Arriving at the hotel he’d acquired two years earlier, Devon entered the manager’s office after a quick rap on the door. He’d bought the building shortly after inheriting his title, when he’d realized the true cost of running his estates. Fearing the day would come when his descendants would not be able to afford the expense, he’d done what most would consider unusual, perhaps even unacceptable, for a duke. He’d gone into trade, albeit in a classy sort of way and with complete discretion.

“Mr. Roth,” he said, greeting the middle-aged gentleman to whom he entrusted the daily running of his business, “I would like to discuss the letter you sent me.”

Mr. Roth rose from behind his desk and extended his hand. “Your Grace. I am much relieved by your presence.” Devon shook his hand and lowered himself to a vacant chair. Mr. Roth sat too. “Your opinion of my suggestions to aid the business is most welcome.”

“From what I gather, the Park View isn’t doing as well as we’d hoped.”

Flattening his mouth, Mr. Roth drummed his fingers against his armrests before saying, “Income has been steadily declining since the hotel opened. This year, we stand to make half of what we made last year.”

Devon frowned. As far as investments went, this was proving to be a catastrophe. “Any idea why this might be?”

Mr. Roth nodded. “Few clients return for a second visit. They seem to favor the High Tower. The rooms there are significantly cheaper.”

“So you advise a price reduction?”

“And the dismissal of twenty employees.” When Devon raised his eyebrows, Mr. Roth added, “We have to cut cost somewhere, Your Grace. This is the most obvious approach.”

“It will also hurt a lot of good people.”

“Yes, but keeping them on would be detrimental. Unless you plan on putting more money into the business, which rather defeats the purpose of your investment.”

“Of course.” Devon leaned back in his chair and considered the problem at hand. “What I need is for it to sustain itself and grow without additional funds being added.”

Nodding, Mr. Roth looked him squarely in the eye. “Then allow me to make the necessary adjustments, Your Grace.”

Devon hated the idea of referring to the discharge of employees as a necessary adjustment, but he could see Mr. Roth’s point. Still…“I expect each of these people to receive some compensation, thirty pounds at least, along with a decent letter of recommendation.”

Mr. Roth inclined his head. “Of course, Your Grace. You may rest assured no one will feel the least bit slighted.”

Devon grunted his response since he believed the opposite would be true. They were discussing people’s livelihoods, after all–more specifically, the snatching away of them. Resentment would be inevitable. But to say as much would serve no purpose. Rising, Devon made to take his leave. “I trust you to keep the best employees and to dismiss only those whose work has been found lacking.”

If it wouldn’t have been exceedingly rude of him to do so, Devon imagined, Mr. Roth would have rolled his eyes. Instead, he gave a tight smile. “Naturally, that goes without saying.”

Devon asked the manager to keep him apprised of the progress, before leaving the Park View’s future in Mr. Roth’s capable hands. Devon had other pressing matters to attend to, like convincing Miss Potter to do what he asked. He’d written his sister the previous afternoon, immediately after returning home from his visit with Miss Potter, and asked her to come to Town post haste.

Rowena would not be thrilled. There was little to do in London this time of year. Most families chose to rusticate in their grand estates for the winter. But at least Miss Potter would not be alone. With him. He winced at the prospect while his driver set a course for Piccadilly, where he intended to do some necessary shopping.

She was attractive. No doubt about it. And he…hell, there had been a moment–several, in fact–where he’d been inclined to be anything but proper. Like when she’d called him a pompous ass. There had been something about the fiery look in her eyes as she’d stood there, stiff and commanding. It had roused his senses.

No one had ever put him in his place with such exemplary efficiency before. The effect had been not only humbling but thoroughly arousing. It had tempted him with thoughts—wild and wicked—of what her chastising mouth might taste like and how she’d respond to his touch. Would she apply an equal measure of passion to lovemaking? Would she be equally free and honest in her demand for pleasure?

Most assuredly, he reckoned. And as this idea began to take root, he found himself wanting to explore the possibility, to take her in his arms and show her what it meant to stir a man’s blood.

Christ!

He’d clearly gone too long without a bed partner. Perhaps a visit to Madame Lizette would be in order. Having sordid ponderings about Miss Potter was definitely not the right approach. It had to stop. Immediately. So he set his mind to the items he needed to purchase and did his best not to think of Miss Potter. Having an affair with her would lead to a whole new set of problems, which was something he wanted to do without.

* * *

Two days had passed since the duke had made his demands. Arriving home earlier than usual, Josephine entered her parlor on wooden feet and slumped down into the nearest armchair. Her job, the one she’d depended so thoroughly on, had been taken from her no more than an hour earlier. She could scarcely credit it, could not even feel the cold on account of her numbness. Somewhere deep in her chest, she felt her heart beat—a dull thud of failure. Her breath came raggedly, pushing its way in and out of her lungs as if forcing life into her disheartened body.

