It only took him a few more steps. “Most people don’t behave that way when their purchase is wrong.”
She didn’t know what words she’d expected him to speak, but they wouldn’t have been those. “Well, I believe in second chances in this old life.”
“So, your name is Tilly?”
She almost said yes.
Tilly was her name, after all.
Everyone called her Tilly.
But with this man—this handsome, wastrel lord—she might consider exercising a bit of cautious wisdom and establish a more formal relationship from the jump.
In fact, that was definitely the course of cautious wisdom.
“You can call me Miss Birdwell.”
He nodded, taking in both what she’d said—and what she’d left unsaid. But that was a rule in the haut ton, wasn’t it? In his world, a gentleman didn’t call a lady by her given name—even if that lady was a mere woman.
A satisfied smile tickled about her mouth. It felt right nice to turn a rule around on a lord.
“Can I ask you another question?”
“You can certainly ask.”
“Why were you in front of the Duke of Arundel’s manse today?”
She saw no reason not to tell him at this point. “I’m Lady Percival’s lady’s maid, aren’t I?”
“So, you’re employed by Lord Percival, then.”
“Lady Percival is who I answer to.”
He nodded as if she’d confirmed something for him, and Tilly felt her satisfied smile slip and a little knot form in her stomach. This game wasn’t feeling so very fun anymore, for she could tell this nob hadn’t finished with his questions yet.
They’d rounded the corner onto Piccadilly when he asked, “How did you come by an invitation to the masquerade?”
Really, she should have seen the question coming. A surge of outrage had her exclaiming, “What’s this about?” She was attracting no few askance glances from their fellow pedestrians, but she had no care, for she was good and het up. “You couldn’t bully me, so now you’re aiming to get me sacked?” She didn’t wait for his response. “Because I’ll have you know what me and Lady Percival have between us is loyalty, and some wastrel rake lord ain’t going to get between us.”
Silver-gray eyes wide, he lifted both hands, palms out, as if he were attempting to soothe a bristling cat. “That is not my intention.”
Strangely, she believed him.
It wasn’t just the gesture, but the look in his eyes, too.
This son of an earl might’ve been a wastrel and a rake, but he might’ve been an honest wastrel and rake.
Interesting, that.
She realized she was facing him like an adversary. So, while she was looking him in the eye, she took the opportunity to ask, “And what’s your name?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Lord Rhys Osborne,” he said with a slight bow.
Mollified somewhat, she nodded, then started walking again.
“Where are we off to next?”
Lord Rhys looked like he expected an answer.
