“I will.”
He looked at her, bleary-eyed, then gathered himself. “I’ll have my brandy first.”
“Coffee,” she said flatly.
“You’re a servant!” he snapped, “You do as you’re told or you’re out on the street!”
“I doubt it. Your sister likes the way I dress her hair. And while you’re arguing, the coffee is getting cold. Sit up and I’ll bring it to you.”
To her surprise, he pushed himself up on the rumpled bed, eyeing her balefully as she approached him. Setting the tray across his lap, she stayed where she was, making no attempt to move out of range.
The first thing he did was pick up the coffeepot, prepared to fling it at her, but she didn’t flinch, simply eyed him steadily. After a long, threatening moment, he set it back down. “If I drink the coffee, may I have my brandy?”
She didn’t make the mistake of thinking he had given in. Neither had she. “You can have toast. Rafferty can help you with your bath, and then you can join your mother in the yellow salon.”
“The moment I’m downstairs, I’ll get my own bottle,” he snapped.
She nodded. “I can’t stop you. You’ll have to decide if you really want to keep on like this, useless to everyone, particularly yourself.”
“I don’t see what business it is of yours,” he said sulkily.
“I told you, I don’t like waste. I don’t like to see handsome young men become an embarrassment to their family and society. You’re not too far along the path now that you can’t be saved.”
“And you have the gall to think you can save me?” he said in biting tones. “Who the hell do you think you are, bloody Joan of Arc?”
“No, sir. I’m the ladies’ maid.”
He looked at her, stupefied. “And you have the gall to talk to me like this?”
“Yes, sir.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, and Martina realized her heart was hammering inside the tight dress. This was far from the first time she’d exerted her will on an upper-class gentleman. Those who came to her previous employer’s house were often like little boys, who wanted to be spanked and treated like recalcitrant children. She could simply pretend that Neddy was one of her customers.
No, she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to think of him as a commercial transaction. He was lost, he was broken, he was beautiful, and she was going to save him. Whether he liked it or not.
And then he poured himself a cup of coffee, the brew still steaming slightly, and he didn’t throw it at her, though she knew he wanted to. There was a crafty expression on his face. “Rafferty doesn’t need to help me with my bath—you can.”
It was meant as an insult, but Neddy didn’t know he was dealing with. To her it was a triumph. “Yes, sir,” she said, perfectly amiable.
“And shave me,”
She nodded.
“And bring me my bottle when I’m done.”
She slowly shook her head. “You’ll have to spend the day without it. Unless you don’t think you can do it?” He was a gamester, she knew that much about him, and he would be unlikely to resist a bet.
“Of course I can. I just don’t want to.”
“Really? I don’t believe you can. Would you care to place a wager?”
He was growing more alert as he sipped at his coffee. He surveyed her coolly. “And what of yours would I want that I couldn’t have already?”
She smiled a dulcet smile. “A gentleman’s wager to a lady.”
“You’re no lady.”
“You’re no gentleman.”
