by Devon, Eva
His needs? He wouldn’t think of that statement. Not at all.
He narrowed his gaze. “I have odd eating habits.”
Folding her hands before her, unfazed, she replied, “Doesn’t everyone, in their own way?”
He gaped at her. Did nothing daunt her? It seemed not.
It was tempting to applaud.
At last, he said, “I find I like things more than people.”
“I don’t particularly have a fondness for people, if you must know.” She scowled. “Most of them are quite irrational and very difficult and unpleasant.”
Who the devil was this woman who so mirrored his view of the world? “I beg your pardon. Who is your father?”
“Is it really important?” she asked.
“No, I suppose it is not,” he ventured, though he did wonder why she hesitated to make it plain. Still, he wasn’t interviewing her for her family. “I just wish to make certain someone isn’t going to come looking for you.”
“Oh, no,” she said firmly. “No one will come looking for me. I am quite independent and on my own.”
He considered her. She was a rare thing. A young lady of independence.
“I will take you at your word,” he said. A sigh escaped his lips. “But truly, I shouldn’t do this.”
“Why ever not?” she demanded, her cheeks turning a most interesting shade of indignant pink.
“You’re a woman,” he pointed out. People would make assumptions, but she had to have considered this already.
“We’ve established that fact,” she pointed out.
He fought a laugh. He loved that she didn’t back down easily from him.
“But you know,” he said at long last, enjoying the idea more and more. “I think that’s exactly why I’m going to do this.”
She pulled back her chin. “Because I’m a woman?”
He leaned forward and braced his hands on the edge of his desk. “Because I like to make society ill at ease, and once people get to hear I’ve hired a woman, everyone will be furious. It will be marvelous. All of the dons at Oxford and Cambridge will be positively livid. It will be the best thing that’s happened in years. Besides, you’re clearly more capable than the lot of them.”
“I don’t care why you hire me,” she said. “As long as you do.”
“Done,” he said, clapping his hands together, shocked by his own impulsiveness in this. But it felt. . . right. “I shall hire you immediately with a two-week trial. And if I can’t stand you, you’ll leave.”
“Agreed,” she said, her face positively alight. “But you won’t dislike me. And I won’t leave.”
“Don’t you care about your salary?” he asked suddenly, amazed she seemed to care so little for the practicalities most were preoccupied with. Had she truly no interest but history?
“No,” she replied. “All I care about is bed and board.”
That gave him pause. Bed, indeed. He wished his assistant to be near at hand so he might call upon them at any time. . . But a young lady made things a bit more complicated. Or did it? Should he treat her as a man?
But, quite simply, she was not a man. She might be more capable, but he could hardly barge into her room in the middle of the night.
“Hmm, where to put you?” he mused.
“I’m happy in the servant’s quarters,” she said happily. “Upstairs would do quite nicely.”
“Absolutely not,” he countered firmly. “I’ll need you far closer at hand than that. I’ll give you a room at the end of the same corridor as mine.”
“Thank you,” she said, simply looking as pleased as a cat that had been put in a room full of birds.
“You’re most welcome,” he said, meaning it. He seldom cared much about other people’s pleasure, but he was happy to see her so pleased.
He wondered if she’d had to fight a good deal in this life. He rather thought so. And he felt equally certain that such fighting had only made her stronger.
Still, it had never occurred to him that he might have to have some sort of propriety about his new staff.
“You know,” he warned, though he loathed it. “If any nonsense of this business of being a man and a woman gets in the way of things, we shall have to come to an end.”
“Oh,” she said. “I can’t imagine that should occur. I don’t particularly think I’m the sort of young lady to interest you, do you? Men aren’t generally interested in me.”
What the devil did she mean by that, he wanted to know?
The sort of lady, indeed.
And most men were obsessed with shallow appearance. Idiots, the lot of them.
She was an interesting woman. Did she not see that?
And interesting was far more important than beauty.
Yes. He found himself wishing to discuss his pots and his artifacts with her now, and to find out what exactly she did know about history.
Yes.
He wished to discover all about her. It was damn irritating, that. But it was also. . . Most intriguing. For if he was honest, he sometimes found himself to be lonely. So few shared his interests and commitments.
Damnation, he shouldn’t wish to know about his assistant. He wished his assistant to assist him, and that was all.
Well, he would just have to largely ignore her and keep their relationship businesslike. . . Even if he did feel his curiosity piqued.
No, he would give her a set of tasks, and that would be enough.
As long as she could complete them, that was all that mattered. The last fellow he’d hired had been an absolute disaster, and he had to have him leave within forty-eight hours.
Though he hoped not, no doubt, she would be the same. But one had to try.
“I shall endeavor to make sure your room is a good distance from mine,” he suddenly said, hoping to give her assurance as to his intentions.
“Oh, you could put me next to you,” she said with a shrug. “I do not think it should be a problem. I sleep with a parasol, which has a reinforced steel frame. And if you were to come into my room, I assure you, I would defend myself.”
