Not that his cheeks weren’t already burning. Lifting himself off the bed, he strolled close enough to use all of his height to his advantage, folding his arms over his chest. “You know, this would take far less time and words if you just came out and said, ‘you’re a schlemiel, Aaron.’”
And better for them both if she stopped bringing all of this up, stopped making him relive it.
Miss Lira ignored him. “There, you were robbed and came rather close to meeting an untimely end. Though rumor has it, you broke two noses and a jaw on your way down. And managed to shove an attacker so hard, he fell on his own knife.”
“I’d have been hanged if he’d died,” he said, his stomach turning from the horrible memories. “See? Schlemiel.”
She finally glanced up at him again, her lips spreading into that glorious dimpled smile. “‘Schlemiel’ means all that? This side truly does have the best words. I really should’ve made more forays here earlier.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a finger to shush him, nearly grazing his lips.
Oy.
In his own home. Well, a home leased to him by the synagogue and maintained by the generosity of the community. Including, almost certainly, her family.
“I wasn’t finished.” She folded her hands once more. “The Commission brought you back to Aldgate, ensured you recovered, and found for you what they considered suitable employment, so you’re now—”
“Their pup?” He couldn’t help interrupting again. Because that’s how everyone thought of him—something to feed and house, even use and protect, but never a true adult in the community. At least not one who mattered. Not one who could study the Talmud and contribute to their understanding of the world, or who could amass the funds to keep their people safe and fed in a tumultuous, often hostile city and country. Not one who could make anyone’s lives better.
And certainly not one who could be a husband and father, with a wife and children of his own, for whom he could make kiddush on Friday nights. For whom he could bring home candies or toys or funny anecdotes to make them smile and to whom he could tell the stories of their people before bed. The fun tales, with the monsters and ghosts and demons and talking fish. The ones people like the Liras probably found “provincial” or what have you.
But none of that was possible for him. No, he was just no one, to no one.
Of no value to anyone.
“And here I was always led to believe that we Jews were natural cat people. But that’s neither here nor there.” She curled and uncurled her fingers. “What matters is that the community is misusing you.”
“They treat me fine.” He thrust his hands in his pockets. Because it was true. He had a good life. A far better one than someone who contributed as little as he did deserved.
“I didn’t say mistreating. I said misusing.” She swayed closer, her clean, pressed gown rustling like pages in a new novel. “You’ve been relegated to menial labor, but you have other skills that can be far more useful in the right hands.”
“And those hands would be yours?” His muscles tensed, the air between him and her heating. Why had he even tried to play the villain against this woman?
But before he could make a fool of himself, she stepped back to pace the small space as if she were getting ready to present a heroic monologue. Though princess or not, she was certainly a lead.
“You were right the other day. I can’t expect to find a proper husband, with the attributes I need, who will not, someday, seek to overpower me—no matter how clear I am regarding our arrangement from the outset. Once he has full access to the business and money, my good graces may become unnecessary for success, and any and all control disappears.”
Aaron swallowed. She was not looking to him for a love potion, was she? Even in the low light, her dark eyes shone with a terrifying determination.
“Which is why I need a husband with an additional quality.” She leaned against his table, most likely dirtying her skirt. Not that she seemed to care. Though, he supposed, she’d not be the one to clean it. She pointed a finger at him. “Well, two qualities. But regardless, you are going to help me find him.”
Had she been hit too hard in the head by a falling siddur the prior day? How in the world could he help her?
“I highly doubt that.” He widened his legs, taking up more space in a last attempt to intimidate her.
But she didn’t even flinch, just shimmied a little, as if she was enjoying herself and her power. Which she probably was. “You’re going to find me information, the sort that suitable suitors won’t willingly share, and in return, you’ll be rewarded.”
Huh. She really was full of surprises. And in need of a spy.Nota profession he’d tried. Though one that certainly held more respect than “custodian.” His body hummed with temptation.Foolishtemptation, as it was almost certain he’d muck up whatever she asked as well. And probably get into a heap of trouble. He sighed. Time to talk her out of this. “You want me to make sure your husband-to-be is aboveboard, has no secrets?”
“No.” Her voice edged on exasperated. As if she was being the rational one. “I want to know their secrets and pick the man with the best one—something he’ll desperately want to keep concealed but that will not jeopardize me in any way—to act as a surety.”
Aaron squinted at her. “Come again?”
“That’s how I’ll protect myself. I won’t set out to use the information, but if he breaks our agreement, I want to ensure I’ll still come out on top.” She nodded, her expression guileless, as if this was something perfectly sensible and agreeable to do.
“With extortion? How romantic.” He coughed. Someone should wake Shakespeare from his grave, because Isabelle Lira made Lady Macbeth look downright apathetic.
“Insurance, not extortion. And none of this is romantic.” She sniffed and slapped a hand on the table. “I don’t want romance. How many times do I have to say it for people to believe me?”
