The very idea made his heart race and the blood rush through his veins.
He felt alive.
Chapter Three
Hortense charged acrossthe near-empty thoroughfare of Piccadilly, the street as quiet now as it was busy during the day, her feet a blur of motion mirroring that of her mind.
She was rattled.
By that man.
Since she’d been hired into the household by the housekeeper, Mrs. Blanche, tonight was her first interaction with the Marquess of Clare. Certainly, she’d caught glimpses of him from afar about Asquith Court as she’d scrubbed marble floors, dusted porcelain vases, and replaced wood in cold, needy fireplaces, invisible to him as any other servant. Which had been fine by her. She would much rather slink about the shadows. From experience, she understood that to be noticed by a master only invited trouble of one sort or another for a servant.
Tonight had been no exception.
Blast.
She’d allowed complacency to set in, assuming that since the master hadn’t remained in his study the last three nights, he wouldn’t tonight. What had Nick always told her?
Past doesn’t predict future.
The possibility existed that an additional factor had lulled her into a false sense of security. The man was Nick’s brother. How dissimilar could they be?
As different as black from white, it turned out.
Not if one went by their looks, however. The men shared a similar height and leanness of person. Dark hair that wanted to curl at the tips. Inscrutable, stormy gray eyes. Straight nose. Cheekbones and chin chiseled from marble. In short,handsome. Nick’s handsomeness had never affected her one way or another. But the brother’s…
His handsomeness was an altogether different matter, one it wouldn’t do to examine too closely.
But, oh, how different in personality was this brother.Arrogant. Condescending.A rich, spoiled lord was all he was.A marquess.
And didn’t he know it.
The impulse to provoke him had come all too naturally.I thought you would be more impressive.Oh, the fire that had sparked in his eyes. What had possessed her to speak such words to the man? She should have simply vacated the room and been done with him.
Yet she knew why she’d spoken thusly.
Because he was rich and spoiled and arrogant and condescending and had his life cinched up in a tidy bow for him. That such a man could get one over on her, well, it rankled. He’d caught her, and she’d lashed out, wanting him to feel the sting he’d delivered to her. For, she could admit to herself, the man possessed a natural impressiveness, an intelligence behind his eyes. She would wager he’d read every book, essay, and treatise in that study.
And about his arrogance, well, she’d always found a bit of arrogance about a person attractive. Not the overweening sort. But an arrogance confident in its own abilities and able to deliver.
The condescension in his low, gravelly voice, she could do without entirely.
Anyway, she was clear of him, having left her uniform folded on the narrow maid’s bed and decamped with naught more than the clothes on her back. She traveled light when on a job. Tomorrow, she would report her findings to Nick—his brother was alive and hadn’t drunk himself to death—and that would be the end of it. Never again would she think about that man whose arrogance and handsomeness might turn her head a bit too much. Under different circumstances, of course.
Tonight, she had Lady Fortescue’s terrier to rescue from a disgruntled former lover. She’d assured the lady that she would have the dog returned to her within a week, the end of which was tomorrow.
She lifted the collar of her rough, woolen jacket and tucked her chin into her neck to brace against the bite of a sudden north wind that April could produce. The townhouse she sought in Berkeley Square was only a few streets over.
Her ear picked up a night sound that wasn’t quite right. Footsteps that had the surety of intention. She glanced over her shoulder.Nick, was her first impression. Then came another quick on its heels. No, it wasn’t Nick rapidly closing the distance. It was the brother.
The marquess.
On the count of three, she whirled and planted her feet wide. He stumbled to a stop so as not to collide with her at full tilt. At close range, she was again struck by how remarkably like Nick he was.
“Clare,” she said, her voice pitched low and hard. Over the years, she’d made more than one person rethink their choices with the narrowing of her singular blue eyes. Witch’s eyes she’d heard them called.
He didn’t flinch. “Call me Asquith.”
