Chapter 11
11
Penny spent most of the day scrubbing the ballroom floor. A job meant for at least three or four maids, but none came to help. She was certain none were allowed. So, she methodically worked her way from the upper left corner of the room to the bottom right. It took eight hours and night had fallen when she wrung the cloth into the bucket for the final time. Her hands were chapped from the harsh soap and soda she’d used. Her knees hurt worse than her ankle after spending so many hours on the hardwood. Wet ringlets clung to her neck and face from such vigorous scrubbing. But hell and damnation, the bloody parquet floor gleamed. The entire ballroom smelled of the lemon oil she added to the water.
Still on her knees, she leaned back on her heels, stretched her back and wondered what other chores she would be tasked to complete before she could seek her bed. The ballroom was deathly quiet without the rhythmic sound of scrubbing.
One benefit of a solitary task was the time it gave Penny to think. And every thought she had centred around one man.
Liam .
He puzzled her exceedingly. The man was a walking contradiction, so she listed everything she knew about him as she scrubbed the endless floor, trying to determine if he was capable of the kind of evil the Devil’s Sons required from their brethren.
She found the letters with their seal. A clear mark against him.
But she didn’t know what those letters said. Regardless of the content, it is a damning piece of evidence.
She hadn’t yet found the seal. But the letters all held the seal’s mark, so it’s only a matter of time.
The duchess came to visit him. She doesn’t waste her time on meaningless social calls. And she works for the Queen to hunt down corrupt lords. Not a good sign.
Then again, the duchess hadn’t done any more than talk to the marquess. Perhaps she is searching for evidence, just like me.
Liam didn’t fire Penny when she scolded him… on multiple occasions. That just proves he’s stupid, not a good person.
But she knew better. The Marquess of Stoneway had thick thighs, thick arms, a thick chest, but he certainly didn’t have a thick head.
He’s attracted to me.
Even admitting the fact caused a rush of heat to flood her cheeks. She dunked the brush into the bucket and scrubbed even harder, refusing to acknowledge her own attraction to Liam.
He allows me such liberties because he is blinded by his lust. If anything, that only confirms his poor judgment. What kind of marquess takes the time and effort to charm his maid?
He accused her of stealing. Arrogant, presumptuous bastard.
But then he apologised. And almost burned me to flames with his touch.
Ah. Yes. That. Wicked. And very, very good… err… bad.
He came to her rescue from the two brutes intent on harming her. I didn’t need his help, but still. It was good of him to put forth the effort.
And then the carriage ride home where he both soothed and seduced her. And I loved every moment of it. To feel so cared for. So cherished.
He bought all of the servants new clothes simply because he noticed her ruined dress and battered shoes. Only a very foolish or very good man would be so generous .
And he arranged for a tutor to come and educate his staff. Very few lords care about the education of their servants. None that I know. Except for him.
And then, in the midst of enticing Penny to indulge in wild fantasies in his study, a man stormed in and accused Liam of stealing away his daughter. Damning evidence indeed. If the man is correct. And if he was not? What fate had befallen his poor daughter?
Liam yelled at her, dismissing Penny with such cold force, she felt the sting worse than her cut cheek. Right after he nearly killed the man for daring to touch me.
Which shouldn’t flatter her. But it does.
When she looked at the evidence, nothing was clear. Liam was a complicated web of kind gestures and violent acts.
So why did she find it so difficult to imagine him hurting an innocent?
Her head began to ache. It was impossible to reach any conclusion other than one: Penny was an idiot. Because despite the evidence stacking up against him, she felt her heart softening toward Liam.
Foolish, stupid girl.
She picked up the bucket of dirty water and carefully limped on her stiff ankle to the panelled wall, pushing against a section of wainscoting that disguised a servants’ door.
The hallway was dark, and she hadn’t brought a candle. She felt her way along the wall, coming out into a small back room that lead to the kitchen. Mr Coggins sat at the small table snugged in the corner.
He must use this room as his office.
Coggins turned sharply, his cold eyes pinning Penny where she stood, the bucket handle cutting into her raw hands.
‘You took your time,’ he muttered.
Penny forced her tone to remain neutral. ‘It is a large room, sir. But I dare anyone to find a speck of dirt on those floors.’
