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Her lip twitched. “You are correct, sir.”

“Do you wash and press the guests’ clothing?”

“Not usually.”

“What a relief. I had feared another stain might appear upon my clothing next.”

He thought he was utterly charming, did he not?

“Will you not face me?” he asked.

“I will not.”

“Why?”

“Because it is inappropriate for a maid and a gentleman to speak in such an intimate manner with no one else around.”

“Is that not all we have done?” he countered.

“Precisely why I shall not allow it to continue.”

He fell silent for a moment. “I must be honest with you, Clara, I assumed I would be treated with a little more civility after what I did for you.”

She couldn’t help herself. Looking over her shoulder, she caught the light still glinting in his eye.

“I kept your coal stain and water spillage to myself,” he continued when she didn’t respond.

She knew that was what he’d been referring to, but she simply did not know if she had it within her to thank him. Not after the last forty-five minutes of suffering.

And yet, her parents had raised her with better manners. Even if she was a maid for a short while—heaven-willing—she would regret not behaving as who she was born to be.

Closing her eyes, she finally responded. “Thank you, Mr. Cole, for keeping those...accidents to yourself. I am in your debt.”

“I’d say you are.” Her eyes darted to his smirk. “What shall you do, then, to repay the debt?”

His eyes flicked to her lips, and she gave him a look of long-suffering. “I shall hold these two baskets while listening to you and Miss Bowles flirt as poorly as schoolchildren.”

He laughed. “Forgive me if I do not take your criticism to heart this time. I hardly expect you to know what proper flirting looks like.”

Clara raised a brow. “You do not know me, sir.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You are correct in that regard. But why on earth would I believe that you know what proper flirting is more than myself?”

She turned away with her head held high. “Because I do not throw it out at every insipid woman and her dog.” She paused, casting him a long look. “Unlike some people.”

“Did you just call Miss Bowles insipid? Or did you call her a dog?”

Clara’s lips parted, and she hesitated. “I...Neither.”

He drew two steps closer to better see her. “No, you were speaking of Miss Bowles, Clara. Now you must tell me, which do you perceive her as most?”

His tone held humor in it still, but there was no chance Clara would take the bait. Crossing Miss Bowles was clearly not for the faint of heart. And Clara, while not faint in the slightest, was dependent on keeping her place of work this time.

“I perceive her to be a fine lady,” she finally replied with a raised chin. “One who is perfect for you.”

“And how exactly is she perfect for me?”

Clara gave him a pointed look. “Because she is as willing as you are to waste her affection on rabble.”