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“It is always preferable to have less than cordial discussions in private,” she conceded with a slant of her head.

A rotted curl sprang loose and dangled near her cheek. She shoved the errant strand behind her ear and pretended not to notice the corners of Mr. Rutland’s mouth twitching in amusement.

“But regrettably, as you witnessed, it is not always feasible.”

Never mind that today was the first time she’d ever engaged in that manner of hostile discussion with anyone.

He levered upright, crossed to a table, and picked up a white porcelain cat figurine. It appeared small and fragile in his callused, sun-browned hand.

“You could’ve remained silent,” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Ignored Athena’s comments.”

Her cruel barbs and foul insults?

Naturally. Because Purity was a servant. She was expected to courteously accept whatever abuse was hurled her way.

Why did Mr. Rutland’s attitude surprise Purity?

His ilk always favored bluebloods and aristocrats over the working class. They believed themselves superior in every way, even when their conduct spoke otherwise.

“I wonder, Mr. Rutland, would you have done so had your parentage been publicly disparaged?”

He lifted a shoulder and replaced the figurine amongst the others.

Purity pitied the maid assigned to dust this room. Every surface overflowed with knickknacks.

“As it has never happened, I cannot say.” Hooking his thumbs together behind his back, Mr. Rutland faced her. “Are you?”

Taken aback, Purity gaped, unfamiliar heat rushing over her.

Was Mr. Rutland truly asking if she was illegitimate?

How crass and intrusive of the codpate.

He wanted the truth, then he could have it. Purity had nothing to hide nor be ashamed of.

If others judged her because of her parentage, there was nothing she could do about their ignorance or small-mindedness but hold her head up.

“I honestly do not know. I was raised in a foundling home.”

Arrogant toad.

That was all she would say about the matter. It was none of his business.

“But if I were, Mr. Rutland, would what I wish to tell you be of less import?”

“No. You remind me of someone, is all. Though I cannot recall at this precise moment who.”

He cocked a black eyebrow, his blue eyes penetrating in a manner that made her uncomfortable. Not afraid, but aware of him in a way she should not be.

“You are a governess?” He put a fingertip to another cat figurine—this one lying in a fur bed. “Yes? Where are your charges?”

Purity gave a cautious nod. “I am, for over eight years. I work for Viscount and Viscountess Ceddes. They collected their children for an outing this morning and aren’t expected back until this afternoon.”

So much for the coveted hours to herself.

An air of boredom emanating from him, Mr. Rutland folded his arms. His biceps bulged against the coat fabric. Given his bronze-skinned and muscular physique, Purity could not help but wonder if he was given to physical exercise.

She’d never witnessed Lord Ceddes exerting himself beyond lifting a wine glass or a cheroot.