Coggins grunted. He stood up and walked closer to Penny, so close she had to tilt her chin up to maintain eye contact. She could smell the starch of his shirt and the oil of his pomade. ‘I’m watching you, girl. The marquess may have a blind spot when it comes to you, but I don’t. Remember that.’ He leaned closer and Penny fought the urge to flinch away. ‘I advised Mrs Harding not to hire you. I don’t trust new servants.’ He huffed out a laugh tinged with raw onions. ‘I don’t trust any servants, save myself.’
‘Then I suppose I’m in good company, sir.’
Bother. I shouldn’t have said that.
‘Don’t get lippy with me, girl. You’ll find a hole in your wages this month if you aren’t careful.’
Fining a servant’s pay was common practice to discipline surly maids. A far better punishment than beating them, which was another tactic often used. Penny pressed her lips together. She couldn’t afford to lose any income. Not with so much riding on her meagre savings. At least until she earned the reward money from the prime minister.
What if the letter against Liam isn’t enough?
Perhaps she could discreetly enquire with the other servants about the missing girl. What did her father call her? A flower name.
Rose? Petunia? Daisy! That’s it. Daisy Williams.
‘Or perhaps a caning is what you need?’ The cold cruelty in Coggins’ voice brought her back to their conversation. She’d never seen the practice of corporal punishment used in Liam’s house and wasn’t sure if Coggins was bluffing.
I must stop thinking of Liam in such familiar terms. He is most likely guilty of terrible deeds and deserving of justice. He is the corrupt Lord Renquist. I am the uncompromising Miss Smith who will hold him accountable for his crimes. That is all.
Coggins’ grabbed her free wrist, pulling her hand up to his chest in an effective method of reclaiming her focus. ‘How long do you think it would take for me to draw blood from your palms?’ He yanked her closer. ‘I won’t be disrespected, Miss Smith.’
Sharp footsteps in the kitchen caused Coggins to stiffen. He dropped Penny’s hand as if she’d stung him and took a quick step back.
Mrs Harding paused in the doorway. ‘What is going on in here?’ Her gaze travelled from Coggins to Penny then back to the butler. Frowning at the man, Mrs Harding narrowed her eyes into twin points of disdain. To Penny’s shock, the man’s neck grew a motley crimson, creeping up his cheeks and staining the tips of his ears.
‘Just reminding Miss Smith of her duties. If that ballroom floor isn’t pristine, you’ll hear from me, Miss Smith.’ Coggins stretched his neck but avoided eye contact with Mrs Harding. ‘She is prone to insolence, Gertrude. I expect to see you use a firmer hand with this one in the future.’
Mrs Harding walked into the small room, making it feel even more crowded. She approached Coggins, invading the man’s personal space, and Penny realised Mrs Harding was taller than the butler. Leaning down so close, their noses almost touched, she spoke in a quiet, controlled, terrifying tone. ‘And I would remind you Cornelius, I am in charge of the maids. I didn’t assign Miss Smith to clean the ballroom floor, nor did I give you permission to do so. If anyone is displaying insolence, it is you. If it happens again, Lord Renquist will hear of it.’
Coggins’ upper lip trembled and his left eye twitched.
Dear Lord. The man’s petrified of her.
Penny could understand his alarm. Mrs Harding was a frightening woman. Penny developed a new appreciation for her.
Mrs Harding straightened her spine and looked down her nose at Coggins. ‘Leave the bucket, Miss Smith. As Mr Coggins assigned your duties for the day, he can deal with it. You are needed elsewhere.’ She turned to Penny, raising her brows. Penny jerked back to life and carefully placed the bucket on the floor. Mrs Harding nodded, then flicked her head toward the kitchen door. Penny bobbed a quick curtsy and hobbled as swiftly as she could to the kitchen, Mrs Harding close on her heels.
‘You will not speak of this, Miss Smith.’ Mrs Harding glanced at Sally O’Brian, who was manhandling a golden-crusted pie from the oven. ‘The last thing I need is for the other servants to know I defended one of you against the butler. Coggins might not be your superior, but I certainly am. Do you understand?’
Penny nodded.
‘Good. Clean yourself up. Lord Renquist has requested his supper to be served in his room. Cook is putting a tray together and you’ll need to take it to him. We’ve only two days until the ball and I’ve far too much to do. I’ve no time to wait on the marquess because he’s suddenly decided not to use the dining room like any other civilized gentleman.’