She’d no idea how long she’d been sitting there before a loud knock broke the silence. It came not from the front door but from the back, and with increasing incessancy. Rising, she hastened toward the sound.

“What?” she demanded, not caring who it might be as she tore the door open.

The Duke of Snowdon stood before her, his expression immediately hinting at caution. “Is this a bad time, Miss Potter?”

She closed her eyes, willed herself to be calm, then said, “I thought you told me to write.”

“And you’ve not done so, which is why I decided it would be best to look in and ensure all is well.”

His charm was enough to make her scream at the moment. She did not want him to be nice or polite. She wanted someone deserving of the anger in need of release. “As you can see,” she bit out, “I am here and in perfect health. No need to worry.”

“And your job? Have you managed to—”

“You got your wish.” She almost spat the words on a wave of resentment rolling through her. “I was discharged this afternoon.”

His eyes widened a bit, and then he said the most astonishing thing. “You’re clearly distressed. Perhaps you would like me to make you a cup of tea?”

Laughter rushed up her throat and out through her nose in the form of a sputtering snort. When he remained serious and she realized he hadn’t been jesting, she clasped the doorframe and tried to find purchase in this odd turn of events.

“Thank you for your kindness, Your Grace, but we’ve already talked about how your presence in my home might be construed.”

“Which is why I chose to arrive at the back door. There is no view of this entry from the neighboring houses. I already checked.”

“Really?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. Uneasily, she peered toward the gate at the end of her walkway. Walls rose from both sides, tall enough to ensure they couldn’t be seen.

“So please step aside and allow me to enter before we freeze to death on your doorstep.”

Against her better judgment, Josephine did what he asked. Not because she had any interest in keeping company with a man as attractive as he or because she liked the attention he gave her. It certainly wasn’t because she hoped to experience another moment of physical awareness with him or because she wished he might do something more improper than keep her company in the privacy of her home. No. It was only because he was cold, and it would be rude to turn him away.

“I brought a few things for you too,” he said, passing her in the entryway. His arm and shoulder brushed against her so smoothly she gasped. He turned about swiftly, facing her in the tiny space and crowding her with his much larger size. “Are you all right?”

Unable to speak, she managed a nod.

He frowned as if he didn’t believe her. But whether he did or not, he chose to drop the subject, for which she was immensely grateful. “I imagine the kitchen must be through here?” he asked, gesturing toward a door on the right.

She nodded again, though he couldn’t see since he’d turned his back.

“There’s some ham and cheese, a couple of oranges, and three tomatoes in here,” he said, setting a bag on the kitchen table.

Josephine felt her throat close around the words she wanted to say. He was being so nice—too nice—and she’d treated him abominably. “I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” she tried, hating how raw the words sounded and what they revealed.

“You lost your employment, which must have pained you.” He’d found the kettle and was busy filling it with water from a jug.

Swallowing, she turned away, just enough to hide the tears welling in her eyes. “I wasn’t going to do what you asked. I intended to keep my position. But now…” A burst of uneasy laughter slipped past her lips. “Apparently I am redundant and too costly considering my sex. My employer told me so right after he suggested he might want to keep me on if I was willing to…to….” Lord help her, she could not say it.

“If you were willing to what?” When she failed to answer, Snowdon’s voice spoke more firmly. “Miss Potter, did your employer ask you to do certain things in order to keep your position?”

She spun toward him, hands clenched by her sides as anger returned, hot and quick. “I told him to go hang himself.” Tension strained her body to the point of snapping, and yet she managed to keep herself still and to stop the tears from falling.

The duke’s face had hardened, each line drawn tight to reveal his fury. “Miss Potter—”

“You must forgive me.” An exhalation of breath calmed her nerves to some degree. “I’m not sure why I’m sharing all of this with you, except I usually have my sisters in whom to confide. Without them here, you are the only person I can talk to.”

He held her gaze as if searching for more information. Then, breaking eye contact, he lit a fire in the hearth and hung the kettle over it. “You will tell me who did this to you, Miss Potter.” His voice was low, his words carefully spoken while he busied himself with finding a tray, a teapot, and some cups and saucers.

Befuddled, Josephine watched for a long, silent moment. He retrieved some tealeaves and a strainer. “Why? I said my piece to the man and left. There is no need for you to go and defend my honor or whatever it is you are planning to do.”

“Perhaps not,” he agreed. “You did the right thing, but will it be enough to stop this man from mistreating other women in the future? How can we be certain he will not prey on someone too weak to deny him?”

