That Despicable Rogue

‘Not really,’ he answered as he took off the thick spectacles and tossed them on her desk. ‘I sort of inherited him.’

‘How does one inherit a person?’

‘I bought a building and Reggie came with it. That is probably the best way of explaining it.’ He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall casually, clearly content with this limited explanation.

‘And now Reggie has a seat at your table and one of the best bedrooms in the house? You must think me very gullible, sir.’

A devastating grin split his face and made her all fluttery inside again. She grinned in return, despite her better judgement, her lips curving of their own accord, as if he were a puppeteer and she just a marionette.

‘I can assure you that I am telling the truth—Reggie did come with a building that I bought and I have been stuck with him ever since.’

‘I do not believe you.’ Hannah folded her own arms cheekily. ‘I will have to ask Reggie for the truth.’

‘Ask Reggie—he will tell you the same. I am an open book, Prim. You, on the other hand, are not—and it has not escaped my notice that you have changed the subject on purpose to avoid being asked questions about yourself. Now that we have established that you are not a dour-faced middle-aged woman, I am rather intrigued to know what other little lies you have told me. For instance, are you really a widow—or was that part of the disguise as well?’

Hannah chewed her bottom lip nervously, and then plumped for the truth. ‘I have never been married, sir.’ And never would be. ‘I thought I might appear more believable if I said I had misplaced a husband at some point. I am sorry for that too. I just wanted this job so very much.’

He appeared vastly amused. ‘Did you misplace him in some tragic and gruesome way?’

A rogue giggle escaped. ‘He went quietly in his sleep, sir. I barely noticed his passing.’

When he laughed at her humour she felt a burst of triumph. So many people did not understand her ironic wit.

‘I am sorry for your loss. Tell me, does Miss Preston have a better wardrobe than Mrs Preston? Or do you both prefer to walk around in shapeless brown wool?’

His dig rankled and her good mood soured instantly. She had a few decent dresses, but not many. Thanks to scheming men like him her brother had been bled dry, which had always left her with very little.

‘Whilst the renovations are going on shapeless brown wool is perfectly suitable for a servant, sir.’

Ross sighed as prickly Prim returned with a vengeance. Her cornflower eyes had narrowed and her plump pink lips had thinned again. ‘I did not mean to sound insulting, Miss Preston, so lower your hackles.’

He watched her face colour and her shoulders stiffen and regretted his words instantly. Their brief accord was clearly over. Stating the obvious was hardly going to get her to think better of him—although why he cared about that he could not quite fathom. Even without the spectacles and mob cap she was still a difficult and humourless woman.

He had managed to make her smile twice, though, so he supposed that was some achievement. She lit up when she smiled. Unfortunately it did not appear that it was an event that would happen particularly often—much like an eclipse or a double rainbow.

‘I am sorry that I have lied to you. I can assure that it will not happen again,’ she said crisply.

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