Penny started to reply, but Mrs Harding wasn’t done. ‘And make sure Mrs O’Brian gives you some ice for that ankle. I can’t have one of my best maids limping around here, lame as an old mule, when there’s much to be done.’
Penny’s mouth fell open. Had Mrs Harding just complimented her?
While also calling me a lame mule.
It appeared she had. But before Penny could create an adequate response, Mrs Harding turned and swept out of the kitchen. Mrs O’Brian came to Penny’s side.
‘There now, love. I told Mrs Harding you hadn’t eaten your supper yet. One of the other girls could take him his evening meal. But you know how she is. Nearly snapped my head off, she did.’
Penny hastily unpinned her hair and swept it back into a simple chignon. It wouldn’t hold for long, but hopefully she would complete her task quickly. There was nothing to be done for her apron, but she brushed what dirt she could from it. ‘Never mind, Mrs O’Brian. I can eat after I bring him his meal.’
‘I kept something warm for you on the stove.’ She nodded to a corner of the stove where a plate sat covered with a cloth. ‘Here’s his tray, love.’ She hefted a large platter from the bench. Multiple dishes were covered in silver cloches. A bottle of wine balanced precariously with a goblet sitting next to it.
‘I’ll get some ice for your poor foot and leave it in a bowl by the sink, then I’m off to bed, love.’ Mrs O’Brian nodded to the door. ‘The sooner you deliver that to himself, the sooner you can find your own rest.’
‘Wise council, Mrs O’Brian.’
Penny’s arms were already weak from her day of scrubbing, but she bit her lip and carefully balanced the heavy load. How she would manage the stairs with her limp, she couldn’t say, but if she dropped the tray, she didn’t dare think about the consequences.
Penny had a new item for her list of Liam’s pros and cons.
Forces his exhausted, injured maid to carry a bloody heavy tray of food up to his room after she’s spent all day scrubbing his filthy floor. Definitely the behaviour of a man deserving shackles.
A long, wild ride on Artemis had achieved Liam’s goal of reclaiming his equilibrium. The stallion also seemed to have a fine time. They’d each left the other’s company in much brighter spirits. Or so he thought, until Penny arrived at his door, a massive tray hefted in her shaking arms.
‘Dear, God. Let me help.’ Moving without thought, Liam swept up the tray and easily hoisted it from Penny’s grip.
Penny’s hands dropped to her side, her gaze moving from the table where he placed the tray, to the wingback chairs facing a roaring fire, briefly landing on the bed, before resolutely staring at a spot on his rug several paces from his feet.
Silence stretched tight between them, interrupted only by the crackling fire and ticking clock.
‘Will you look at me?’ Liam yearned for the connection, the glimpse of Penny’s soul he sometimes caught in her eyes.
Penny gripped her hands together in front of her apron. Wet patches turned the white material grey. She slowly lifted her chin. Eyes of the forest, full of secrets and shadows. He wanted to get lost in her dark places. Bury himself deep in her havens and hollows. ‘If that is all, my lord, I shall take my leave.’ Penny’s lip trembled.
She was avoiding him. Putting distance between them. It was unacceptable. The anger returned, far safer than the softer emotions beneath it. ‘No. That is not all.’ He hated her deference. She treated him like a servant should treat her lord and his entire body recoiled from such submission. ‘I wanted to apologise. For that man who came today. I shouldn’t have spoken so harshly to you, but he is volatile and violent. I did not want you in harm’s way.’
Penny’s eyes flashed. ‘He was upset. About his daughter. Was she a maid here? Did she work for you?’
Liam was caught off guard. Why would Penny be concerned about a maid she never knew?
Perhaps because she is a woman of compassion. Or maybe she worries she can’t trust me. Any maid in the Renquist household would have been a fool to trust my father. And I am my father’s son.
‘She still works for me. I moved her to my country estate in Cheshire. You saw but a glimpse of the violence Daisy had to endure every month when she returned home to visit her family. I offered her sanctuary in a place too far away for her father to reach.’
Penny blinked. She pressed her delectable lips together, refusing to share the myriad thoughts racing through her quick mind.
Infuriating woman!
‘I see. Well. I suppose she is lucky then.’ But her tone implied differently. She didn’t believe him. Then what did she think happened to poor Daisy? His thoughts wandered to dark places. Did she imagine he got her into trouble then sent her away? While he feared becoming his father, the beast inside rankled at the idea she might think so low of him.
‘Do you think I’m lying, Penny?’
