“Probably what we all think. She’s plain and poor and sharp-tongued. It’s no wonder she’s still unmarried.”
Something fell and clacked on the floor. She continued to watch the swing of the clock, ticking each plain, sharp second.
“There it is.” A swish of a skirt and the solid sound of a book hitting a palm.
What was he going to do with Kenny’s journal? Half-formed thoughts of him selling it just like the servants raced through her head. She knew nothing about him. He had given her no reason to think he’d live up to his name. And if her own servants were profiting, what was to stop a complete stranger from doing worse?
“Have you read it?”
She squeezed her eyes closed, the sensation of fainting that had become a constant companion in the past few weeks visiting her once more. She’d given him access to everything. In her desperation she had given him actual material that could be used against her family. What had she done?
“Neh, I can’t read. I can do lots of other, better things, though.”
“I’m sure that is true. You seem very diligent.”
Carla snickered. Marietta thought somewhat viciously that the maid likely had no idea what diligent even meant. There was no sound for a moment, and then Carla moaned, low and breathy. The sound of a woman who had experienced the finest of delicacies. The hairs on Marietta’s body rose and her stomach heaved.
“Now be a good girl and collect the other things, will you?”
“Yes, yes, right now.”
There were a lot of shuffles and bumps. And Carla kept giggling. It was an awful, grating sound, like a carriage wheel rubbing against its post.
“Ah, yes, this is perfect. And that as well. You are surely a gift from heaven, Carla.”
The carriage wheel scraped along a jagged rock. “Anything for you, sir. Anything.”
Marietta could stand it no longer. She tiptoed back down the hall, and then stomped back along her path. The maid’s grating carriage laugh came to a halt.
She plastered a fake smile on her face and rounded the doorway. “Ah, Carla, there you are. Please help the men downstairs. They are looking for my parasol. It seems to be missing.”
Her parasol was in her accessory chest, awaiting packing.
Carla looked furious and opened her mouth, but Noble beat her to it. “A good woman can’t be without her parasol.” His tone was offhand, but his eyes didn’t move from Marietta’s—watching her for something.
Carla threw her a look drenched in venom, then turned back to Noble, all sweetness and light. “I will fetch it and return here.”
He smiled, that lazy smile that made him look like a well-contented cat. It obviously made women want to stroke him, if Carla’s reaction to it was anything to go by. And Marietta had to admit that the image caused her fingers to itch too.
She curled her fingers into her palms with enough force to break the skin.
Carla strode from the room without looking at her, and she could hear the maid’s footsteps down the stairs.
“You.” She pointed her finger at him, too angry to care that it was shaking.
“Me,” he said mockingly. “The man who procured your brother’s journal for you.” He threw the book at her feet.
She knelt and placed her hand on the leather cover, her anger and anxiety dissipating like steam to be replaced with confusion and uncertainty. “What?”
“Are you going to tell me that you weren’t standing outside the door the whole time, Marietta?”
She stared at him, uncomprehending. She was so tired all of a sudden—the last seventy hours collapsing in on her without something solid like anger to hold the cards up. Exhausted. And here was a man who completely unnerved her. Who seemed to carelessly flick cards at random, occasionally taking a swipe at the bottom of the stack, destroying the foundation for everything above.
“Well, do you want it?” Something dark laced his tone. “Or shall I leave it here for your loving maid to sell to the highest bidder?”
He was angry with her? What gave him the right? He was the one using his wiles left and right. Her rage returned full force. “I wouldn’t want your efforts to go to waste. Perhaps I should leave you here to sex all the information right out of her.”
“Using me for my physical services, I’m aghast.” His voice was mocking, but there was a dangerous undercurrent. An eddy that threatened to drag her under.
