He gave her a lascivious grin. “May I ask, then, why you’re in my bedchamber, as I seriously doubt it’s for the reason I might hope?”
Her blush deepened. She’d obviously caught his meaning. She placed a hand on her throat, her fingertips leaving white impressions along the pinkened skin. “I thought ye might be hidin’ somethin’.”
He arched a brow. “Like what?”
“Like proof that ye’re not who ye say ye are.” Her hand dropped back to her side and she smoothed her skirts again, a move he’d come to recognize as her nervous habit.
“And?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you find anything to prove your suspicion?” He fluttered his eyelashes at her, knowing full well that there was nothing in his room that would disprove his assumed identity. He was no rank amateur. He’d even had his false initials monogrammed onto handkerchiefs, for Christ’s sake. This wasn’t his first mission.
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t find anythin’,” she replied.
“Now do you trust me?” he asked, enjoying every moment of the conversation.
She dropped her chin to her chest. “I’ve been self-righteous, haven’t I?”
He couldn’t help his smile. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. “You have been. But I’m willing to let bygones be bygones, if you are.”
Relief washed over her features and she smiled at him. A bit of the pink drained from her complexion. “I would like that.” She sounded positively relieved. He actually believed she wanted to start anew.
He inclined his head toward her. “So would I.”
She stepped past him out into the corridor.
He glanced up and down the hall. Thankfully, no one was there.
She paused and turned to him, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Ye won’t tell anyone…”
“I don’t think Lord or Lady Copperpot need to know anything about this,” he assured her in an equally quiet tone. “Or anyone else for that matter.”
She expelled her breath and nodded. “Thank ye, Mr. Baxter.” She began to walk slowly down the hall toward her room.
Watching her go, Beau had an idea. Now that he’d found her in his room, she could hardly continue to treat him as if he were untrustworthy. And, if he was untrustworthy, at least they both knew he wasn’t the only one. Tonight had been a start, but he needed to find a way to get her to lower her guard even further. He already had a plan for step two.
It involved a game of cards.
But not tonight. No, tonight he’d let her go. But not before sending her off with one last thing to think about. He jogged a few feet to catch up with her and cleared his throat. “I’m willing to forget this entire incident ever happened. Although…”
She stopped, turned her head to the side, and frowned. “Although wot?”
The side of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. He had to admit there was a devilish part of him that wanted to see her blush one more time. “Next time you come to my bedchamber; I do hope it’s for a different reason altogether.”
Chapter Twelve
This time Marianne went looking for Mr. Baxter in the servants’ hall. Well, if not actually looking for him, at least she wouldn’t mind if she found him. He’d been funny and forgiving yesterday after the incident in his room. He’d had every reason to tell Lord Copperpot what she’d done, and he hadn’t. She had to be grateful to him for that.
No doubt she would have been tossed out on her ear if Lady Copperpot found out she’d been poking about in another servant’s room, let alone a male servant’s room. There was absolutely no excuse for it, and she and Mr. Baxter both knew it.
It still didn’t mean that she believed Nicholas Baxter was entirely trustworthy, but she could no longer act as if she had the moral high ground when it came to dealing with him. She’d been every bit as guilty and suspicious-acting as he had.
When she’d been searching for the silver thread, he’d mentioned that her accent had slipped. That had nearly sent her into a panic. It had taken every ounce of self-control she had to act as if she had no idea what he was talking about. The man made her tense. She found it difficult to maintain her façade around him.
There was no use denying any longer that she was powerfully attracted to him. Why, he looked like a statue come to life. Heat had coursed through her body when he’d looked at her with those ice-blue eyes of his and said, “Next time you come to my bedchamber, I do hope it’s for a different reason altogether.”
His tone alone had been positively indecent, let alone the words. They had been entirely inappropriate of course, but the truth was…she wanted to take the man up on the offer.
She would not. Of course not. Never. But she’d certainly had a difficult time falling to sleep last night while thinking about what it might be like going to his room for a different reason altogether.
She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Confound it. She was sweating just thinking about it.
After the embarrassment of being caught in his room, she’d decided to change tactics with him. Instead of being openly suspicious or haltingly charming, she’d decided to be…coquettish. Or at least as coquettish as a girl who’d been raised with two brothers could be.
She knew from the way that some of the other male servants looked at her that she wasn’t entirely unfetching. She’d been called pretty a time or two. She doubted someone as good-looking as Mr. Baxter would be overwhelmed by her beauty, but he seemed to enjoy ribbing her and flirting with her. She’d decided to try to beat him at his own game.
She’d barely entered the servants’ hall when she saw him. He was standing next to the doorway that led to the servants’ dining room, leaning one shoulder against the doorframe. She’d noticed that about him. He always seemed to be standing in strategic spots, seemingly resting or loafing, but she had the distinct impression that he was…watching.
But no matter, today she had been looking for him, and she’d found him.
“Ah, Miss Notley, good afternoon.” He bowed to her.
