“You’ve been working too hard!”

Sophie smiled and tried to hide her yawn with the back of her hand as Mrs. Martins led her into her sitting room. “Not too hard at all. Truthfully, I am quite enjoying it.”

Mrs. Martins frowned. “He does call for you very often.”

That was true, at least. Sophie had been summoned to the master’s study almost every day for the last five days, spending hours working on his accounts and even on some correspondence. It was as though she was becoming his own personal private secretary.

Not that it bothered her in the least. It kept her mind busy and certainly was better suited to her than cleaning the floors or learning how to wash clothes. Sometimes Lord Harrington sat with her, other times she was alone. Unfortunately, however, Sophie had heard a few whispers about her going around the servants’ quarters, but she supposed that could not be helped.

“I have heard what some are saying of me,” she began, seeing Mrs. Martins’ sympathetic face. “Is there anything I can do about that?”

Mrs. Martins sighed and shook her head. “No, not much, I’m afraid. I have tried to stamp out gossiping, but it just continues to grow regardless. As the master’s staff, we are not afforded the same rights as you have been used to, as a lady. It does not matter, for example, whether or not you are with the master alone. You are a servant, therefore, you do what you are instructed. You have no reputation to speak of here, as his domestic, but the others will gossip, out of jealousy if nothing else.” She lifted one shoulder, her lined face grave. “Besides which, it doesn’t help matters that the master has something of a reputation.”

A curl of alarm rose in Sophie’s throat.

“However, that being said, he has not attempted anything with any of the staff thus far, and I hope he will continue on that path,” Mrs. Martins finished, patting her hand. “Now, you finish your cup of tea and then off to bed with you. It is late and I’m quite sure the master will require your services in the morning. I’d best go chase those young things to their beds.”

Sophie chuckled, knowing exactly which maids Mrs. Martins was talking about. She smiled to herself as she watched Mrs. Martins leave the room with the door ajar. Pouring herself another small cup of tea, Sophie added a dash of milk and settled back in her chair. She knew the other servants questioned her preferred treatment by both Lord Harrington and Mrs. Martins, but she tried not to let it worry her.

She was no longer as afraid as she had been, and was enjoying her new life here, even with the long hours and early mornings. It was better than living in constant fear, caught in a web with no way of escape. The only problem on her hands was the unexpected pull of attraction she felt to Lord Harrington.

Sophie hated that she was beginning to look forward to spending time in his company. It was more than pleasure at being called away from dusting, and she was finding her feelings quite disconcerting. He was handsome, of course, but she continually got the impression that there was something underneath the layers of self-assurance and pride that he was trying desperately to hide. He had not spoken to her of it, but there was something like frustration in his eyes whenever he came over to check her progress. There was, of course, the time he had mentioned finding calculations and the like more difficult than she, but that was not something he needed to be embarrassed about.

Sighing, she lifted the cup to her mouth and sipped at the hearty brew. Mayhap he was ashamed that he needed her help in order to fully understand his accounts or to go over any mistakes she had found. Gentlemen could be so pride filled.

Sophie felt her cheeks warm as she recalled how he had stood so very close to her, his waist at her shoulder as he had come to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at her work. The scent of pine and nutmeg had drifted towards her, making her senses reel for just a moment. When he had brought his hand forward to point out something she had written, his fingers had brushed her shoulder, and her body had burned with a sudden, unexpected fire.

It was not wise to have any kind of affection for one’s employer.

Besides which, Sophie was not exactly telling him the truth about who she was and what she was doing in his home. If he knew she was a lady, would it make any difference in his behavior towards her? Given what the staff said about him – that he was a rake who took his pleasures anywhere he wanted – Sophie had to believe that it was safer for her to remain a servant in his eyes, since he had not gone near a single maid since his return a week ago.

And while her instincts told her he would not take what was not freely given, she was hesitant to believe as such, given her past experience with Malcolm.

“You are quite foolish, you know,” she told herself, picking up the tea tray and walking to the kitchen to wash up the dishes. “More than foolish. Idiotic.”

Giving herself quite a firm telling off, Sophie began to wash the tea cups, bidding Mrs. Martins good night as she passed her in the long narrow corridor. The servants’ quarters were quiet and still, and Sophie found herself enjoying the silence. The kitchen was warm still, after all the cooking of the day, and Sophie chose to sit down at the large wooden table in the center of the room, and simply listen to the quiet.

It brought her a peace that she had not often experienced in her last year. Resting her head on her arms, Sophie smiled softly to herself, thinking just how blessed she had been to escape such a torment as that of her cousin. Her gaze lingered on the candle on the table, watching the pale glow of the candlelight spread across the kitchen.