His admiration for her only increased. “Good to know, Miss Post, good to know. I do like a lady who is prepared, but I promise you shall not have to worry about me accosting you.”
“You see,” she insisted firmly. “I told you that I was not your sort.”
“No,” he roared. “Because I’m not a cad.”
She smiled at him, a slow, amused smile. “Good to know, my lord, good to know.”
That smile. . . It did something strange and hot and compelling to him. He did his damnedest to ignore it. “Roxley,” he reminded.
“Roxley,” she echoed.
And it drove him absolutely mad because, once again, he quite liked the sound of his title upon her lips.
Chapter 4
Pippa could barely contain her bubbling enthusiasm.
How had it all worked out so well? She wished to cry out her happiness to the heavens!
The Earl of Roxley had hired her on the spot. And he’d promised to collect her trunk from the cross roads!
She had assumed he was going to send her away for at least a day. She would have had to find a room in an inn and await his answer.
But no!
He must have been desperate, which did make her a trifle nervous, but it did not matter. She was his assistant, and that was all that mattered.
She stood by the small but efficient desk in the room he’d given her, eyeing the banked fireplace.
He’d started the small blaze himself.
She’d begun to protest when he knelt before the grate, but he’d insisted. And after starting the fire, he’d left her quite alone, explaining he had things to do and correspondence that could not wait.
She was quite certain that, as he’d warned, he cared for his artifacts and work far more than people.
She couldn’t blame him in the slightest.
After all, she was fairly certain she was going to like them more than most
people too. She already liked books more than people.
It was true that Roxley was quite difficult, but she didn’t mind that at all, not if she was going to get to do what she’d so longed to do for months.
However, she found she rather admired his terse directness. He might be unpleasant to some, but she found him refreshing.
She pulled out a sheet of luxurious paper from the drawer and picked up a quill and a crystal ink jar. She sat down and began writing a letter to Helena.
“I am triumphant!” she declared in the letter.
It was a truth that filled her with elation as she wrote the words.
She had persevered, and all would be well.
It didn’t matter that he was particularly handsome.
She was not interested in that sort of thing.
No, she was only interested in his collection. And his knowledge.
Yes, that was absolutely true.
Should she mention his appearance at all to Helena? No. Surely, not.
Besides, he was an absolute devil, most infuriating. The things he said! He clearly enjoyed riling people.
She nibbled on the end of the quill, a horrible habit that she’d never quite gotten rid of despite the fact that her governess had punished her time and time again, dousing the end of her quills in the most noxious-smelling substances.
She knew she should get ready to go down to the kitchen in just a moment. Her stomach rumbled loudly, protesting the little attention she’d given it since leaving London.
First, she’d finish her missive. Pippa dipped her quill into the ink again, wiped the excess liquid from the nib, then placed the tip to the paper, eager to describe the strange man she met downstairs.
The rumors did not do him justice. He was remarkable and ridiculously handsome and completely mysterious.
He was also rude.
It was going to be a most interesting time, working for him. And she would, indeed, prove she was the best choice. At the end of two weeks, he would beg her to stay. She rather relished that thought.
A rap at the door stopped her in her ruminations on said begging, and she scribbled a last line.
“Come in,” she called, not looking up from her letter.
Did he have servants, after all? Someone who had come with linens or some other item she might need?
But the door swung open, and the unmistakable sound of the Earl of Roxley’s boots marching across the floor echoed in the room.
She turned to him, most curious.
He filled the chamber with his indomitable presence. A stack of books and papers filled his impressive arms.
Without ado, he stormed over to her desk, placed them down and barked, “Have these done and translated by tomorrow morning. I’ve marked the passages for you to do.”
She gazed up at him steadily, wondering if he was always so full of life. Surely, it was exhausting to have so much energy. It was also fascinating to watch him be consumed with the clear need to be doing, working, or waiting to see if others could keep up with him.
She had every intention of keeping up.
“Of course,” she replied. “Thank you.”
“Hmmph.” The sound, from anyone else, would have been most annoying, but from him? It sounded like a disgruntled lion annoyed with the world and its vagaries.
Then without another word, he gave a nod, turned, and began for the door.
“I beg your pardon, Roxley,” she called.
“Yes,” he asked, turning about and gazing upon her with impatience.
The man was a marvel. From his stance and the way in which his eyes sparked, she could sense he was already moving on to some other great matter of import that did not include giving work to his new assistant or answering questions that, to him, likely seemed silly.
Still, the consumption of food was not silly but a necessity.
“I don’t suppose there is the possibility of a repast?” she asked without hesitation or apology. After all, a good employer would ensure her basic needs were taken care of. “I have been traveling all day, and I find I am hungry and a trifle parched.”
His dark brows drew together. “Do I look like a maid?” he demanded.
