“As it is yours?” she had to pertly wonder.
A reluctant smile tugged his lips. “Far from it.”
She nodded her agreement but did take a bite of sandwich. It was a heavenly delight of roasted chicken, cheese, and chutney between two slices of gloriously fresh bread.
Sarah couldn’t remember the last time she’d had anything so delicious. She wanted to stuff the whole sandwich in her mouth and then gobble down more. The tea and sherry was the perfect thing to wash it all down.
So it was that when Mr. Talbert entered the room, she was holding a sherry-laced teacup in one hand, a sandwich in the other, and her mouth was full. In her damp clothing and hair ruined by rain, she imagined she offered a colorful picture, one that such an officious looking man would fail to appreciate.
She was right. He acted decidedly put out by her presence. “Yes, Your Grace?” he asked, pointedly ignoring her.
“This is Mrs. Pettijohn,” the duke said. “Lady Charlene’s aunt.”
“Ah,” Mr. Talbert said. Without turning to Sarah, he gave her a short bow. Not a complete one, half of one. Perhaps more of a quarter of one actually. A quarter of a bow.
“Send for Perkins,” the duke said. “I have something I wish him to do. Have him here as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Mr. Talbert bowed deeply to the duke as if to contrast the respect he had for his employer against his feelings toward Sarah’s presence, and then left the room.
The duke started to put a sandwich on his own plate but then, seeing Sarah had almost eaten all of hers, tossed it on her dish before reaching for another for himself.
Sarah swallowed. “Who is Mr. Perkins?”
“A man I use when I need something done. If anyone can find this Geoff and Charles, it will be him.”
“Even if they have left the country?”
“Perhaps. Perkins is resourceful.”
“I like resourceful.” Sarah took another bite of sandwich. She knew she was gobbling but she couldn’t help herself. She had been actually starving. In fact, she needed to stop eating or else she might make herself ill.
“While we are waiting for him, tell me about Geoff and Charles. Do they have last names?”
“Geoffrey Simmons and, oh, I can never remember Charles’s. It is Italian.” She considered a moment. “Salerno. Charles Salerno.”
“And hair color?”
“Geoff is blond but Charles is dark-haired, as one would expect from a Mediterranean. He is the shorter of the two. Geoff is at least a head taller.”
“Does this Salerno have family in Italy? Would they flee there?”
“I don’t know,” Sarah answered. Egged on by the generous drop of sherry in her tea, another concern came to her. “We should discuss the cost of Mr. Perkins’s services,” she said, trying to be matter-of-fact. “And about your offer this morning.”
The duke stood abruptly.
His sudden movement startled her. She looked askance but he moved away as if restless.
“I believe your expectations of me must be discussed before we go further,” she pressed. Her heart hammered against her chest. There was only one way she could reimburse him for his help.
She’d always believed herself above prostitution and yet, what else did she have to bargain with if not her body?
“This is not a good conversation for the moment,” he said.
He sounded as if he was the uncomfortable one. “Why not?”
He placed his hands behind his back like a schoolmaster. “Do you see where we are? A man doesn’t discuss something like this under his own roof.”
“You brought it up under my roof this morning,” Sarah countered.