She took the opportunity to eye him up and down. He looked as good as usual in his snug breeches, black boots and white shirt. At least today he wore a neckcloth and looked halfway decent. But when his shirt pressed against his muscled abdomen, Marianne couldn’t look away.
She swallowed hard and curtsied in kind. “Good afternoon, Mr. Baxter.”
His smile nearly melted her middle. Why did the man have to be so very handsome? It was entirely unfair.
He pushed himself away from the doorframe and stood at his full height. “The Copperpots have gone to a picnic by the lake. I was just about to play cards in the storage room. I was planning to play Patience, but I could be persuaded to play Vingt-un instead.”
She blinked at him. “Are ye…invitin’ inviting me ta play cards wit ye?”
He blinked. “Was it unclear? I’m terribly sorry. Miss Notley, would you care to play cards with me in the storage room?”
She glanced around. The nearest other servants were sitting at the dining table on benches having a rowdy discussion about politics. Mrs. Cotswold’s door was closed.
Marianne glanced back at Mr. Baxter and bit her lip. Normally, when she had free time, she did things such as mend clothing and ensure the bedchambers were spotless. She rarely took time to do anything for sport. But why not? Perhaps she should enjoy herself for once. And perhaps this would be the perfect opportunity to find out a bit more about the mysterious Mr. Baxter. “I…I suppose so.”
His lips curved in a smile. “You overwhelm me with your enthusiasm.”
She laughed at that. “My apologies. It’s just that I’m not used ta takin’ time fer meself.”
He inclined his head toward her. “Yes, well, perhaps you should. And I already told you that you should laugh more. I assure you it’s quite a lovely sound.”
She pressed her lips together and blinked at him, slightly embarrassed that he’d noticed her laugh again, but determined to do her best to flirt. She bl
inked her eyelashes in her most dogged impression of Lady Wilhelmina when she was practicing speaking to gentlemen in the looking glass. “I thought ye were just sayin’ that ta be charming.”
His brows shot up. “Am I charming?”
“Yes, ye are, and I’m certain ye know it,” she said, laughing again as she followed him down the corridor to the little storage room.
He sighed. “I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.” He held open the door for her and let her precede him.
She walked past him into the small room that smelled like spices and sugar. She took a seat at one of the two chairs standing on either side of the small table in the center of the room.
Mr. Baxter produced a deck of cards from his inside coat pocket. Funny. She hadn’t noticed the deck when she’d been rifling through his room last night. He must carry them with him.
When he began shuffling the cards, the deck came to life in his hands.
Marianne’s brows shot up. “Ye’ve played before, an’ often.”
Still shuffling the cards like an expert, he inclined his head toward her. “Astute of you to notice, Miss Notley.”
“Where did ye learn ta do that?” she asked.
“Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast. Here’s how we’ll play. For each hand, the winner gets to ask the other a question.”
Marianne watched him closely, her eyes narrowing as she considered this proposition. On one hand, this could end up being a dangerous game. Especially if Mr. Baxter was as good at cards as his skill at shuffling would have her believe. On the other hand, she was much better at playing cards than he knew, or most likely suspected.
In the end, her curiosity won out. She had some questions for him, and she fully intended to win and ask them.
“Very well, Mr. Baxter. I accept the challenge,” she told him with a resolute nod.
He continued to shuffle the cards as he said, “Please call me Nicholas. You’ve been in my bedchamber after all.” His words were accompanied by a wink and an unrepentant grin that actually made his seemingly indecent request seem perfectly normal.
A rush of heat shot through her core. But she forced herself to reply in her most unflappable tone. “I suppose ye may call me Marianne…” She gave him an impish grin. “Since I have been in yer bedchamber. But please don’t call me that in front of the other servants,” she added for good measure.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Marianne,” he replied with another disarming wink.
Nicholas quickly dispensed the cards into two piles: one for her and one for him. Then he put his hand atop his pile and flipped over the first card. Marianne flipped hers. Two more from each of them. “I win!” he declared after his next card was a king.
Marianne shifted in her seat. Confound it. He was better than she’d guessed. She was obviously sitting opposite a worthy opponent. She steeled her resolve to answer his question. Hopefully she could answer it truthfully.
“Very well, Nicholas,” she said, liking the way his name sounded on her tongue. “Ask yer question.”
He gathered the cards back into his hands to shuffle again. “Why were you in my bedchamber? What were you hoping to find?”
She cocked her head to the side and gave him a slight smile. “That’s two questions, and ye only get one per hand. That was the rule, if I’m not mistaken.”
His mouth quirked up in the semblance of a grin. “Very well.” The cards flew into an arc between his hands again. “Allow me to rephrase. What were you hoping to find in my bedchamber yesterday?”
She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, picking up the cards as he dealt them to her. “Something suspicious perhaps…like a burnt letter.”
His half-smile bloomed into a full one. “What? You don’t burn your letters?”
“Not usually,” she replied, laying down her first card.
He won again.
