“Your tendency to take charge.”
Her shoulders stiffened. “I do what needs to be done, your grace. If you want to call that managing, then so be it.”
“You needn’t take that tone.” He put down his spoon, wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Tell me, Miss Kent, are you always this difficult? Or is it merely with me?”
“No one has called me difficult before you.” At least, not to herface.
“It’s me, then.” His mouth curved in the faintest of smiles. “’Tis only fair, I suppose.”
“What is fair?”
“Given that you seem to bring out the devil in me, it is only fair that I should have the same effect on you,” he said dryly.
She was about to argue that there was no devil in her—but that wasn’t true, was it? Since meeting him, she’d interfered with justice, visited a bawdy house, and engaged in a reckless embrace. She’d discovered her susceptibility to wanton impulses; her once sturdy morals lay in shambles. With a feeling of resignation, she decided not to add lying to the list.
“Fine. We bring out the worst in each other,” she muttered. “Satisfied, your grace?”
He laughed, the husky sound ruffling her senses further. “I believe that this is the first time we have agreed on anything.”
Wry humor tugged at her lips. “We agree that we disagree?”
He gave a slow nod. "To celebrate the momentous occasion—and also because it seems ludicrous not do so at this juncture—let’s skip the formalities, shall we? My name is Alaric.”
“Oh. Well, I’m Emma. As you know.” She fought to keep from blushing.
His smile faded, and his gaze grew intent. “Tell me, Emma, why are you being so nice?”
“I’m not acting any differently than usual.”
“Let me rephrase, then: why are you being nice tome?”
Right. Now that she could see that his health was improving, ’twas time to proceed with the other purpose of her visit.
Alaric was in danger, and he needed help. Ambrose was making some headway, but his interrogation of Alaric’s staff had turned up no clues. Desperately, Emma had begged her brother to let her have a go with the maids. He’d adamantly refused.
“You’ve been far too entangled with Strathaven already,” he’d said sternly. (You don’t know the half of it, she’d thought). “I won’t have you involved in this business any further, Em.”
There’d been no swaying her brother. Once he made his mind up, Ambrose was as stubborn as an ox. This left her one other option. If she could convinceAlaricto let her talk to his servants, then maybe she could find a clue to the missing Lily Hutchins—and save his life.
She had to try.
“Since your life is in peril, I thought we should bury the hatchet,” she began.
“Consider it buried.”
That was easy. Too easy. His expression gave away nothing.
“You know my brother talked to your staff at the cottage—”
“And discovered nothing. As I predicted.”
“It can be difficult for women to talk to men,” she said diplomatically. “On the other hand, perhaps ifIwere to interview the maids—”
“Devil take it, I should have known.” He scowled at her. “You’re like a bloody dog with a bone, you know that?”
“I’m only trying to help,” she protested.
“Why?”
