Of course, if he hired the new maid for bed sport rather than cleaning his house, that would be a different matter, but it was already too late. And that wretched old woman who’d served as his housekeeper since he’d bought this place would keep her at a distance as well. Prunella Crozier tended to drive off maids and cooks with surprising speed, leaving him living in a state of chaos—the only mitigating factor being her acceptable cooking skills. The house didn’t matter—as long as the ships he commanded were spotless and the food on his table edible, he didn’t care.
He would have to apologize to the girl, he supposed, but n
ot until he remembered where he’d seen her before. His solicitor’s junior partner had recommended her, so perhaps he might have seen her in Fulton’s house. But she’d supposedly worked for his mother, and he’d certainly never been welcome in Mrs. Fulton’s august presence, so he couldn’t have seen her there. There were too many unacceptable things about him: his gypsy blood, his refusal to conform to society’s demands, his past. The impressive amount of money he’d amassed over the years, both from legitimate and questionable sources, would only take him so far.
No, he wouldn’t deal with the girl tonight—the day had been too long, and tomorrow would be soon enough.
It seemed as if his guests lingered forever. Billy wouldn’t abandon him to the Havilands, and old Haviland didn’t seem in any hurry to leave his fine cognac. By the time he’d gotten rid of them he was bone weary, and he sat staring at the fire, knowing he should go to bed, but he was still feeling restless. It was the damned girl beneath his roof that was making him edgy, and he knew it.
Wilf Crozier couldn’t be trusted to properly damp a fire, so Luca kicked the blaze down and set the grate in front of the coals. Fortunately warm weather was coming, and maybe his delectable new maid would be better at laying fires. Though he could think of other things she might be good at laying.
He shook his head, both to toss off the effects of the whiskey and to negate the temporarily lustful thought. Not for him.
He started up the stairs, turning down the gaslight as he went, moving through the shadowy hallways, silent as the thief he’d once been. He’d just reached his room when a bloodcurdling scream tore through the quiet house.
He could come to full attention no matter what state he was in, and he immediately knew where the scream had come from and who had made such a hideous sound. He slammed open the hidden door to the attics and bounded up the stairs in the darkness. There was only a faint glow at the top to guide him, but he had eyes like a cat, and he could see when there was no light at all but the faint pinprick of the stars above an ink-black sea. The screaming had stopped, and he wondered if someone had cut the idiot girl’s throat when he heard the panicked whimpers coming from the room on the left.
He charged in, only to be brought up short, frozen.
She was sitting up in bed, her long, silky dark hair loose around her shoulders, though one side was partly braided, as if she’d been disturbed in the act. She was wearing a soft white nightdress of some sort, too thin for the chill in the attics, her eyes were wide in fear, and she’d stuck a small fist in her mouth to silence the noise she’d been making.
He had a knife drawn, and he whirled around, looking for a possible assailant. There was no one there but the two of them, and as she stared up at him she looked, if possible, even more frightened.
“What the bloody hell is going on?” he roared, his heart beginning to fall back to normal.
She opened her mouth to say something, but only a tiny whimper came out. She cleared her throat, stammering something he couldn’t understand.
He shoved the knife back into the narrow sheath, glowering down at her. “What?”
“B-b-bats,” she stammered.
“Oh, sweet Neptune’s briny pants,” he swore. “Is that all? I thought you were being murdered.”
Belatedly she seemed to realize her compromising position. She leapt out of her narrow, sagging little bed and quickly took the threadbare cover off it, wrapping it around her. A shame, too, as the moonlight coming in the window had outlined her silhouette quite nicely, and spending time with Gwendolyn always made him randy as a goat.
“Beg pardon, sir,” she said, and her voice had changed subtly, sounding a little more like the rough North and less cultured than her original tones. Granted, one stammered word wasn’t enough to be sure, but she’d done the same thing that afternoon when the sailors had been pestering her. Moved between Mayfair and Lancastershire with suspicious ease. “I’m mortal feared of bats.”
No, it wasn’t quite right. He could see her eyes, and while he had no doubt she was honestly frightened, he could see a tiny hint of calculation in their depths, as if she wanted to be certain to say the right thing. Too late for that, my girl, he thought grimly.
“I’m afraid, Miss…”
“Greaves, sir,” she said, going for a little more North-country in her voice. “M-M-Mary Greaves.”
And his name was William Kidd. Then again, his name certainly wasn’t Thomas Morgan, though he’d taken the last name in honor of one of England’s most famous pirates. But what reason would the girl have for giving the wrong name?
“Is your stammer permanent, or simply as a result of flying rodents?” He saw her inadvertent shiver, and knew that at least her fear of bats was very real.
“I’m that sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to disturb you. They surprised me, is all. The moon came out from behind a cloud and one flew across the room…”
“You’ll have to get used to them until I can get someone in. I can hardly have you sleeping on the second floor.”
“Of course not, sir.” She sounded even more panicked at the thought. Jesus, the girl was afraid of her own shadow. Except she hadn’t been afraid this afternoon, when she ought to have been. She’d been defiant and outraged. “It just startled me. I’m all right now.”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” he said dryly. “Is this your first day here?” He knew perfectly well it was—he never would have kissed her if she’d been in his house previously.
She blinked, obviously disconcerted. So she’d expected him to recognize her? Far be it from him to fulfill expectations. “Y-yes, sir.” The stammer again, he thought. She hadn’t stammered earlier in the day.
“Well, Mary Greaves, I hope you don’t make a habit of screaming in the middle of the night and waking me from sleep. I’m a lenient employer but there are limits.”