She took a deep breath. “Ask away.”
“How did you leave Lady Courtney’s employ and make it to the Copperpots’?”
Her eyes went wide just before she narrowed them. “How did ye—?”
He pushed the deck toward her. “Now, now, questions are for the winner.”
She scooped up the deck intent on winning this time. He flipped one over from the deck. Then another. This time she handily won.
He whistled. “Seems you’re not bad at cards yourself, Marianne.”
She gathered the cards this time, trying not to think about what it did to her middle to hear him call her by her Christian name. “My brother taught me. He was excellent at it.”
Nicholas’s eyes narrowed immediately. “You spoke of him in the past tense. Is your brother deceased?”
She shook her head, forcing herself to push away the painful memory. “I believe it’s me turn ta ask the questions, Nicholas.”
“You’re right.” He inclined his head. “What’s your question for me?”
“How do ye know I worked for Lady Courtney in Brighton?”
He shrugged. “Never underestimate servants’ gossip.” He took the cards back and shuffled once more before he dealt and won the next hand.
Marianne sighed, resigned to answering another question.
“You mentioned a brother. Do you have any other family?” he asked.
“I did have. Me mother and me father are dead. The only family I have left is me eldest brother, David.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Nicholas said, looking genuinely concerned before smiling again and asking. “Does David play cards too?”
She settled back into her chair. “That’s another question, and we haven’t played our next hand yet.”
The confounded man won the next hand too, but he surprised her by not repeating his question about David’s skill at cards. “You never did tell me the other day. What sort of little girl were you?”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “I’ve no idea why ye’d want ta know such a thing, but if ye must…I was a curious one, an adventurous one. I followed me brothers everywhere and did everythin’ they did. They taught me how ta be a lad, essentially. I know how ta climb a tree, tie a rope, and shoot a gun.”
“Do you?” Nicholas whistled. “Why does that not surprise me about you? And I’ve already seen your skill at cards.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than she’d deftly won the next hand. “Yes, they taught me how to play cards, too,” she said with another laugh.
“No sisters, then?” he asked next.
“No, it was just the three of us, and don’t think I didn’t notice ye slipped in another question there.”
“Seems I owe you two answers then,” he replied.
She let the cards drop and stared at him. “Why do ye want ta know about me childhood?”
Nicholas plucked at the cards in front of him. “People’s childhoods are usually the keys to unlocking their secrets. I was hoping to learn from yours why you are so mistrustful.”
She drummed her fingertips along the tabletop. “If childhoods are the keys ta unlockin’ secrets, then that’s me next question fer ye. Wot was yer childhood like?”
His face went blank and his smile disappeared. “My childhood was over quickly,” he bit out.
She sensed he had no intention of telling her more, and the joviality had been sucked from the room. Hoping to restore their camaraderie, she gathered the cards and shuffled them. They quickly sprang to life in her hands.
His smile returned and he whistled again. “Seems your brother taught you how to shuffle as well.”
“Of course,” she replied, dealing the cards quickly to each of them.
He won the next hand.
“Very well,” she said with a sigh, “what’s yer next question for me?”
“What is your dream?”
Her eyes widened. “Dream? Who says I have a dream?” She tried to laugh but no sound came out.
“Oh, come now, Marianne, everyone has a dream.”
; She shifted in her seat. For some reason she was tempted to tell him the truth. She thought about it for a few more seconds. Very well. The truth it was. “I used ta dream about marriage and family,” she said, a wistful tone in her voice.
“Did you?” He studied her face with a furrowed brow.
“Yes.” She met his gaze. “But everythin’ changed when my brother was murdered.”
Chapter Thirteen
Late that night, Beau lay on his cot with one arm folded beneath his head, staring at the ceiling. The light from the single candle on the desk next to him formed shadows on the wall. A slight breeze drifted through the window, and the sound of crickets out in the meadow provided a steady drone that accompanied his thoughts.
His card game with Marianne had been interrupted by a pair of footmen who’d come into the storage room to fetch some bags of flour for the cook. Beau hadn’t had much of a chance to ask Marianne anything more about the startling revelation that her brother had been murdered. But it certainly explained some things about her.
A murder could very well make someone mistrustful. But what had happened to her brother? When she’d first mentioned that he was dead, Beau had simply assumed that he’d been a soldier, or had contracted consumption or some equally dreadful illness. He, himself, may never have been on one of the battlefields on the Peninsula, but he’d seen enough death in his business to last a lifetime. War or disease were the usual causes of death for young men in his experience.
Beau hadn’t had a chance today to ask her what precisely had happened, but even though he’d got a bit closer to knowing the truth about her, Marianne was still a mystery to him. She may have let down her guard around him enough to be friendly, but there was no question that she still harbored secrets. He suspected whatever had happened to her brother might be the least of them. He’d listened to her speech closely this afternoon and was convinced that her dialect was affected. Why would she pretend to be less articulate than she truly was?
The Valet Who Loved Me Page 7