Penny fiddled with the hem of her apron. ‘I don’t know. Usually, when girls disappear, it isn’t for any good reason.’
Liam clenched his jaw. ‘Yes. That is true. But Daisy hasn’t disappeared. And her transition to Holly House was for excellent reasons.’
Penny focused on a spot just over his left shoulder.
His anger bubbled over. ‘Either you believe me, or you don’t. I’m not going to spend the rest of my evening trying to explain myself to my maid.’ As soon as the words escaped, he wanted to call them back. She poked at his raw underbelly, and he reacted like a wounded animal. Snarling and snapping. It was unacceptable.
Penny’s eyes hardened. ‘Then I shall take my leave, Lord Renquist.’
She turned to the door, but panic threatened. He caught her arm and tugged her back around. She couldn’t walk out. Not like this. Not with such misunderstanding marring the space between them. ‘Don’t go. I’m sorry. I’m not used to being so openly doubted. A man comes in here screaming about his missing daughter. Of course you would have questions.’ He let his hand fall to his side.
‘Actually, as your maid, I have no right to question anything you say. And you seem to have far more important things to do this evening than converse with your servant.’ She pulled her shoulders back and clasped her hands in front of her. ‘Do you require anything else, my lord?’ She spoke through clenched teeth, the only sign of her impending anger.
‘Penny, please.’
‘Shall I tend to your fire? Lay out your dinner? Turn down your sheets? Whatever you wish, you need only say.’
God, he wanted to push her beyond this ridiculous display of decorum. Force her to speak her mind as she was usually so prone to do. Throw down his gauntlet, confident in the knowledge she would retaliate with equal passion.
Instead, she wanted to play the subservient maid. Fine. He could adjust tactics. He was a lieutenant general, after all. If anyone knew about military strategy, it was Liam. Because this felt like a war. And he was determined to give her a worthy battle.
‘What I wish, Miss Smith, is hardly appropriate for a marquess to admit to his maid.’ He gestured to one of the wingback chairs. ‘Your ankle must be hurting. Please, sit. If you’d like to hear what I actually want, I shall tell you in detail.’
Penny’s eyes widened.
The first volley has been sent, sweet Penny. How will you retaliate?
‘A maid does not sit in front of her employer.’ Penny folded her arms over her chest, the first sign that her sharp tongue was readying to engage in witty warfare.
‘Then don’t be my maid tonight. And I won’t be your employer. You will be Penny. And I shall be Liam.’
‘If you are not my employer, then I need not follow your commands.’
A worthy counterattack.
‘True. So, I will not command you. I will ask. Will you please sit and share this meal with me? I’d wager you have yet to eat your supper.’
She huffed out a breath. His guess was right, but she didn’t want to admit it.
‘Come, Penny. What harm is there in sharing a plate?’
So much harm. Because I want to share more than my food with this woman.
Liam shut off that dangerous line of thought and walked over to the tray. He lifted the cloches, one by one.
‘Roasted goose. Pheasant pie. Peas. Honeyed carrots. Crispy potatoes. Vanilla blancmange to end with something sweet. Far more food than I can possibly manage on my own. It would be a shame for such a delicious meal to go to waste.’
Penny emitted a strangled sort of scream. ‘You are impossible! Fine. I shall eat your stupid food, but I won’t listen to whatever it is you claim to want. If I am Penny and you are Liam, then your wants are no longer my concern.’ She limped over to the chair and sat heavily, sighing as she did.
Liam’s fingers twitched to lift her skirt and check her ankle, but he knew she wouldn’t allow it. Her eye was black, but the swelling was starting to abate. Thankfully the cut to her cheek had been minor, even if it had bled copiously, and was healing remarkably well. An errant urge to find the men he released and punish them for every moment of pain Penny suffered rushed through him. Instead, he reached out a shaking hand and filled the single plate sitting on the tray with heaping portions of every option Mrs O’Brian had provided and forced his body to behave. Pulling the second chair closer with his free hand, their knees almost touched as he sat down and held a silver fork out to her.
Penny hesitated. ‘You should eat first, my lo… umm, I mean, I’ll take whatever is left.’
‘Liam. Not lo-umm. And a lady is always served first.’
Penny snorted. ‘I’m about as close to a lady as you are to a chimney sweep.’
Liam frowned. ‘That is the problem, isn’t it? What exactly separates you from any lady of the beau monde?’
