Nell had arrived at Alloway Chase despising Lord Leath. But that was before she’d listened to him battle with a mother he loved over something he considered important for her sake, not his own.
Mentally Nell kicked herself. His kindness to his mother didn’t mean anything. With his family, the marquess might act the civilized man, but at heart he was a monster. If she forgot that, she was lost.
She stood straight and quiet in the center of the library as he prowled across to sit behind the desk.
“It’s too late to pretend humility, Miss Trim,” he barked, making her start.
When he’d spoken so tenderly to his mother, the beauty of his deep baritone had struck her. Now his voice was like a gunshot. Of course it was; she was a lowly servant. And he didn’t like her, despite those disturbing moments last night when she’d sensed male interest. This morning he’d regarded her like a cockroach in the castle’s pantry. Should the Marquess of Leath ever condescend to visit that prosaic location.
“Yes, my lord,” she said meekly, intending to needle him.
She succeeded. He growled and gestured toward the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.”
“It’s inappropriate for me to sit in your presence, sir.”
“It’s inappropriate to answer back, my girl.”
He had a point. She sat and concentrated on her lap to avoid those intense deep-set eyes.
Last night, his size had struck her as remarkable. Since then, she’d told herself that nervousness alone had painted him as such a powerful physical presence.
It wasn’t nervousness. He was tall and broad and dauntingly muscled. Clearly he found time for plenty of exercise away from his parliamentary activities. The portrait in his mother’s room was of a young man, long and lean and with a touch of innocence in his face. When she dared to glance up, there was nothing innocent about the man studying her over steepled fingers. He clearly awaited her full attention. She shivered and prayed he didn’t notice her disquiet.
“Tell me about yourself.”
The mad urge rose to announce that she was Dorothy Simpson’s sister and she was at Alloway Chase to ensure that he never ruined another woman.
“Well?” he asked when she didn’t answer. “Cat got your tongue?”
She licked her lips in uncertainty and suffered a jolt when his eyes focused on the movement. Immediately she was back in that strange dance of hatred and fascination. She’d been mistaken to think he’d conquered last night’s sensual awareness.
Oh, dear Lord, this was an unholy mess.
“I’m a little frightened,” she admitted.
“Rot.” He arched those formidable black eyebrows. “How did you come to work here?”
She straightened in the chair, which would have put any of the furniture in her stepfather’s cottage to shame. “I’m an orphan.”
“Is that so?”
Her lips tightened. When she’d told his mother that her parents were dead—well, it was true, however kind her stepfather was—the marchioness had overflowed with sympathy. Lord Leath studied her as if reading the layers of deceit beneath every word.
“Yes.”
“And how long have you been alone in the world?”
She couldn’t restrain a faint sharpness. “You speak as if my bereavement is a matter of choice, my lord.”
He bared his teeth. “My apologies.”
She shifted uncomfortably under his unblinking regard, before she reminded herself that betraying her fear gave him the advantage. “My father was a sergeant major under Wellington in Portugal. He died when I was a child. My mother remarried and died when I was fifteen.”
All true. So why did she feel like she lied?
“Where did you grow up?”
“Sussex.” Her first lie. If she mentioned Kent, he might connect her to Dorothy, although he’d shown no recognition when she’d told him her name last night.