The Deceptive Lady Darby (Lost Ladies of London 2)

“And you will allow me to work for one week without wages.” Rose raised her chin and squared her shoulders. It was apparent that the matter was not up for negotiation. “A trial period is necessary to avoid any bad feeling should either of us wish to part company.”

Curiosity burned.

The woman had nothing but the clothes on her back. What possible reason could she have for leaving? Then again, a maid this pretty had every right to be apprehensive about the moral character of her master.

“You certainly know how to strike a deal.” Perhaps her father had been a wealthy merchant and lost his fortune on a string of poor investments. “Although such a bargain appears to work in my favour.”

A coy

smile formed on her lips and he struggled to tear his gaze away. “You have yet to witness the quality of my work, my lord.”

“As Mrs Hibbet has gone to the trouble of finding you a uniform, then perhaps it’s time you showed me.”

Christian gestured to the fireplace. The grate was filthy and piled with ash.

“It just so happened there was a dress to fit,” Mrs Hibbet added.

Rose wore the grey dress like a second skin. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect Mrs Hibbet had hired the services of London’s most coveted modiste. Indeed, the last thing he needed was to give the snug garment covering the new maid’s body any further scrutiny.

“You may leave us, Mrs Hibbet. Rose will return with the coal scuttle and lay the fire for this evening.” He remembered her request to visit the manor. “Once she’s completed the morning chores, you will inform Dawkins he must accompany her to Morton Manor.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Rose offered him a beaming smile. “I promise to be no longer than an hour.”

A deep sense of foreboding gripped him at the thought of her coming within a hundred yards of the place. Evil lingered within its walls. The essence of people's misery contaminated the surrounding air. The asylum closed its doors two years ago, but he could not forget all that had happened there.

“On second thoughts, I shall go with you.” He’d get nothing done while waiting for her safe return. “You’ve lost your way once, and the woods can be treacherous, even by day.”

It was not an exaggeration.

A murderer lingered in their midst. He’d suspected so for years.

Chapter Three

The thought of spending any time alone with Lord Farleigh created a strange fluttering in Rose’s chest. Oh, it was ridiculous. The gentleman possessed such a commanding presence she really did feel like a lowly maid. And now he expected her to clean and lay the fire while he watched.

Her hands were still shaking when she returned to the study with the brush and pan and knelt down in front of the hearth.

While locked in the manor with Nicole, they’d had no choice but to prepare and light the fire in their bedchamber. Even so, Nicole refused to allow her to attend to the task.

“You’re Lady Rose Darby,” Nicole often said to raise Rose’s spirits, to remind her she had a life beyond the prison walls. “You’ll not dirty your hands while I’m paid to care for you.”

But her father hadn't paid Nicole anything for her trouble. She’d given her love and friendship freely. And her reward amounted to untold days and nights spent with a group of spiteful rogues. By now the house would be in chaos, Mrs Gripes’ screeches ringing through the cold corridors while Stokes tore the place apart.

“Are you going to put a rag on the floor to protect the Persian rug?” Lord Farleigh’s words dragged Rose from her reverie.

“Forgive me, my lord, I ... I'm a little distracted today.”

Rose picked up the old sheet and spread it out over the floor.

Lord Farleigh said nothing, but she could hear his shallow breath, sensed his penetrative gaze drifting over her while she swept out the ash and debris. Perhaps that was the reason her limbs were as heavy as lead, why she dropped the brush and knocked over the contents of the pan.

They were green, those penetrating eyes that made a lady’s heart race whenever she found the courage to stare into them. Not the washed-out colour one often mistook for pale blue, but like a rare piece of jade enhanced with flecks of emerald. Rich. Captivating.

“You’re brushing more ash onto your apron than you are into the pan.”

Rose acknowledged his comment with a nod. She didn’t dare glance back over her shoulder. To meet his gaze would only make her task more arduous. Trembling fingers were a hindrance when sweeping.

“Have you cleaned a fire before?”