Josephine felt her throat tighten at the prospect of such a thing happening. The possibility had not occurred to her, though she knew it should have. But she’d been too caught up in her own feelings of shame and anger to consider the consequence of such a man going unpunished.

“Very well. His name is Mr. Roth.” The duke’s expression hardened even further. “He is the manager of the Park View Hotel.”

For a second, it seemed as though Snowdon might hit something, perhaps even her if she happened to be in his way. So she took a step back, disliking the hostile atmosphere swamping the small space.

“Are you sure?” His voice had grown taut, as though it required great effort for him to keep the words steady.

She nodded. “Of course I’m sure. I have worked there for almost a year.”

“Did he make other advances on you in that time?”

Offended, she glared at him. “In light of what happened today, do you honestly think I would have remained in his employ if he had?”

Nostrils flaring, Snowdon gave a swift shake of his head. “No. I don’t believe you would.” His brow creased with deep grooves and he dropped his gaze to the tray. He drew a deep breath, then expelled it, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides as though he struggled with some inner turmoil.

“Your Grace?”

He did not answer immediately. A few seconds passed before he finally glanced at her, the stormy display of emotion held in the depths of his eyes effectively sending a shiver along her spine. “I am so sorry this happened to you, Miss Potter.”

“Thank you. I appreciate your saying so, considering our differing opinions on the matter of my employment.”

“You don’t understand.”

Something about his manner, some great sense of regret, gave Josephine pause.

And then he said, “I am to blame for this. Mr. Roth is in my employ, and while I can assure you of his impending punishment, I wish it had never happened in the first place.”

She gaped at him, aware her lips had parted with absolute disbelief, her eyes no doubt wider than the ocean, while she stared at him, unable to think of what to say next except, “What do you mean?”

Swallowing, he told her plainly, “I own the Park View Hotel.”

Clarity whipped through her with terrifying precision. “Dear God.” She took a retreating step back. “You must have known I worked there.”

It was his turn to look confused. “Nonsense. I only found out about it right now, during the course of this conversation.”

“Really? So it is a coincidence that you demanded I stop working, and I lost my job two days later?” She could feel the anger returning, more violently than before, the notion of betrayal cutting deep.

“Yes.” His eyes were wild now as he moved toward her with startling swiftness to close the door at her back, effectively halting her progress. He leaned in, his hand on the handle behind her, his chest so close she could feel his heat suffusing her body like a welcome balm.

It was tempting to sigh with pleasure, to tilt her head back, and to wish for a kiss. But not when there was a chance he’d caused the misery she endured, the helplessness losing her job had stirred. So she stood up tall, as rigidly as she could manage, pretending a wall existed between them, a wall through which he was not permitted to pass.

As if sensing her standoffishness, he pushed back onto his heels, allowing more space to come between them. “The truth is, the business is struggling. Mr. Roth suggested cutting costs by relieving a few employees of their positions. I had no idea you would be among them, and indeed, I am sorry to hear you are.”

She took a moment to study his features, a moment in which to gauge if he was being sincere. Deciding he was, she allowed herself to relax as much as one could relax when one had lost one’s livelihood and faced a man who did curious things to one’s body. So she said the first thing that came to mind. “I think the water is boiling.” Something safe and mundane.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the kettle and poured the steaming water through the strainer in the teapot. “I will have him discharged without reference.”

She nodded, even though he wouldn’t see. “You know, the trouble was never with the employees. In fact, I think letting them go will prove to be a mistake.”

“How so?” He began tidying away a few things, extinguished the fire, and picked up the tray.

Josephine opened the door and led the way through to the parlor. She instantly groaned in response to the cold greeting them there. “I am sorry,” she said, cringing at her ineptness at playing hostess. “I was so upset when I got home, I forgot to start the fire, and then you arrived and—”

“Do not trouble yourself.” He set the tray down on the table and went to select one of the two remaining logs, allowing her to place the cups and saucers on the table and pour the tea.

“You must not forget I worked in accounting. I saw the hotel books. And it is my belief the financial problem stems from increasingly inferior quality. I can tell you, for instance, the cost of ingredients being purchased for the kitchen decreased by more than thirty percent in the past year. Now, I don’t know much about the price of duck, but I do not expect it to cost the same as a chicken.”

Crouched before the fireplace, the duke turned to stare at her. “Mr. Roth served mediocre food to our guests and passed it off as high-class cuisine?”

Josephine nodded. “I believe so. How long has it been since you ate in the restaurant or checked on the bedrooms?”