* * *

A sudden thump had her jerking upright, and she realized that she had fallen asleep. Blinking furiously, Sophie saw that her candle was burning low and that a chill had begun to spread across her shoulders. Whatever had been that noise?

Slowly getting up from the table, Sophie picked up her candle and began to make her way soundlessly towards her own quarters. Perhaps it had been nothing more than a mouse in the cellar, although it would have had to have been a very large mouse to make such a thump as she had heard. The thought made her smile, relieving some of the tension she felt. Walking slowly, she heard the sound again, followed by a series of muttered curses.

There was someone in the pantry.

Sophie took a breath and stepped forward, lifting her chin and curling one hand into a fist, just in case she should need a weapon. A small light from within the pantry told her she was quite right to assume that someone was within and, before thinking of the possible danger, she pushed the door open wide.

Lord Harrington stared back at her, his eyes wide, hair tousled and shirt almost completely untucked, the top buttons open to reveal the slight dusting of hair on top of the muscles of his chest.

“Oh, my lord!” Sophie stammered, suddenly not knowing where to look as her cheeks burned with color. “Do forgive me, I thought…”

“I can’t find the brandy.”

Sophie looked back at him again, seeing the slight wildness in his eyes. He had clearly drunk a little too much, although why he might be looking for brandy, when there was a plentiful supply in almost every room of the house, Sophie could not say.

“I know there is certainly brandy in your study, my lord,” she said, quietly, entirely at a loss as to how to remove him from the pantry. Should she call the housekeeper? Or the butler?

“No, I drank it,” he replied, his eyes glazing over just a little.

“The library then, or the drawing room?” Sophie asked, wondering how he had managed to come down the stairs without breaking his neck given how he staggered. “Come, my lord, we should go in search of some for you.”

It was a bold idea, but Sophie knew she could not leave him in the pantry, otherwise the cook would have a fit come the morning. It was already in a little bit of a mess, and he had managed to stand on some of the vegetables for tomorrow’s dinner. More were at risk if Sophie could not remove him as soon as possible.

“Can you show me?” Lord Harrington asked as he reached for her. “The brandy, I mean. Nothing else.” A quiet chuckle escaped from his chest, making Sophie’s cheeks burn.

“Yes, of course,” she murmured, trying not to react when he slung one arm around her waist, the emotions of desire and unease at play within her. “This way, my lord.”

To her surprise, Lord Harrington was quiet as they climbed the steps, which was possibly because he was concentrating on not missing a stair. It was something of a difficult task, and Sophie found herself taking the strain of his weight on more than one occasion, but eventually they reached the hallway.

“The library first, I think,” Sophie said, hoping that he might allow her to return to the servants’ quarters once he was settled in front of the fire. “I am quite sure there is some brandy to be had in there.” Why he had not thought to go in search of it there first instead of rummaging around in the pantry, she did not know – although mayhap being a little the worse for wear did not always give clarity to one’s senses. Why he thought he needed more was another question entirely.

“Here we are,” she said, opening the door to the library and allowing him to step inside before her. “I believe there is brandy in the corner.”

Much to her shock, Lord Harrington grasped her around the waist, steadying himself before looking deeply into her eyes.

“I find my need for brandy has slowly begun to diminish,” he murmured, one hand catching her chin and brushing her skin gently. “In its place, I find another need growing.”

A cloying fear began to climb up her throat, suddenly recalling all of the times she had been caught by her cousin.

“No, my lord,” she said, firmly, trying to step back from him. “I am not that kind of woman.”

He frowned and lessened his grip but did not let her go. “You intrigue me, Sarah,” he said, quietly, his eyes searching her face. “What is it about you that puzzles me so?”

She found herself entirely unable to answer, her fear beginning to recede as her memories of Malcolm were replaced by her emotions in the present moment with Lord Harrington. There was a difference between him and Malcolm, for he was not holding her in an aggressive manner, was not demanding that she disrobe for him. However, she could not forget what the rest of the staff had told her about his reputation.

“I think I should go, my lord,” she said quietly, stepping away from him and he let his arm fall from her side. “There is brandy on the tray by the fire, so you shall not be without, although I would suggest that perhaps you have had enough for tonight.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing what she had said. The words had come out before she had remembered her station here, and she could only hope he would forget her forwardness as she made to make for the door, only for his hand to catch hers.

When she turned to face him, she saw a curious expression on his face, as though he was not quite sure why he had stopped her. However there was no terror filling her, no desperate need to run and hide from him.

“Sarah,” he whispered softly before stepping forward, gently cupping her cheek, and bending his head to kiss her.