Heathcliff narrowed his eyes. “Indeed.”
She shook her head. “Scaring the wits out of the poor thing. You should know better,” she scolded without any heat.
“You should know better than to expect much from me.” He shrugged and started toward the study again, then paused. “Mrs. Keyes?” He turned.
The woman folded her hands and inclined her head. “Yes?”
“Can I speak to you in private?” He gestured to his study, just ahead.
“Of course.” She followed him in, then took a seat when he indicated she should.
The fire crackled softly in the otherwise quiet room, and Heathcliff set a stack of papers to the side of the desk before he sat down, facing Mrs. Keyes. “What do you know of Miss Miranda?”
Theoretically, finding out about her history and other information would reinforce the necessity to keep away. He only hoped Mrs. Keyes had some details.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about her, my lord.”
Blast.
Mrs. Keyes twisted her lips, then continued. “She’s very prompt, exceedingly polite, and I’m certain she was a lady of quality at some point in her young life. She carries herself with more grace than any lady I’ve ever seen, though you’d be a better judge than I, with all your experience in London.”
“Indeed.” He waited.
“She’s kind to a fault, never cross as far as I can tell, and has the patience of a saint to deal with Miss Iris. Who, I might add, is a delightful girl as well, simply inclined to more of a stubborn nature, you understand.”
“I quite gathered that.” Heathcliff arched a brow. “So you know nothing of her life before her employment here?”
Mrs. Keyes shook her head. “No. I thought you had that information, my lord.”
Heathcliff leaned back in his chair. The mystery continued. “Thank you, Mrs. Keyes. I appreciate your insight.”
“Not sure how much insight I have, but you’re welcome. If you’re interested, why no’ ask the lady herself?” Mrs. Keyes asked, her brow furrowing.
Heathcliff gave a disinterested grin, the kind he gave to gamblers who tried to convince him of the worth of the collateral they used to place bets at Temptations.
Mrs. Keyes arched a brow, as if awaiting his response, not believing his bravado.
Damn, it was bloody well irritating to have someone read your expressions. He almost had sympathy for the gamblers.
Almost.
“I don’t wish to bring up memories that could be painful,” he lied smoothly.
“You and your tender heart,” Mrs. Keyes remarked, smirking. “Will there be anything else?” she asked in a kinder tone.
Heathcliff shook his head. “You’re dismissed.”
“Thank you.” She stood slowly, then bustled out of the room, shutting the door with a soft click.
Heathcliff folded his hands on his desk, staring at the swirling wood grain but not seeing it. It would be a terrible lapse in judgment to ask Miss Miranda questions. Who was to say she would tell the truth? And while he prided himself in reading others’ body language, women were of a different sort, and his confidence was lacking in that area.
It had been ever since the godforsaken disaster that was his marriage to Margot. Even thinking her name made bile rise in his throat.
It was one thing to marry for convenience; the expectation for affection was low, and if it grew, it was a boon to both.
But his marriage to Margot was of love, at least from his side of things.
The memories flooded back, unwelcome and unwilling to leave till they’d spun their stories. He leaned back in his chair, giving himself over to the torture, to the ghosts that haunted him.
