When you returned to the townhouse that afternoon, you brought with you three things: the bag of smutty books, a painfully fake smile, and the caustic aura of impending death.
“Mr. Reeves.” Your voice was dainty as any virginal ingénue. “Where might I find our employer?”
The footman smashed himself flat against the wall. His finger pointed to the study faster than fire consumes dry tinder.
“Thank you,” you replied with a bow before storming down the hall.
As you passed the kitchen, Alex screeched to a halt in the doorway. He began to protest his near trampling but snapped his mouth shut at the ghoulish expression on your face. When you reached the study, you knocked twice.
“Enter.”
Just before you slammed the door shut, you heard everyone in the hall shuffle off to anyplace else.
Inside the office, Sicarius was standing at his bookshelf, finger gliding over the titles. Despite being fully dressed this morning, his black blazer was conspicuously absent. A pinstriped silver tie was loose around his neck, and his shirt collar was open to the bottom of his pectorals.
“Any promising titles?” he asked, nodding to the bag.
You set the bawdy books on his desk with a firm bang. The drawers rattled. “Enough,” you insisted.
“Enough?” He raised a brow as a cocky smile dashed across his lips.
“Button up your shirt.” An accusing finger pointed at his bare, well-sculpted chest. Your voice was flat as a squirrel under a tire. “We need to have a chat.”
Sicarius whistled, pushing the book in his fingers back between its brethren. He put his hands in his pockets and strolled across the room. Perching himself on the front of the desk, he draped one leg over the other. Blue eyes sparkled with mischievous delight.
Your nostrils flared. With a snarl, you grasped the front of his lapel and stuffed the buttons back into their holes. Furious fingers twisted his tie into a hard knot and cinched it tight to his throat. Shaking hands clutched the fabric as you pulled his cocky face to yours.
“As was discussed during my initial interview, I am a proper maid, not some street cat purring for your attention.”
His eyes drifted into a dreamy stare as he brought a hand to your cheek. “And yet I have always been tempted to call you kitten,” your master declared. “Would that upset you?”
You slapped his fingers away. “You are an unrepentant scoundrel!”
He pointed to the bag of books. “Would you prefer a sea captain? I do own a fleet.”
Your nose curled in disgust. “Do not confuse me for some starry-eyed waif who you can impress with your pretty figure, your preposterous finery, or your petty flattery.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
You jerked his neck hard. “I am here to clean your house, read your books, and serve your tea. Pandering to your bizarre proclivity for sexual harassment is outside the scope of my services.”
“How would you like a change of position then?”
The tie slipped from your hand. “How do you sleep with yourself at night!?” you shrieked.
“Sleep? You think I sleep?” Sicarius threw his head back and cackled like a storybook villain. “Why do you think I asked my maid to read to me?” he sputtered through cheerful tears.
“Whatever sordid fantasies you had for me can go straight to—”
“Now, now.” Sicarius patted your shoulder. “There is no reason to call marriage ‘sordid’ just because you were widowed so young.”
You froze. “Excuse me?”
“I am hardly the man to ask for forgiveness regarding such things. You will need to take that up with the clerics.” He grinned. “Or was that not what you meant?”
With your lips pressed in a firm line, you watched him as a cat watches a squawking crow: simultaneously puzzled and alarmed.
Large hands groped for the brass ring of the right desk drawer. From it, he extracted a small oval box with gold trim. The crystal clasp flipped open with the flick of his thumb. Inside was a platinum sapphire ring with a round yellow gem embedded in a halo of marquise cut blue stones. The shape was reminiscent of a lotus blossom.
You staggered backward, staring at the jewelry as if it were a viper.
Sicarius looked from you to the box and back again. “Well, I told you I wanted to avoid diamonds.” He huffed. “Mrs. Gause’s dinner conversation is as relentless as it is vapid.”
That ring… that thing had to be five years’ salary!
Sicarius pushed off the desk and took your quivering hand in his. Your eyes bulged. He kneeled to the ground. The insufferable smirk on his face softened to a pleased grin. As he slipped the ring onto your left hand, bitter words flew from your lips.
