjoys a good dare.’
She swallowed. ‘I enjoy my job, my lord. I won’t risk it by taking any dares. Even when issued by low and dejected marquesses.’ She raised an eyebrow.
Bloody hell.
A worthy rejoinder, using his words against him. If the shape of her mouth was a thorn, her wit was a sharp blade duelling in wicked thrusts and parries.
Damnation.
Liam enjoyed a good sword battle. Which was incredibly unfortunate as he’d come to London determined not to enjoy anything.
‘A pity. I can only imagine what names you might call me.’ He quirked his mouth. How long had it been since he was tempted to smile?
She narrowed her eyes. ‘I hardly think the imagination of a marquess could lower itself to such levels.’
He had always been drawn to tart things. Jagged instruments. Danger in all its forms. This young woman had just insulted him without saying a single inappropriate or rude word. Rather impressive.
As if remembering herself, she folded her hands together in front of her and averted her gaze to the floor near his feet.‘Please excuse me. It is late and I forget myself. Is there aught I can get you from the kitchen before I retire?’ Her words were polite, but she spoke them as though each syllable tasted bitter upon her tongue. Her full mouth hardened in a determined line and Liam wished she would look at him again. Gift him with her bewitching gaze.
Why in all the world was he noticing the shape of her lips for athirdtime? Three times too many for the perfect Cupid’s bow of her mouth to distract him from his thoughts.God’s teeth.He had neither the patience nor desire to trifle with such a prickly, intriguing, entirely-too-captivating young woman.
Not woman. Maid. In my household. Under my protection. Even if I must protect her from myself.
‘I can find my own snack, miss…?’
‘Smith, my lord. Penny Smith.’
Liam placed the lantern on the table and began opening cupboards, hoping Miss Penny Smith would slink away and out of his reach. She was proving far too enticing for a man whose family was inherently incompetent at resisting temptation.
He hadn’t the first clue where his cook would keep the food, but it certainly wasn’t in the cabinet against the far wall, of this he was becoming well aware. Sodium bicarbonate, lye, a few cakes of soap. No meat pies.
‘Are you looking for cleaning supplies, my lord?’ Miss Smith’s brow raised sceptically.
Damn. She’s still here.
First a set down, and now, this. Was she actually mocking him?
She kept talking. ‘Mrs Harding will welcome such esteemed assistance in scrubbing the counters. Indeed, we can all learn something from your mastery of lye and soap. I find them immeasurably useful in ridding the household of filth.’
Yes. She most definitely was. Her tone left no doubt that he was the exact kind of filth she wished to banish from the kitchen.
‘Or perhaps it is food you seek.’ Miss Smith skirted around him, providing a wide berth as she ducked into a small alcove. ‘Generally, it is kept in the larder, my lord. Much cooler in here than the kitchen.’ Her voice echoed from a small distance as he heard rummaging coming from the darkened room to his left.
The larder. Of course.
Idiot!
Liam moved the lantern and sat heavily at the table. So much for trying not to inconvenience his staff.
He rested his head in his hands and exhaled heavily. The next few months would be nothing short of torture, but Liam needed to complete this mission for the Queen, and for himself. To try and destroy the fraternity Reynard worked so hard to enter. To make tangible steps in righting so many wrongs his family had perpetrated against the most vulnerable. His violence might be vindicated if he could infiltrate the Devil’s Sons and burn it down from the inside. Finally, a war worth waging with no innocent casualties.
Miss Smith emerged from the darkness with a platter blessedly filled with fresh-cut ham, several cheeses, an assortment of fruit, and –sweet saints in their cloudy castles– a meat pie. The groan that escaped Liam was almost sexual in its intensity.
Miss Smith’s blush re-emerged and her eyes widened. She was close enough now that he could determine their hue. Hazel with rich brown striations. The colour of the forest. Moss-green and rich earth. Secrets swirled in their depths, mysterious and tempting. They reminded Liam of the cool shadows from the forests surrounding his country estate. His private sanctuary from the world. Pixie eyes full of unheard confessions. Darklashes fluttered as her focus flickered from the table to the platter she carried, eventually landing on his shoulder.
‘I suppose you’re famished, my lord.’ She quickly moved next to him, her wrap brushing against his arm as she bent to put the platter down. Well-seasoned meat was momentarily eclipsed by sweeter scents. Vanilla and cloves and something else. Soap, perhaps. Clean skin and sweet woman re-ignited the fire of arousal in his belly. Liam gripped a fork in his fist, his knuckles turning white as he brutally fought against his desire.
She was not for him. For so many reasons, the least being their vastly different social stations.
