“We were considering posing as servants to investigate her household.” Fiona arched her brows. “How is your disguise as a footman, sir?”
“At the risk o’ sounding boastful, your ladyship.” With startling ease, Devlin switched into the persona of a cocky manservant. “Ain’t much I ’aven’t done in my previous line o’ work. I reckon I can pull it off.”
“Splendid.” Fi clapped her hands together. “Charlie, if you could let Mrs. Snelling know to expect a new footman and maids?—”
“Unfortunately, I have need of Devlin elsewhere,” Charlie said. “The four of you will have to handle the Snelling case on your own.”
Livy angled her head. “Are you putting him on another case?”
“It is a private matter. One I am not at liberty to discuss.”
Charlie did not like the speculative glint in the Angels’ gazes as they looked between her and Devlin. Nor did she approve of Devlin’s smirk, which was intended, no doubt, to further the wrong impression. Straightening papers on her desk, she rose.
“If there is nothing else, ladies, I have a professional concern to discuss with Devlin.” Her tone was as warm as a Siberian breeze. “It concerns his employment.”
The Angels’ eyes widened.
“Well, then.” Livy cleared her throat, jumping to her feet. “We shan’t keep you.”
Once the ladies had exited, Devlin came over, facing Charlie over the desk.
“If I didn’t know better, I would think I am about to get sacked,” he said.
Beneath his insouciance was a darker undertow of anxiety. The rigid tension of his shoulders betrayed him as well. Charlie thought she knew why. When she interviewed him for the job, he’d disclosed a dishonorable act he’d committed during his previous job. But he had redeemed himself, and moreover, taken a bullet for Fiona’s husband, the Earl of Hawksmoor, the colleague whom he’d wronged.
Hawksmoor had obviously forgiven Devlin, recommending him for Charlie’s position.
In Charlie’s book, Devlin had done penance enough.
“I am not firing you,” she said. “On the contrary, I was thinking of making your position permanent.”
Devlin blinked. “You want to keep me on?”
He looked like a child who had just received a surprise gift. Entirely unlike the urbane rogue he wanted the world to think he was. Something inside her softened.
“You have proved your worth. If you wish to take the position, it is yours. With a caveat.”
He quirked an eyebrow.
“You will stop flirting with me.”
He cleared his throat. “I, er, beg your pardon?”
While calling a spade a spade was not the most comfortable approach to solving a problem, it was effective.
“You know precisely what I am referring to,” she said bluntly. “You are in my employ, and there are boundaries that should not be crossed. Last night being a prime example.”
He had the grace to flush.
“Things got out of hand,” he muttered. “I pray you will forgive me.”
“As I said in the carriage, we both bear some responsibility. But I will be on guard in the future, and you must be too.” To indicate that the matter was put to rest, she sat, gesturing for him to do the same. “Now on to business.”
Devlin’s gaze bounced between her pretty pink chairs. A furrow appeared between his brows. Gingerly, he lowered himself onto an embroidered cushion as if he feared it might collapse beneath his weighty masculinity.
She refrained from rolling her eyes.
“Meet me tonight at the Boar’s Head,” she said. “Nine o’clock.”