“Stop with your games!”
“Games?” Soft lips pressed against your fingers. “Let me assure you, this is not a game.”
“Everything is a game to you,” you muttered.
Sicarius sighed. “After all we have been through, you still do not love me, do you?”
Love? Was he joking or delusional? You had only known the man a few months! First that “love at first sight” business, and now this. Sure, he was attractive. Yes, the attention was not entirely unwelcome after all these years of celibacy. However, a fleeting crush on a pretty face was far removed from “marriage material,” let alone heart stopping, world ending, die-for-you love. Even with Piotr, that took time.
You tried to pull your arm out of Sicarius’s grip, but his hold was tighter than a vice.
“Do you remember what I told you when we first spoke?” His warm thumb stroked over your cold knuckles. “I told you that, ever since I read the professor’s letter, I wanted you.”
The ring sparkled on your finger in the same way his eyes glittered in the lamplight. Its weight reminded you of the one Piotr had given you. A painful ache forced the air from your lungs.
“You are everything the professor was, you know? Astute. Efficient. Hardworking.” He waved his tie at you. “A bit spiteful at times, but I find that rather exciting.”
You shot him a suspicious frown. “You want a spiteful companion?”
“Say what you will, but I miss his barbs.”
“You are completely illogical,” you muttered.
“Really? I thought that marrying a woman whose company I enjoy was very logical.”
The pounding of your blood made your ears ring. Stars. He might be a debauched eccentric, but he sure knew how to make a woman feel wanted. Maybe you should just—
No. Impulse decisions were for children. Even if he was being truthful—
Sicarius raised his index finger. “If you insist on logic, then let me point out you would not need to worry about money or housing ever again. That is worth something, isn’t it?”
Well, a broke, unemployable widow could hardly argue the merits of financial security, but…
As you stared at the sapphire’s rich blue facets, your body felt heavy with the weight of reality. Marrying a man meant wedding yourself to his entire life. For a gamekeeper like Piotr, that meant loving his dogs, keeping a modest home, and providing a willing ear for a rainy day. For a wealthy man like Sicarius Estrova, the task would be monumentally different. Keeping a social calendar, managing a full estate, winning favor through charm and poise; those were things expected of a society wife. Those were the costs of wearing his ring.
Specters of doubt haunted you, spewing their cruel gossip into your burning ears. The tactless harpies from the funeral would be only the first in a long parade. Again and again, each one would repeat what you already knew: a ring like that did not belong on the hand of a maid.
Fingers balled into tight fists, you looked him dead in the eye. “I can not.”
Sicarius raised his brows. “Can not?” He hummed. “Now, that’s an interesting choice of phrase. Can not over will not. I wonder…”
“Let go of my hand.”
He wrinkled his nose at you. “I will not.”
Shock quickly morphed into a deep scowl. “Let. Go. Sicarius.” You yanked back against him with each punctuation.
“Sicarius?” His groan was low and erotic. “Oh, I do like the sound of that…”
More than your heart throbbed at the sensual tone in his words. However, adrenaline and good sense pushed that to the side in a few quick beats.
“Release me at once!”
The unflappable man climbed to his feet, pulling your wrist to his chest. His steady pulse thumped low and slow against your hand. As you tore at his fingers, a cocksure grin split his cheeks.
“First, we need to talk about can not. I find it a rather amusing little phrase.”
You raised your free hand, palm wide for the slap. In an instant, your other wrist was wrapped in his clutches. Above the taunting sneer, his eyes swirled with fiendish calculations.
“You see, will not implies a refusal to do so but can not means the inability to complete a task even if one desires it.”
“Release me at once, or I will not hesitate to bite you!” you fired back.
Sicarius leaned over you, and his hot breath fanned across your face. As he drew near to your cheek, your skin caught fire. The master studied the goose pimples on your neck. His pulse quickened against your fist.
“You can not threaten me with a good time, kitten.”
Your jaw dropped. “What is wrong with you!?” you demanded.
