Page 114 of Crocodile Tears

Moving over to the door, he paused and glanced back. Alexander was standing by the bed, his head bowed, looking strangely vulnerable.

“What is it?” he snapped.

“I’m your servant, sir, even if itisonly temporary, so I wish you’dtell me how I can serve you. I’m not sure how to please you, and I’m afraid of upsetting you or making you angry without meaning to.”

“You don’t need to worry about serving me,” Josiah told him curtly. “I can take care of myself – I’ve been doing it all my life and sure as hell don’t need your help. As for making me happy – that’s not possible, so don’t even try.”

He yanked open the door and was about to leave when Alexander spoke again, quietly, behind him.

“I think you’re wrong.”

“What?” He turned back.

“I think you’re wrong, sir. I think you deny yourself happiness because it feels like a betrayal. That’s why you punish yourself.” His eyes flickered to the cut on Josiah’s jaw. “But I think you could be happy, if you let yourself.”

“Any ‘happiness’ you give me would be a lie,” he snapped. “Didn’t Elliot Dacre find that out?”

“Living a lie didn’t seem to make him unhappy, sir.” Alexander shrugged. “He couldn’t buy my love, but he could buy the rest of me and that suited him fine. The illusion of love is enough for most people.”

“Well then I can only assume that most people have never known the real thing.” Striding out of the room, he slammed the door shut behind him.

He took a shower and was so angry that he cut himself shaving, which made him even angrier, because he was sure that if he’d taken Alexander up on his offer, he’d have received the kind of perfect shave that only such a highly trained, very expensive servant could provide.

Alexander was like a needle under his skin, penetrating his ordered existence, and he didn’t like it.

He got dressed with sharp, jerky movements, buttoning a navy-blue waistcoat over a crisply ironed white shirt, and then adjusting the sharp creases down the front of his trousers. Finally, he tied the shoelaces on his polished black shoes with his usual double knot, allowing the familiar, precise movements to soothe him.

Standing up, he surveyed himself in his mirror. He looked tired – there were dark shadows under his eyes, and the various cuts andbruises on his face gave him a battered appearance. It wasn’t an image he liked to present to the world, but he couldn’t do anything about that.

After tucking a perfectly ironed handkerchief into the top pocket of his jacket, he squared his shoulders and made his way down the stairs.

Alexander was waiting for him in the kitchen, fully washed and dressed, along with a hot mug of tea and a steaming plate of scrambled eggs on toast.

“Please don’t be angry,” he said beseechingly. “I have to be useful.”

Josiah was too hungry to argue. He sat down, shoved his fork into the eggs, took a bite, and then looked up in surprise. “This is bloody delicious.”

Alexander smiled and sat down at the table opposite him.

“Aren’t you having any?” he asked.

“Am I allowed to, sir? I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to follow a special diet.”

Josiah stared at him. “No. Hell no. Seriously, your previous houders decided what you ate?”

“Elliot wanted me slim and toned. If you want the same…”

“I don’t give a damn about any of that shit. Eat what you like. If there’s no food, buy some – I’ll get a cash card loaded up for you later. Don’t ever go hungry, though – that’s an order.”

He remembered too many nights in the Quarterlands when he’d gone to bed famished, the angry gnawing in his belly all he could think about.

“I mean it,” he said gruffly. “If you’re hungry, you eat – whatever bloody food you feel like eating. Promise?”

Alexander looked startled by his vehemence. “Yes, sir,” he said softly. “I promise.”

“Good.” He turned back to his breakfast. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted eggs this good. Is this a special recipe?”

Alexander laughed. “No – I learned how to cook a few basic meals at the Belvedere Academy.”

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