Penny reached for the fork and scowled at him, brandishing the cutlery like a weapon. ‘As if you don’t know. Let’s see… what separates me from Lady Drake. Or the Duchess of Dorsett. Or any other countess, baroness, viscountess, or marchioness. Education. Bloodlines. Wealth. Land. Prestige. Power. Everything. I am no lady, nor will I ever be. I’m not sitting here because I have some misconception of my place in this world. I’m sitting here eating your dinner because only a fool would pass up the opportunity to taste one of Mrs O’Brian’s pies.’
Liam nodded. ‘And you are no fool.’
He couldn’t say the same for himself. Because the thoughts running riot through his mind of what he’d like to do with the vanilla blancmange and Penny’s delicate skin were most foolish indeed.
Penny used the side of the fork to cut a wedge out of the pheasant pie. Handing Liam the fork, she picked up the flaky pastry and ate it with her hands, eloquently proving her point about their differences. She wasn’t a lady, and she wasn’t going to eat like a lady.
Not one to be outdone, Liam cut his own piece of pie, put the plate and fork on the small side table between their chairs, and took a massive bite. Pastry flaked over his shirt, catching in the creases of his breeches.
See, Penny. We are not so different.
Penny rolled her eyes and took another bite of pie.
‘I have a confession, Penny. And as someone who claims no fealty to any particular god, I find myself in need of someone to hear my sins and offer me absolution. Are you up to the task?’
Penny’s eyes widened. He watched her throat contract as she swallowed her mouthful of pie and then coughed.
Liam reached for the wine bottle, uncorking it, and offering it to her. Without waiting for a glass, she put the bottle to her mouth and took a deep swallow, wiping the wine from her bottom lip before handing it back.
God damn it. Is everything she does erotic?
‘Perhaps more than one confession,’ Liam muttered as his breeches grew impossibly tight.
‘I’m hardly fit to hear your sins, my… Liam.’ Her cheeks grew pink, and she slapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Not my Liam. I was going to say my lord.’ She spoke through her fingers.
Liam chuckled, taking his own swig of wine. ‘Your Liam. I like that.’
‘Don’t.’
The beau monde would never allow a maid to claim ownership over a marquess. It was impossible. Unthinkable. Ridiculous. And unfair of him to lead her down a path neither of them could traverse.
It’s all impossibly ridiculous. Stupid rules set up to keep the poor forever separate from the wealthy.
She was a strong, capable, beautiful woman. Despite the list she rattled off that separated her from a proper lady, Penny wasn’t lacking in any of the merits that mattered. Honesty. Courage. Industry. Wit.
Beauty. Honour. A delectable mouth.
And yet society deemed certain women as worthy because they were born into the right pedigree with dowries large enough to entice lords such as himself, and others as expendable because their fathers came from Whitechapel instead of having membership at Whites. It was obscene. And Liam was part of the problem. The laws he endorsed only further separated the poor from the peerage.
‘Don’t what? Imagine a world where I could belong to you?’
Penny put her piece of pie back on the plate and stood. ‘Men rarely belong to women, my lord. Even in the higher realms of the beau monde. It is always the opposite. And no world, imagined or real, would allow a marquess to belong to his maid. I should go. There is much to be done for the upcoming ball and I’m sure Mrs Harding will need me up early to help with the preparations.’
Liam stood with her, reaching for her hand. ‘I don’t wish for you to go.’ He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her palm.
‘You would force me to stay?’ Penny’s fingers curled around his cheek just as her words curled around his heart, reminding him of everything he fought so hard to resist. Because he would not force her to stay, no matter how desperately he wanted her. No matter how easy it would be to wield his power and bend her to his will.
‘My father would have forced you to stay.’ The words tore out of him, taking with them more than he meant to offer. He didn’t speak of his father unless forced. It was a part of his life he hated. A part of himself he hated. Her earlier doubt opened wounds he hadn’t realised still bled. ‘I think it is why I reacted so poorly to your questions about Daisy. If any of my father’s maids went missing, the reasons were not good.’
‘But you would not do that to one of your maids?’ She asked the question carefully.
‘I would not.’ His voice almost broke. ‘I would never force a woman – or anyone in my employ – to do something against their will.’
Penny brushed her thumb over his cheek. ‘I never knew your father. But if he is as you describe, then I don’t think you are anything like him, Liam.’