Never releasing your hands, he tapped your nose with his pointer. “Why should I elaborate? You will not.”
Your head spun. Eyes raw with angry tears, you finally snapped. “I can not marry you because rich men marry fine ladies, not maids!”
“Holding my money against me are you?” He snorted. “In all my years, only you and Professor Campbell have done so.”
A quick yank pulled you chest to chest with fine silk. Wide eyes stared into his wild grin. Just before your lips met, he whispered, “I do not want a fine lady. I want a good woman.”
Sicarius’s caramel sweet kiss was tantalizing and slow. Your body melted like sugar over a flame. He nipped at your mouth, letting soft skin coax you under his spell. Deep inside your core, a spark of something long forgotten flickered to life. When he pulled away, you fell into his chest. The silver-tongued fiend loosed your hands and wrapped his arms around your waist. With delight, he added: “—and the woman I want is you.”
The sincerity of his words was like an ice pick to the cold cockles of a frozen heart. It had been years since someone said those words to you. When Piotr mumbled them, your whole body tingled. Now, when Sicarius declared them, your knees buckled.
He poked the tip of your nose, pushing you out of your thoughts. When you looked up, he waved his hand in a prompting circle. “This would be the part where you say yes?”
Slowly, your head shook back and forth.
He curled his finger under your chin. “Well, even if you do not love me, it clearly is not a lack of attraction creating your hesitation.”
“I—” You gulped, forcing your wobbling knees to stand. “I am not a society wife. I do not know how to manage a household or how to dance or how to hold silly conversations or how to flutter my eyes like some”—you snarled in frustration—“bejeweled butterfly!”
He laughed. “I do not recall listing those talents amongst my requirements.”
You stabbed a finger at the door. “Society does not approve of people like me marrying people like you. In their eyes, I will always be some money-obsessed social climber. What kind of life is that for either of us?”
“Is that all?”
You glared at him. “Oh, yes. Just utter social ruin. That is all.”
Sicarius moved his hands from your waist to your shoulders. He turned you around and sat you in the large, plush chair opposite his desk. As the fabric sank beneath your bottom, your knees rose above your thighs. He rested his elbow on the arm and raised his fingers one by one.
“One: Ellsworth can teach you management, and I am confident you’ll be a better student than Reeves. Two: I can teach you to dance. Three: I like your conversation the way it is. Four: Georgette can dress you and teach you all the eyelid fluttering you want. Finally,” he winked at you, “I will simply tell everyone seeing my maid bent over my desk was too good to pass up. They will just chalk it up to my eccentricity and go along.”
“Y-you… Oh, Stars…” You buried your steaming face in your hands. “I beg you not to repeat that in any sort of company, reputable or otherwise.”
“Can I repeat it in your company?”
You groaned. “This day can not get any more bizarre.”
A finger tapped you on the shoulder. You looked up. Sicarius pointed to the ring, then to his nose, and then fixed you with a toothy smile.
This man was clearly a bit touched in the head. He could make any excuse he liked but what sane person would rush into a lifetime commitment like this? It was almost like he—
Oh… Oh, no. Seriously? The man was in his forties. There was no way… right?
As you eyed his childish excitement, the hairs on the back of your neck rose.
“You have never been married before, have you?” you murmured with astonishment.
He shrugged. “I never found anyone else enticing enough to propose to. Why do you ask?”
Stars above. Sicarius Estrova, the eligible bachelor of Coriland, really only wanted you? Okay, that was as precious as Piotr sleeping with his puppies.
“Are you going to keep falling like this?”
Butterflies fluttered in your gut. Your voice was halting and cautious. “Do you even understand what it takes to be in a marriage? It is not some happily ever after from one of your books.”
“What it takes?” A wicked look overtook his face. “Oh! Are you worried about my performance in the bedroom? If so, let me assure you that I—”
You slapped your hand over his lips. “Please, for the sake of my sanity, stop talking.”
A warm hand engulfed yours. As a wet tongue slid up your palm, you rocketed backwards over the side of your chair.
“Stop it!” you yelled.
