Okay, so hecould’vetold Lysander that Tiffany’s beauty made her prideful, but evenhehadn’t realized how cruel she could be.She clearly was only interested in Lysander for his title, and had judged Leonidas on his appearance…
“She needs to be taught a lesson,” Lysander hissed.
Max’s brow twitched in question. “What do you have in mind?”
“I dinnae ken, but I’ll think of something. A taste of her own medicine perhaps.”
Max nodded. “Do you want to make excuses and leave?”
Lysander’s gaze darted to the door. “Too late.”
“There you are, my beauties!” Baroness Oliphant crooned from the corridor. “Come along, we must not keep our honored guests waiting!” As she swept into the room first, Max saw Lysander school his expression into polite interest and tried to mirror him. “Are you ready for tea, milords?”
Both men had stood as they’d entered, and as the three ladies settled themselves—Bonnie looking embarrassed, and Tiffany preening as she tried to catch Lysander’s eye—they sank stiffly back down.
Lysander cleared his throat. “Tea would be excellent, thank ye.”
“Wonderful. My Tiffany is skilled at pouring and will do the honors as soon as it arrives.” How much skill did it take topour tea? “I had to fetch a servant myself to bring it, if you can believe it.”
“Good help is so hard to find these days,” Lysander agreed stiffly.
Baroness Oliphant turned to include her daughters in the conversation. “She was in her father’s workshop of course. Itoldher to stand by in case we needed anything, but you know Ember.”
Ember…wasa serving lass then?
Max cleared his throat. “Her father’s workshop? The inn’s servants also work in workshops?”
Baroness Oliphant waved her hand dismissively. “Ember is a…special case. When I married her father—he was quite wealthy, despite being common, you understand—his fortune revitalized the inn, so I allowed him a small room near the kitchens for his workshop. Ember tries to escape her duties there.”
Lysander didn’t seem impressed. “So this lass is yer daughter?”
Max was grateful, because he couldn’t seem to form words, as he listened to his Ember’s background unfold.
Tiffany leaned forward, her fingers rising to rest delicately against her neck, likely to draw attention to her bare skin. “Stepdaughter, milord. She has always worked as a servant at the inn.”
“Except she is paid less,” murmured Bonnie.
Max sat back in his chair, trying to process this new information. Not only was Emberactuallythe serving lass he’d always believed her to be, but she wasalsothe stepdaughter of a lady? Did that not make her a lady herself?
Is that why she’d gone to the ball?
You were at the ball, and you’re no lord. Maybe she just wanted an evening of fun like you did. Itwasa masquerade.
Max’s thoughts were interrupted by her arrival. Ember stepped into the parlor, her bright hair tucked under that silly cap, and her hands still bearing traces of the oil the engravers used. Shewas carrying a large tray with a silver tea service and a plate of what looked like small cakes.
“Tea, milady,” she intoned in a hollow voice. “Where would you like it?”
As Max leaned forward, trying to catch her eye, her stepmother waved airily. “Set it down beside Mr. DeVille so Tiffany can reach it.”
If he hadn’t been looking right at Ember, he might’ve missed the way she jerked in response to the command. Her face paled, and her gaze swung around to meet his. “Mr. DeVille?” she squeaked.
“Yes, you stupid girl. Put it down beside him. Surely you know the man; he has been our guest for ages!”
Ember’s dark eyes were wide as she stepped toward him, her hands shaking enough to cause the silver service to rattle. He stood and reached for the tray.
Their fingers brushed, shooting that strange electric spark up his arm again, even as she flushed and dropped her gaze to her feet.
“Allow me,” he murmured, taking it from her. She didn’t look up again, but dropped a hasty curtsey, her cheeks flushing red, and hurried from the room.