He blinked. “I have not done so since the place opened. Mr. Roth appeared capable enough, and I had other matters to attend to–my estates, parliament, family matters.” Turning away, he muttered a curse while stoking the newly lit fire. When he finally stood, Josephine noted the slump of his shoulders and how his head hung while he stared down into the flames. “I should have been more involved.”

“It is not too late to start.”

Shifting his stance, he tilted his head in her direction. The edge of his mouth drew up in a slant not entirely unlike a smile. “Perhaps not.”

“And I can help, if you wish. As long as you let me return to work.”

All traces of a smile faded. “Absolutely not.”

“But—”

“It was bad enough when I thought you were working for someone else, but if Priorsbridge discovers I allowed you to work in my employ, he will have my head, and rightly so.” He strode toward the sofa and took a seat opposite her. “I am sorry, Miss Potter, but your days as an accountant are officially at an end.”

Gnashing her teeth with frustrated ire, Josephine wondered how he might respond to having the contents of the teapot dumped over his arrogant head. “And so I remain in the hands of men, my life and future irrevocably tied to their desire.”

“Careful, Miss Potter.” His eyes darkened, his teacup suspended a fraction of an inch beneath his lower lip. He was watching her—assessing her—in a way that produced a wave of heat beneath the surface of her skin. And then, so low she barely heard him at all, he murmured, “You are putting ideas in my head.”

She stared at him, at how his lips parted over the rim of his cup, the satisfied gleam in his eyes while he drank, and the secretive smile he gave while returning his cup to its saucer. All of it combined to form a yearning deep in the pit of her belly. Her mouth went dry as he continued to hold her gaze. His casual ease, coupled with a predatory undertone, quickened her pulse. She felt her stays grow tight, and she suddenly saw what he saw—what he’d spoken of seconds earlier—the idea she’d put in his head when she’d mentioned desire.

It barreled toward her, fast and furious, the wickedness of his imaginings blatantly clear in the depths of his eyes, now hooded and knowing – aware of the vision they shared – one in which she was wrapped in his arms while he…he…

Dear God, she dared not take the fantasy further, and yet she could not stop from seeing more. An unwilling groan forced its way up her throat. He hadn’t touched her, only looked, and yet she felt like she’d been caught up in scandalous pleasure while doing nothing less proper than drinking tea. And she’d groaned! Heaven help her, she could not stop the furious blush or the embarrassment wrapping its way around her.

Snowdon chuckled, equal parts sin and amusement.

“You’re awful,” she managed to say.

“At least now I know what I only suspected before.”

“And what would that be?” Stupid question. She should have known better than to let him goad her.

He leaned forward. “You’re an incredibly passionate woman, Miss Potter.”

A thrill of something forbidden snaked through her. “Nonsense.” She had to find a way back to solid ground before she allowed him to seduce her. That would certainly not bode well for her reputation, a reputation she’d soon be unable to salvage if he continued to stop by like this. So when he prepared to say more, she deliberately cut him off. “I want nothing to do with passion. All I want is for you to let me go back to work.”

His sigh sounded tortured. “This again?”

Her nod was firm. “Yes.”

“I’ve already told you, letting you do so will be impossible. However…” He seemed to consider something with a great degree of pensiveness. “If you accept the stipend Priorsbridge is offering, I might agree to let you advise me on how to improve my business.”

It wasn’t the worst suggestion in the world. It wouldn’t put her mathematical skills to good use, but it was certainly something she could take some pride in. She would also feel as though she were getting a salary, rather than taking money from a man she did not know without doing anything in return.

So she squared her shoulders and told him firmly, “Very well, Your Grace. You have yourself a deal.”

Whatever he believed of her willingness to agree, he showed no sign of it. Instead, he got up. “I should take my leave now, Miss Potter.” His eyes scanned the space around them. “Will you be all right here by yourself?”

“Certainly, Your Grace.”

He gave a quick nod. “I expect my sister to arrive tomorrow. When she does, I will ask her to invite you to stay with us at Snowdon House for the holidays.”

Whatever he might have said, this was quite possibly the most unexpected. “Thank you, Your Grace, but I couldn’t possibly accept such an offer.” Least of all after the moment they’d shared.

“I insist. Remaining here, alone, isn’t safe. Suppose you fall and hurt yourself or someone comes to threaten you? You’re vulnerable without your sisters, not to mention cold and uncomfortable.”

“Your Grace—”

“At Snowdon House you will be given a comfortable room of your own with a blazing fireplace and plenty of tasty food to eat. You will also have excellent company.” He waggled his eyebrows, and she could not for the life of her stop from laughing. “Say yes, Miss Potter. My sister will appreciate some female company.”

“Then by all means, I shall do it for her.”

Because she was absolutely not doing it for herself or for him. To acknowledge as much would be terribly dangerous indeed.