“Well, how else was I going to prove the point without talking?”
“Listen here you farcical pervert—”
“Farcical pervert?” He snorted. “The professor does nice work. You are better than a thesaurus.”
Shaking hands ripped the ring from your finger and flung it at his face. Sicarius snatched it out of mid-air as you stormed to the door. You depressed the handle. The crack to freedom widened. All at once, a pale arm reached over your shoulder and snapped the door shut. Sicarius leaned against the exit, his mouth hovering above your ear.
“I am sorry.”
You crossed your arms.
“I enjoy teasing you. Your reactions are entertaining.” He turned your cheek to face him and gave you an apologetic grin. “I went too far with the sex jokes.”
“Yes, you did,” you replied flatly.
“I can not promise you that I will not upset you ever again. I am far from perfect.” The master reached down, taking your hand in his. He slipped the ring back onto your finger. “I can promise you that if you marry me, you will not be bored.”
“What if I prefer being bored?”
His eyes glinted. “You do not.”
A snort of laughter flew from your lips. You glanced across the room. On the smooth desk sat a brass and enamel phone. Rebecca’s face flashed across your mind.
Sicarius’s eyes followed yours. “If it would help you decide, you are welcome to borrow it and call a friend.”
As he read your mind, your cheeks burned. “Servants do not use the master’s phone for personal calls.”
He lifted your hand, bringing the ring to eye level. “Do you really think I hold to those types of rules?” His other arm slinked around your waist, scooping you off the door. Sicarius guided you across the room and pulled his chair out. You grimaced and lifted your skirts. He pushed the chair forward and rolled you to the desk. The huge wooden frame made you feel like a child.
“You may call as many people as you like.” He patted your shoulder. “I will be in the parlor if you need me.”
When he turned his broad back towards you, your throat felt tight. You parted your lips to object, but it was too late. As the study door clicked shut, the sapphire ring sparkled in the afternoon light. You groaned and set your overheated forehead on the desk. Still reeling from the world’s most ludicrous marriage proposal, you stared at the telephone.
“Do you think financial security and a handsome husband is worth all his nonsense?” you asked the machine.
Indifferent to your plight, the rotary phone sat on the desk in silence.
With an exhausted sigh, you snatched up the mouthpiece. Stuffing your finger in the zero, you spun the dial.
“Operator,” greeted the woman on the other end.
Your uniform skirt wrinkled in your grip. “Please connect me to The Worn Elbow Pub in Illestrad.”
“One moment, ma’am.”
As the line hissed in your ear, you clenched your teeth. Nervous eyes searched the clock for the time. Three in the afternoon. Would she even be there? Was she at the factory today? Should you call back later or—
“Worn Elbow Pub,” a male voice answered.
“Lee? Is Rebecca there?”
“Oh!” Mr. Baylord, the proprietor of the bar, yelped into the phone. “Stars! Of all the people who would call! Wait… I thought you liked sending letters better?”
“I do!” Nervous laughter filled the line. Your toe dug into the floor. “It is just… Well… I have a very odd situation and—”
Lee gasped. “He proposed, didn’t he! Oh, I knew it!” His voice was muffled, but you could still hear him calling across the room. “Becca! Re-be-cca! Get over here! You owe me a foot massage!”
“Y-you were betting on this?” you stammered.
“Yup, and I won!” Lee crowed. “Becca thought it would be sooner, but I told her you were a bit gun shy. Besides, spring is more romantic. Tell me he got you flowers! Oh! Wait. Here she is. Hang on.”
The other end of the line popped with an excited squeal. “About time!”
“You were betting on this!?” you demanded.
Rebecca huffed in mock annoyance; the undercurrent of her voice brimmed with glee. “Why did you think I told you to hold out for the coin?” She paused. “You did hold out, right?”
You snarled into the mouthpiece. “I did not ‘hold out for the coin.’ I was blindsided!”
“Yes, yes. Thank the stars your rich boy-toy doesn’t mind someone oblivious,” she replied dismissively. “Cough up the details, or I am breaking up with you.”