“No,” she admitted, suppressing a smile at the idea of him running about the house in a mob cap, dusting. It was an impossible image with his great muscles and scowl. It was all she could do not to burst out laughing. Instead, she blinked the tears of amusement from her eyes and pointed out, “But nor do you look exactly like an earl. I feel most confused about how I am to behave with you. You have made it quite clear that you are unorthodox.”
His jaw tensed, and his shoulders seemed to relax a smidgen as he considered her words.
“True,” he said. “You may go down to the kitchens and find whatever you require. I am far too busy to make you a sandwich.”
A grin parted her lips at that.
Sandwiches certainly were the fashionable food of the day for men on the move. She quite fancied one herself, though she had never been allowed to try one. Perhaps today would be the day when she would place a piece of meat between two slices of bread, be able to continue her work, and join the ranks of men who ate such a snack.
He frowned. “Right, then. I’m off.” But he did not immediately depart as he snuck a glance at the towering stack he’d left upon her desk. “You don’t think you’ll need any help with those tomes?”
“Of course not,” she scoffed, almost offended, but not quite, since he’d never met anyone quite like her before. “All shall be well, and I’ll have them for you tomorrow morning. Never fear.”
He nodded. “Very good. Very good, Miss Post.”
“Did you expect me to resist the assignment?” she asked suddenly, realizing that’s exactly what he had expected, the devil.
“Well, I don’t know,” he ventured, looking shockingly sheepish like a boy caught after being at the sweet jar. “I thought perhaps you might have some sort of protestations about being tired.”
She folded her hands on her lap and arched a brow. “So you were setting me up to fail, Roxley,” she admonished with a light tsk.
“Not exactly,” he replied with a sigh. “But I wanted to make sure you were not a delicate flower.”
Her lips twitched. He was a most confusing man. He clearly liked her, gruff though he was, but he was so accustomed to ineptitude that he did not know what to do with her.
“I thought we had established that already,” Pippa pointed out.
“So, we have. So, we have.” He gave another nod as if to dismiss the whole affair. “Well, good night.”
“Good night,” she said cheerfully, eager to get to work. But then a necessity struck her, and she asked quickly, “Where am I to locate extra candles? I shall be up for quite some time.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Extra candles, is it? Hmm. Well perhaps you should come with me, then.” His expression softened, which left him looking positively charming. “I find I’m rather hungry. Perhaps we can go down together and put something together and have a bit of something to eat.”
The change in his countenance was most astonishing as he clearly realized he was being unreasonable. His visage changed from one of gruffness to unaffected charm.
“That sounds most practical,” she said, not wishing to draw attention to his change in demeanor lest he revert and storm off without showing her either the candles or the bread box.
Chapter 5
Pippa quickly blotted and sanded her letter before placing her quill down. Happily, she stood and smoothed her hands down the front of her fresh, dry gown.
The earl folded his arms across his broad chest, a habit no doubt of general skepticism for his fellow men. “Writing reports already, are you? Of my strange behavior?”
“Yes,” she informed without any attempts to lie. He was a remarkable figure. Obviously, he knew it too. “I have a few friends who will find my experience most interesting.”
His eyes narrowed abruptly. “You don’t write
for some ratted newssheet, do you?”
“Of course not,” she protested, a wave of horror at the very idea, crashing through her. Quite offended he would think she would do something so awful as write for a rag, she managed to sputter, “I’m astonished and somewhat impressed you would think that I, a woman, could write for one.”
“Ha!” he countered. “One never knows. One never knows, Miss Post, about the capabilities of those one allows into one’s home. Women are capable of a great many things men believe reserved for themselves. For instance, there are a great many lady novelists, as I understand.”
“Indeed, there are,” she enthused, thinking of her friend Helena.
“Come,” he said, and with that, he headed out into the hall as if she was a dog who would follow him upon command.
She did not argue nor take offense, for she realized this was his personality.
She had a distinct feeling he was this way with dukes as well.
Such men as he, usually were.
They didn’t give any sort of thought to the niceties of life, because no one had insisted they do so. He had been born to privilege and, therefore, could behave thus. He was also a man whose head was lost in other matters, barely giving credence to the regular sights around him.
The Earl of Roxley’s vast amount of energy and thoughts were consumed by the past, not the present. And she liked that a good deal. Frankly, she liked few people. Good manners or ill, most were obsessed with the rather gilded silliness of contemporary life.
She followed her host quickly, her stomach grumbling.
It had been a long day. In fact, she’d barely managed to dry herself before the fire before she’d sat down to her letter. And she had scarce eaten.
If she was to translate all night long, having something in her stomach was most important. She followed him out into the dark corridor, still quite amazed by the house.
Her own family home was quite new, built by recently acquired money that had come out of the miseries inflicted by the unyielding mills of industry. No one seemed to mind that in her family but herself.
The earl’s house, if she dared use such a word, was ancient for sure. Not ancient by the standards of some, of course, but certainly by her own new house, which her father had managed to already pillage of expensive items for additional funds at the gaming tables.