A Scoundrel by Moonlight (Sons of Sin 4)

Hell, he’d better watch his tongue. At the compliment, the pink in her cheeks deepened delightfully. She had lovely skin, smooth and creamy. It looked as soft as velvet and his fingers curled against the blotter as he beat back the urge to touch her.

“It was only a few minutes, and he was being kind.”

Leath hid a wince at the unspoken criticism that he, in contrast, wasn’t kind. She had a point. Crane hadn’t deserved the reprimand. “My mother doesn’t like novels.”

“She does now. I suggested something more entertaining than those dry-as-dust treatises you send her.”

She was definitely criticizing him, the baggage. “She’s satisfied with my choices.”

At last Miss Trim raised her eyes and looked at him properly. As he expected, there was no fear in her expression. Instead more watchfulness. “That’s what she’d tell you, I’m sure.”

“She likes to keep up with my political career.”

That lush mouth quirked with a faint derision that made him feel like a gauche schoolboy. “Yes.”

An ocean of implication in one short syllable. Because Miss Trim must be aware that just now he had no political career. And if he didn’t keep his nose clean until they invited him back, he’d never have a political career again. Good enough reason, even if he forgot that he was a gentleman, to keep his hands off her, however beguiling she was. And now she’d stopped pretending to be a dutiful domestic with no will beyond her master’s, he found her very beguiling indeed, bugger it.

She was a puzzle. He didn’t like puzzles. But however closely he’d observed her over the last week, he couldn’t work out her scheme. Perhaps she was what she claimed to be, a woman down on her luck.

Perhaps.

“You’re a very unusual housemaid, Miss Trim,” he said and was intrigued that his remark made her uncomfortable. Every instinct shrieked that she hid something.

“Because I suggested that your mother might enjoy a novel?”

“I doubt many of my housemaids could recommend a lady’s reading,” he said neutrally, steepling his fingers and regarding her.

She raised her chin with un-housemaid-like hauteur. She tried to play the self-effacing servant, but she wasn’t much good at it. Something else that made him question her background. Girls went into service young and were trained to become obedient ciphers. There was nothing of the cipher about Miss Trim, and while she wasn’t exactly disobedient, there was an edge to her that indicated she cooperated only so far as she was willing.

“Have you asked them?” she said sweetly, regarding him as unwaveringly as he watched her.

His lips twitched. “No, I haven’t. But I’d still like to know where you developed this extensive knowledge.”

More discomfort. For a woman who lied so often, she was dashed bad at it. “The lady who was my last employer encouraged me to better myself.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So she read you the latest books while you polished the silver?” He didn’t bother to mask his skepticism.

To do her credit, she hardly flinched, although in her lap she gripped the Austen like a lifeline. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m surprised you left this paragon.” He could come right out and accuse her of lying, but where would be the fun in that?

Her lips tightened. “Needs must, sir. Why don’t you believe me?”

He leaned his chin on his joined fingers and regarded her. “Should I?”

“Yes.” She sucked in an annoyed breath and he felt a strange little tug in the vicinity of his heart. The housemaid shell became thinner by the moment. He still didn’t trust her, but he’d lay money that she was closer to her real self now than she’d been since their encounter on his first night home. “My lord, do you find my work unsatisfactory?”

“My mother likes you.” Both of them knew that was no answer.

Her expression softened and he realized that whatever else he doubted, she was genuinely fond of his mother. “I’m most grateful to her ladyship for her kindness. There’s no conspiracy in asking Mr. Crane to help me find something to ease her cares.”

He frowned. “Is her health worse?”

Miss Trim’s gaze became shuttered. “She doesn’t complain.”