God, I hope you’re right.
Liam cleared his throat. ‘I won’t force you, but I am asking you to stay. Because I want you here. Whatever answer you give, I will respect.’ He might not be confident in his own nature, but he was confident in that. He would never force her hand.
Penny’s fingers stilled on his cheek. ‘Was he a cruel man? Your father?’
Reaching up, he covered her hand with his own, pressing both to his cheek. When he asked her to hear his confessions, he meant to share his fantasies, his desire to strip her bare, taste her honeyed quim, make her scream his name, show her how high and far and fast she could fly. He did not intend to speak of the darkness that formed him. And yet, her questions ripped open a seam he couldn’t close. ‘He was.’ Two words that tore him apart.
Penny didn’t pull away. She didn’t step back. Instead, she leaned closer, lifting her other hand to wipe something from his cheek.
Jesus. Tears.
It was horrific. What kind of seduction involved weeping?
Not a very good one.
Because that is what he had planned with dinner service tonight. An opportunity to seduce Penny. To show her pleasure. To give her a piece of his physical self. Not to serve up his blackened soul in a broth of tears.
He cleared his throat, pressed his lips together, and tried to think of very manly things. Fencing. Hunting. Spitting from high places. It didn’t help.
‘Tell me, Liam. Tell me about your father.’
Sitting down, he pulled her onto his lap. She stiffened, but after a moment, her body relaxed in slow degrees. It was easier to face the fire than look into her eyes. Perhaps this is why people bowed their heads when they prayed. Not in an act of deference, but to hide from the aching nakedness of true confession. He put one arm around her back, his hand curling around her waist and squeezing possessively. His other hand held hers, rhythmically rubbing his thumb over her palm. He focused on the contrast of callouses and tiny scars covering her fingers like a patchwork.
Certainly not the hand of a lady. But the hand of a woman.
‘He was a proud man, my father. The fifth Marquess of Stoneway. He expected his sons to be strong. Never admitting weakness. Never allowing us to show weakness.’
‘No one is strong all the time.’ Her low voice soothed something raw inside him.
He absently brought Penny’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against her fingertips. It helped. The weight of her body on his lap grounded him. The warm and spicy scent of her was comforting. The heat of her fingers against his lips created a physical connection he felt in his chest. ‘My father didn’t believe that. He was cruel with the servants. Forced himself onto the maids. Even my mother’s closest confidante. Her lady’s maid. I didn’t find out until his death, but this particular maid fell pregnant. He sent her away. When I realised the truth – how horribly she’d been treated, that I had a half-brother who’d been denied all the privileges I took for granted – I had to find them.’
‘Did you?’ Penny’s soft question unearthed the shallow grave holding his grief.
‘Not her. But I found my half-brother. Theodore.’ Liam sniffed, embarrassed to acknowledge his tears still flowed. ‘I thought if I could save Theo, give him the life he deserved, it would help somehow. Right one of my father’s many wrongs. Help us both escape the evil inherited by all Renquist men.’
‘Because you think you will inevitably become like your father?’
Shrugging, Liam felt stupid admitting his greatest fear. But it was too late to turn back. ‘The sins of the father are visited upon the children.’
‘Do you think that’s why Theo died? And Reynard too?’
Liam nodded. ‘My father destroyed Theo. And in an effort to earn Father’s approval, Reynard destroyed himself.’ His grief was suffocating him. He took in a shaky breath. ‘I spoke with the priest after Reynard and Theo died. I asked him if we were cursed. If our sins were inescapable.’
‘Surely the priest allayed your fears.’ Penny stroked her fingers through his hair, her nails scraping pleasantly over his scalp.
The tension wrapping around his ribs tightened. He would never forget the words of the priest. It was the moment when his hope died. ‘He confirmed them. I have inherited my father’s evil blood just as I have his eyes, his height, his build. He recommended donating large sums to the church, participating in acts of charity, and working to find atonement through service to the crown.’
Penny framed his face in her work-roughened hands, turning his head and forcing him to meet her gaze. ‘That is a lie, Liam. A wicked deceit. We rise from the ashes of our ancestors, taking their lessons and making different choices. Better choices. If you were doomed to become your father, I wouldn’t be sitting here on your lap having this discussion.’
‘No. You would be beneath me as I drove us both into the fires of hell.’
I shouldn’t have said that.