You sunk into the chair, massaging your aching temples. “I fear for your children.”
“Pish posh. They’ll grow up stronger this way. Now, what did he do? A carriage ride? Romantic dinner? Bent you over the staircase and—”
“No!” You coughed as the dry air hit your throat. “It was not romantic at all! He sent me to buy some smarmy books.”
“…which ones?”
“Rebecca Jane Baylord!”
“Sorry! Sorry! Go on!”
You sighed. “When I got back from being utterly humiliated, I went to his office and told him I would not tolerate this behavior anymore.”
“Ooooh! The feisty approach!” Lee called from the background. “Good idea! Treat ‘em mean and keep ‘em keen.”
“Lee. Darling. She’s trying to speak.”
You scowled at the receiver. “Rebecca, he wants me to marry him! I can not be a society wife!”
“Of course you can. Just complain about how good help is so hard to find these days. Then you can slather on that judgmental stare, and you’ll blend right in.”
Oh, you had a judgmental stare slathered on, all right.
“Please be serious for a moment,” you whined. “What would you do if you were in my position?”
“You mean if I was a poor widow being blackballed by decent society and some handsome, rich, crazy man told me he wants to marry me despite all that?”
Thank you, dearest Rebecca, for that rambling piece of sarcasm.
“Does he hit you?” she asked.
“No.”
“Has he ever touched you more than you were comfortable with?”
“Yes, several times. That is part of the—”
“Under your clothes?”
“Well…” you curled the cord around your finger.
“Well…?” She sounded too excited.
You cupped the phone speaker, face ablaze with shame. “He… he reached up my skirt and took my stocking off when I fell from the ladder.”
Lee whistled. Rebecca hushed him. “But nothing more, right?” she asked.
“It was quite enough!” you argued.
“Exactly how far was he from your undergarments at the time?”
“Rebecca!”
She clicked her tongue. “Exactly my point. He could’a, and he didn’t.” There was a small pause and a hum. “Is he as romantic as Piotr?”
“I do not want a fine lady. I want a good woman, and the woman I want is you.”
“Sometimes,” you admitted.
“I heard he is handsome.”
“Can I repeat it in your company?”
You winced. “The flesh may be in good condition but the mind is rancid.”
Rebecca laughed. “Rancid as it may be, his mind seems pretty devoted to you. Turned away all them other suitors, didn’t he?”
Your stomach twisted in knots as she touched upon the next problem. “Think for a second what that means, Rebecca. He has never been married before,” you stated. “At all.”
She paused. “How old is he?”
“Forty-four, I believe.”
“That’s either creepy or adorable and I’m not sure which.”
“Exactly!” you agreed. “He says I am the first he ever proposed to but—”
Rebecca squealed into the phone. “Definitely as romantic as Piotr then!” she insisted. “Stars! Doesn’t that just make you feel special?”
It was at that moment that you realized having a friend who understood you completely could be a really terrible thing.
“Bet’cha could fall for him if he played his cards right,” she teased.
You coughed. “I admit that, on occasion, he can be intermittently charming—”
“Oh?” she sneered into the phone. “Go on.”
“—and there is a certain appeal to the security of marriage—”
“—especially when it comes with that kind of money. No more worrying about being a gutter-girl.”
You gritted your teeth. “However, this whole scenario seems suspect.”
“We’re talking about a man whose other servants adore him! Think for a second! How many servants like the people they work for? Don’t you think they wouldn’t if he really was shady?”
The silence from your end spoke more than words ever could.
“Hm…” Rebecca’s smirk was audible. “What do you think, Lee dear? How should I advise her, as a friend?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Hushed whispers hissed at the speaker. After a time, you heard both of the Baylords answer: “Get knocked up as quickly as possible.”
For a moment, as they went silent, you swore you heard a low, stifled laugh. You raised a brow and pressed the receiver tight against your ear.
“You all right?” Rebecca asked. “You got really quiet all of a sudden.”
“Did Lee laugh just now?”
“Huh? No…? Why?”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. Must have been the static. Clearly, the stress was making you hear things.