Eoin swallowed to wet his throat as he debated his next words. He hated revealing anything about himself, especially his treatment in his own residence. Yet his past and even current experiences were pertinent to the search. “Miss Wick is not entirely incorrect. The servants remain loyal to my grandfather and will not confide in me. I also cannot easily ask my own family for information.”
“Why not?” Hannah asked, and Eoin appreciated her directness. It made it easier for him to answer in kind.
“My grandfather made their inheritance contingent upon menotreuniting with my maternal relatives.”
Something shifted in Miss Hannah’s grass-green eyes. Thankfully, it looked more like compassion than pity.
“Well, that’s a miserly dictate,” Lord Percy observed, and it took all of Eoin’s training to maintain his stoic expression. The man clearly meant to commiserate with Eoin, but his words only cut.
“That presents a problem with my original plan,” Miss Hannah said quickly.
Eoin wondered if she was simply returning the conversation to its initial course or if she’d detected his discomfort. If so, it was kind of her to offer a distraction.
“How?” Miss Sophia asked. “I think it is time you elaborate more.”
“Well, I planned to pose as a maid. That way, I would have an excuse to poke around various rooms and to converse with the staff. But if I also need to pry information from Eoin’s relatives, I require a more elevated position.”
“What if you posed as a relation?” Lord Percy suggested. “My parents always have visitors popping by, and I always forget who’s who.”
“That would not work,” Eoin said, his voice sounding stilted even to his own ears. He wished to stop talking about his strained relationships. Moreover, he did not like the concept of Miss Hannah posing as a family member, not with the way his heart pounded just by standing near her. “My paternal side is not large, and even my uncles would notice if a new relative suddenly appeared. For obvious reasons, I cannot claim that Miss Wick is from my mother’s side.”
“A governess, then?” Lord Percy tried again. “They do occupy that odd in-between sphere between family and staff.”
“There are no children in my family.” Eoin kept his tonemodulated and hoped that he wasn’t showing any signs of irritation. The man was only trying to assist.
“Perhaps a companion to one of your aunts?” A new voice spoke up. Eoin turned toward the speaker and instantly recognized Lady Calliope, a daughter of a duke herself and a renowned poetess.
“I am not sure if my personality would fit that of a companion,” Miss Hannah said slowly. “But I suppose I could try.”
Eoin gave a quick shake of his head. He couldn’t fathom this bold woman demurely fitting into the ducal household. “My Aunt Joan would not accept a companion chosen by me, and my Aunt Eliza does not tolerate strangers well. New people make her exceedingly nervous, and she spends most of her days locked away in her room.”
“What if you invited houseguests over and included Hannah?” Lord Percy offered excitedly.
“He is still in mourning,” Lady Calliope pointed out.
“Not to mention that the servants would not be inclined to share information with me if they thought I was a nob,” Miss Hannah said.
“It would also be suspicious in other ways,” Eoin added. “My aunts and uncles are well aware that I only associated with my grandfather’s contemporaries.”
“Perhaps we’re trying to think too conventionally.” Miss Hannah began to rapidly tap her foot as a decidedly mischievous expression spread across her lightly freckled face.
“What are you considering?” Miss Sophia’s voice carried an almost palpable wariness.
“What if I posed as Foxglen’s mistress?” Miss Hannah asked as she shot him a decidedly wicked smile.
Wanton fire blazed through Eoin’s body, and his mind immediately filled with images of Miss Hannah, her luxuriousred hair unbound, her chemise slipping to expose a creamy white shoulder, her hand reaching to stroke his face as she lay beneath him on a feather mattress, her kiss-swollen lips parting…
Egad! What was he thinking?
The woman had saidposeas his mistress, and he was already undressing her in his mind. He’d never considered himself a scoundrel, but perhaps he’d never faced temptation.
“Did—did you just say my mis-mistress?” Eoin was stammering again, but he couldn’t help it. Miss Hannah had a knack for upsetting his internal balance.
“Yes. Your mistress. I know I’m not a typical courtesan for a duke, but that only plays into my scheme,” Miss Hannah said as if she were discussing dinner ingredients rather than debauchery. But then again, she wasn’t proposing an actual illicit affair—just the trappings of one. “You needn’t look so poleaxed, though. I am sure a man of your status has had mistresses before—”
“No.” The single word squeezed out of Eoin as the last of his iron-clad composure rusted away under Hannah’s spell.
Eoin heard a few smothered chuckles from the folks gathered along the long tables. The famous playwright and theater owner Alun Powys seemed particularly amused by the exchange.