But she didn’t withdraw. Penny closed her eyes, her breath coming hard and fast. He reclaimed her hand, resuming the rhythmic circles against her palm.
Opening her eyes, she took his fingers, aligning them to her own, pressing their hands flat together, palm to palm. Shifting slightly, she interlaced their fingers, squeezing gently as she spoke. ‘But you would never force that upon me. I know this, just as I know it is what we do that defines us, Liam. Our courage to stand for what is right. Our efforts to break the patterns of behaviour we’ve been taught. Our ability to deny reckless impulses for thoughtful considerations.’
‘What if I succumb to those reckless impulses? You’ve seen the beast inside me, raging for blood. What if I give myself over to the temptations pulling at me even now?’ He leaned forward, skating his nose along her cheek, taking her scent into his body and holding it there. ‘What if I am too weak to resist?’
‘You are many things, but weak is not one of them. You have the power to commit sinful acts, the urge to be selfish and cruel, but I have seen you fight those temptations and win. You did not kill that man in the alley. You hired a tutor, granting your staff an opportunity to learn. You bought new clothes for all of us. These are the actions of a good man. An honourable man.’ She spoke fiercely, her hazel eyes glowing green with fissures of rich brown cutting through like roots in a forest.
‘Don’t you see? I didn’t do those things because I am an honourable man. I did them for you, Penny. To win over your affections.’
She froze. He wasn’t sure who was more shocked by his admission, Liam or Penny, as she leaned back, her wide eyes blinking furiously.
Liam’s lips curled in a sad smile. ‘My desire for your esteem creates a false impression of respectability, sweet Penny.’
Her eyes narrowed and she exhaled a long breath. ‘What if I told you it was impossible? That my affections will never be yours. Would you regret the choices you made?’
‘No.’ Liam answered without thought. Because it was true. He wouldn’t regret making his servants’ lives better. If he could help them, he would. He had been given immeasurable wealth. Undeniable power. What good were such undeserved riches if he didn’t use them to benefit others? Especially when doing so took nothing away from Liam. ‘But I would always regret losing your esteem. Have I? Are your affections forever forbidden to someone like me?’
She bit her lip and his body responded with violent need. ‘Are the affections of a maid forbidden when they belong to a marquess? Of course they are. What would the beau monde say to such sacrilege of society’s rules?’
‘Fuck society. And fuck the beau monde.’
Penny’s startled laugh was like a beam of sunlight in absolute darkness. ‘You are truly a remarkable marquess.’
He did not deserve her praise. ‘I am a man full of darkness, Penny. Searching for light. And when I look at you, that is what I see. Warm sunlight beckoning me out of the shadows.’
Penny’s chest expanded and froze for a moment as she held her breath. ‘The things you say, my lord. How am I supposed to… I can’t… a marquess does not say such things to his maid.’
‘But remember? Tonight, I am not the marquess. You are not my maid. We are simply Liam and Penny. And Liam says such things to Penny all the time. Or at least, he wants to. Desperately.’ He took a pin out of her hair, letting it fall to the carpet. Then another. And another until the mass of mahogany curls fell around her shoulders. ‘God, you are stunning.’
Penny ducked her head, tucking a curl behind her ear. ‘I’ll never find those pins.’
‘I’ll buy you a bucketful.’
She looked up, tracing his mouth with her fingertips. The rough callouses heightened his awareness of her touch. Why did men want a soft woman when they could have a real one? Strong. Capable. Honest. True.
‘I wouldn’t accept your gift.’
‘Hairpins are hardly a gift.’ Liam held her hand still, sucking her finger into his mouth. Swirling his tongue around the precious thing, he nibbled the pad with his teeth, hard enough to make her gasp. Her pupils dilated.
‘They are for me.’ Penny’s voice lowered, husky and sinfully decadent as her gaze caught on his mouth.
‘I can think of another gift I could give you. Something you wouldn’t need to hide from the staff below-stairs.’ Liam nipped along the edge of her hand, biting the heel and revelling in her gasp of pleasure.
‘Are we done confessing?’ Penny’s voice hitched.
‘We? You confessed nothing.’
‘You hardly gave me a chance with such constant chatter.’ Her lips softened in a sweet smile.
‘Forgive my loose tongue. This is my last confession of the night. Brace yourself.’
‘I shall try.’
‘You are a singularly fascinating woman, Penny Smith. But then, I’ve already told you that.’