Perry saw the shift in Jenny and tried to fathom what about the girl revealed her attraction to Fergus MacEwen. Though she didn’t smile, Jenny’s face softened and brightened, her eyes went to MacEwen, then flitted away, then back again. Was that how she herself looked around Fox?

The heated looks were not all one way either. There would be mischief between these two.

She hadn’t thought Jenny capable of more than lock-picking, perhaps some pocket picking, and some complicity in sneaking around. She’d never had a maid who showed interest in men, not in Perry’s presence, anyway.

She glanced at Fox. He was fighting to hide a most irritating smirk.

Mischief, and that on top of the disturbing comments made by MacEwen. When he shows up here, I’ll take a message. Drat that they’d not arrived sooner to hear who was supposed to arrive.

If he’d even mentioned it. Perhaps he was like Father, never giving anything away. Since Father’s return a few years ago, she’d been observing his habits and techniques. Father never revealed anything he didn’t have to, and he always pretended to know less than he did.

She lifted her chin. “What is your name, man?”

MacEwen was all polite deference introducing himself, but she’d heard his remark about the King. Never mind that she agreed with him, at least about George being a ridiculous figure, staging a ridiculously extravagant spectacle when some of his people were lacking in regular food. The undercurrent here of two rebels cooking up mischief under her roof made her uncomfortable.

“I’ve seen you with Mr. Kincaid.”

“Aye, miss.”

“You serve my brother, Mr. Gibson?”

“When your father or Mr. Kincaid tells me to do so. My cousin and I are distant kin of Kincaid and Mrs. Gibson.”

She abstained from rolling her eyes. Weren’t all the Scots distant kin of each other?

Jenny took the kettle from Fox and fussed with it, glancing over her shoulder at MacEwen. He didn’t look back—the man’s attention was focused squarely on Perry in a way that sent her skin wriggling, like a butterfly pinned to a mat.

She stood taller, bringing her eyes almost even with his. “Why are you here, Mr. MacEwen?”

Something shifted in his gaze. Fox drew closer, as if standing where he could come between them if they came to blows.

“I’m here on your father’s business, my lady.”

“And what is that business?”

A twitch started next to his eye. “I’m here to serve Mr. Fox.”

Yes, she’d heard that part, and she’d also heard it was pretense. Who was arriving? A smuggler? A spy bringing a report? Or…a traitor her father was hunting?

Her pulse quickened. There’d been much of that these last couple of years, her father seeking out the men and women who’d betrayed England during the long conflict with France. Why her father could not leave the war behind, she didn’t truly understand.

“I see. My father sent you along to serve Mr. Fox, who’s come here to paint. You’re serving him, and yet he’s cooking for you.”

“As I made dinner for you and Jenny,” Fox said. “I am, after all, one of those hardy republicans, throwing off the yoke of class and aristocracy.” He went to the stew pot and lifted the lid. “Warming up nicely. Seat yourself, Lady Perpetua. You too, MacEwen.”

The last was a terse command. MacEwen eyed him hotly and sat. She took her seat and glanced at Jenny, who nodded and brought her the teapot.

While she poured, Jenny went to the crockery cupboard, returned with a bowl and filled it with stew. Her breast brushed MacEwen’s arm as she set the bowl in front of him, sending his dark eyes bulging.

The cheeky, clever girl. If MacEwen got her with child, she would make him marry her.

Or perhaps he had a wife in Scotland.

Perry took a careful sip of her tea. “As you’re to be living in my home, tell me about yourself, Mr. MacEwen.”

MacEwen gave a sketchy description of his roots and his history. He’d been in the army, as had many of Father’s men. Both Jenny, and surprisingly Fox, listened attentively.

“What of your family?” Perry asked. “Have you a wife somewhere?”

“It’s not wise for a soldier to marry, miss.”

She infused patience into her smile. “That was a dodge, if ever I’ve heard one. A yes or a no, Mr. MacEwen.”

He sighed. “No. No wife.”

Jenny brushed Fergus again, setting down a plate of bread.

Fox’s lips quivered.

“And do you know, Mr. Fox, I’ve never asked you that question. Have you a wife somewhere?”

His eyes narrowed on her, but he did not answer right away. She could see him struggling with what to say.

Perhaps he did have a wife. That would make him ineligible for marriage. It would increase the scandal if they were caught under the same roof, and if she actually dared to act on these unfamiliar feelings, the wickedness…

But no. She would not do that with another woman’s husband.

Her question had thrown him off balance. He should dodge as MacEwen had done, or lie and say yes. He might have married in America, which he’d left at the tender age of eighteen.

But here…nowhere in this old world was an impoverished painter a candidate for matrimony, and neither was a spy.

Her look was direct, but for once, shuttered. The sweep of her hair tied back loosely softened her narrow face and angular features, and the light from the lamp made her amber eyes luminous. Almost, almost, he could see her lips tremble.

He could lie, but he wouldn’t.

“No.”

She expelled a breath and her eyes softened.

No, Perry, not me. You cannot look that way at me.

“Nor do I wish to have one, which is why I hope that you will let me escort you back to the main coaching line so that you may return to London.”

Her face paled and then colored deeply, the pink glow flowing into the lacy neckline of her night wear.

Shame smacked him like an invisible hand, but he had to go on, even with the maid and MacEwen listening. He reached for her elbow. “My lady, in spite of my handsome face, you could not wish to be forced into a marriage, not with the likes of me. Not that your father would consider me a suitable match. But to protect your reputation, he might insist you marry someone else.”

Her face had gone stony. She tried to pull away, but he held on. “Or, he might try to insist and make your life a misery as long as you resist. Will you let me take you away?”

“No.”

“I can escort you and your maid, my lady.” MacEwen said.

“No,” and “No,” Perry and Fox said at the same time.

Her elegant chin lifted. “You both might as well tell me whose arrival you’re expecting.”

MacEwen opened his mouth, closed it, and looked at Fox. The silence stretched.

Fox nodded to MacEwen.

MacEwen cleared his throat. “A dangerous man.”

She snorted. “Everyone who gathers about my father, friend or foe, is dangerous.”

“He’s a smuggler from these parts,” Fox said. “And that’s all that we’ll say.”

“Else your father would skin us alive,” MacEwen said. “As he might do, did he but know you were here and we allowed you to stay.”

She chewed on her lip, swinging her gaze from MacEwen to him. Finally, she pushed back her chair and stood and picked up a lamp. “Jenny, go back to bed. I’m going to check on Chestnut and then I’ll come up.”

And then she was gone.

The maid glared at MacEwen. “You,” she said. She turned her accusing eyes on Fox. “I’ll not go anywhere until Lady Perry returns safely to the house.”

Fox snatched up the other lamp. “Suit yourself.” And then he left.