Page 67 of The Dueling Duchess

It was bad enough being laughed at by her employee, but Blade’s beast, Angus, was chuckling right along with her.

Cecile was being mocked by a bird, and the sad part was that she deserved both their mockery. What had she been thinking to allow Guy not only into her life, but into her business and even her home?

She was an idiot, and a coward, too, because she was hiding in her office rather than going home—afraid to encounter her newest tenant.

It had been Blade who’d informed her—with eyes as big and round as an owl’s—that she’d just encountered Guy in the book room all Cecile’s tenants and employees were free to use.

When Cecile had confessed that she’d hired him, Blade had begun to laugh. And laugh.

“Are you finished?” Cecile asked icily, when it seemed Blade might be winding down, although Angus was laughing just as hard as ever.

Blade clamped her mouth shut and reached up to scratch Angus’s belly, an action that shut the bird up, too—or at least replaced his chuckling with the far less grating quorking sound he made when he was content.

“I’m sorry,” Blade said, looking and sounding very un-sorry as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I shouldn’t laugh; it’s just—”

“Just?” Cecile prodded against her better judgment.

“I’ve always admired your resolve and strength,” the younger woman admitted.

“Well, now you know I am as weak-willed as any other female when faced with a handsome man,” she retorted.

“It makes you more human.”

“I’ve not noticed you giving in to such humanity.”

Blade only grunted at that, the last of the good humor draining from her face.

Cecile knew that Blade had spent days and weeks in France with Elliot Wingate, but she wasn’t sure what had transpired between her employee and the mysterious spy. They could have been lovers; they could have been enemies. They might be both. The one thing she knew for certain about them was that Blade would never share her feelings for the man.

Cecile made a mental note to ask Marianne if she could winkle anything from her husband about Elliot and his feelings for Blade.

She grimaced. Of course, the next time she saw Marianne—at their weekly tea on Tuesday—she’d probably be far too busy explaining her recent madness to her friend to do much prying.

Cecile shoved that unappealing thought from her mind and turned back to Blade, who was watching her with quiet speculation.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, my dear Josephine, but I’ve made the offer and can hardly go back on my word now.” At least not without looking like a fool. Cecile pointed at Blade. “But the first time he refuses to obey me I will cast him out like a dirty rag.”

Blade nodded, but Cecile could see the other woman didn’t believe her threat. Cecile couldn’t blame her; she didn’t believe it, either.

Well, that was fine—the only person who needed to believe it was Guy, and she would make certain he did.

“I want you to use Guy in all your shows. Don’t worry, I’ll pay him,” Cecile added, earning raised eyebrows from the other woman. Generally, the acts she employed paid for their own assistants, but the more she put Guy on stage, the more money she’d make.

And she refused to feel guilty for that, either.

Cecile studied the extensive scheduling calendar she kept tacked to the wall in front of her desk.

“Guy can also fill in as knee man for Lucy and Nora,” she said, more to herself than Blade.

Lucy and Nora were the Fayre’s two female pugilists—the most lucrative acts after Cecile and Blade.

She also had a magician, some tumblers, and a theatrical troupe, but they took care of their own assistants as they were often highly skilled.

Cecile smirked at the thought; Guy was highly skilled, but not in a way that would earn money on stage.

Stop thinking about those skills! she ordered herself.

“That still leaves him with plenty of time,” she mused, brushing her chin with the quill as she studied the long list of tasks that always needed doing.