Danielle glanced at the man snoring on the bed. “Is he… married?” She hoped an angry wife wasn’t about to stomp in and demand answers.
“No!” Lady Daphne looked aghast. “He has the manners of a dockworker. No decent woman would have him.”
Danielle had to laugh at that. “I’ve encountered worse.”
Lady Daphne searched her face. She gave a sympathetic smile. “I’d not thought of that. Is that why you left Lady Birmingham’s employ? Was someone there inappropriate to you?”
“No. Not there, but there have been times… in the past. I’m not unaccustomed to having to fend off drunken louts.”
“You shouldn’t have to do that here,” Lord Cavendish chimed in. “I give you my word, if you stay, my brother will conduct himself as nothing but a gentleman in your presence.”
“It’s quite all right, my lord.” The three of them retreated toward the door. “It’s as I said. I am capable of handling myself.”
“No doubt.” Lady Daphne nodded. “Nevertheless, I apologize again.”
Before the door shut behind them, Danielle spared one last glance at the man sprawled across the bed. When she’d first met Lord Cavendish she had been taken aback at his good looks. Now there weretwoof him? She smoothed a hand over her hair. Perhaps a stint as a lady’s maid in Mayfair might turn out to be an amusing position after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cade groaned and sat up. The pulsing pain in his left hand reminded him that last night hadn’t gone exactly the way he’d planned. He pushed himself into a sitting position and rested his head against the headboard. He was still in his evening attire. He glanced at his hand. It was wrapped in white linen. Who the hell had wrapped it? It wasn’t something he’d been bloody likely to do. He’d had far worse injuries.
He tested his jaw. Damn. The bastard had really got a good blow in. The bloody pulp he’d left the man in attested to the fact that while his assailant may have landed a hit or two, Cade had won the fight. The only problem was, he’d beaten the man so severely, he’d lost consciousness and couldn’t be questioned. Cade had ransacked his pockets and found nothing more than some snuff, a bit more of the paper the urchin had delivered, and a pocket watch. He’d kicked the bastard one last time for good measure, tossed the pocket watch on his chest, and went to meet the man he’d been originally scheduled to meet at a tavern not far from the theater district.
Cade searched his memory. He’d had a bottle of scotch to numb the pain in his hand and face, may have sung a few bawdy songs, and come home at a very decent hour, at least for him. So how did he get his hand wrapped? He searched his memory further. Absolutely nothing.
The door to his room cracked open and a pair of bright blue eyes framed by black lashes and black bangs blinked at him.
“You’re awake?” the voice said in a decidedly French accent.
“You’ve been waiting?” he replied, equally amused and confused.
The door opened all the way, obviously pushed by the French woman’s foot. She carried in a silver tray. “I told Mary I’d bring this up to you.”
“Ah, Mary.… Wait. Who is Mary?” He tested his jaw again.
“She’s the downstairs maid. Don’t you know her?”
“I do not. And I hate to point it out but I also don’t knowyou.I hope to God there’s a pot of coffee on that thing.”
She blinked at him and he looked up from inspecting his wrapped hand and really looked at her for the first time. Dear God. Who was this creature? Straight black hair fell past her shoulders. Bright cobalt eyes blinked at him from beneath a heavy fringe of bangs. Her mouth was too wide to be called beautiful, but it was bright pink and ever so alluring. Her cheeks were like apples, her figure slim though enticing, but it was her stare that arrested him. Like some sort of an inquisitive woodland creature that he might scare off if he moved too suddenly. He did not want to scare her off. Not at all.
“You don’t remember?” she asked, looking a bit crestfallen.
It was not the first time a beautiful woman had said such a thing to him in his bedchamber after an evening of drinking. In fact, it wasn’t the twentieth time, truth be told, but he hoped to God he hadn’t done anything he’d be ashamed of this time, not in hisbrother’sfancy house. “Should I?” he asked tentatively, studying her face.
“You were quite foxed last night.” She moved over to the bed and slid the tray onto his lap. “And there is a pot of coffee here.”
He felt chagrined for having said the thing about the coffee. She wasn’thisservant after all. He glanced down at the contents of the tray. Two slices of dry toast, the pot of coffee, and a small glass of something that looked a bit greenish and that he didn’t recognize.
“My father occasionally drank to excess.”
“You and I havethatin common,” Cade drawled. “I don’t remember my father being sober a day in his life.”
“This is whatPèreliked to eat in the morning,” she continued.
“What is this?” He lifted the green glass.
“Le elixir vert,” she replied with a smile. “At least that’s what my father called it.”
