Page 20 of The Paid Companion

It had dawned on him that fateful evening that the world was likely well-populated with rich, attractive young wives who, for reasons of money and social connections, had been married off to fat, old men. He had concluded that London would afford him the best career opportunities.

He had been correct. When the aged baron had died in his sleep a few months later, his widow had wasted no time moving her entire household to town. She had taken Ibbitts with her, promoting him to the rank of butler. He had remained in her employ for more than a year before growing weary of her unceasing demands.

He had eventually left her service and sought another post. It had not taken him long to find an even more lucrative position in another wealthy household. Once again he had found himself called upon to satisfy a young wife whose bald, middle-aged husband spent most of his nights with his mistress.

Like his first employer, the lady had been very generous, not just with her favors and his quarterly wages, but also, more important, with expensive gifts.

For a few years he had pursued his career with great diligence. In addition to a number of posts in which he was obliged to meet the demands of several astonishingly lusty ladies, he had obtained one or two positions in the service of wealthy gentlemen. The men had been just as appreciative of his two great assets as the women.

But a year ago, disaster had struck. True, he had long since grown weary of the tiresome demands of his employers. Work that nature had intended to be pleasurable had become, well,work.Nevertheless, he had told himself that the pay and the gifts were worth the labor.

Then one night, to his great horror, a problem arose. Rather, to be more precise, his second great asset had failed to arise.

His face might have been his fortune, but it was not much good on its own. His excellent career depended just as much, if not more, upon his reliability and endurance in bed.

To his dismay, he had been ignominiously let go from his post. But once again luck had been with him. Seven months ago he had found his present position here in the mansion in Rain Street. The elderly man-of-business who had hired him had given him a few simple instructions. Ibbitts was to supervise a small staff suitable for maintaining the large house and ensure that the earl’s London residence would be ready for its owner on the rare occasions that St. Merryn elected to come to town for one of his brief stays.

Ibbitts had found his new post to be ideal in every respect. Not only was there no employer to be kept satisfied in the bedchamber, but St. Merryn had not even bothered to put in an appearance.

Until now Ibbitts had been free to do as he liked in the big house. He had used the opportunity to set about making arrangements for an early and comfortable retirement.

Things had been going well until St. Merryn had arrived a few days before, unannounced, expecting the household to be prepared for him. Ibbitts had been terrified for the first twenty-four hours after the earl had taken up residence. Emboldened by the long absence of his employer, he had made several modifications in the staff. The result was that the mansion was not in the best order.

He had made the changes for an excellent reason: economy. There had been no point retaining the cook or the housekeeper or the second chambermaid or the gardeners when the mansion’s owner was not around to make use of their services.

He could only hope that St. Merryn would not stay long, Ibbitts thought. In the meantime, he would learn as much as possible about the earl’s private affairs.

Over the course of his career, he had discovered that there was often a very good market for information about his employers’ secrets.

8

Bennett lowered himself into the chair across from Arthur and glanced back once more toward the lean, angry young man who was just leaving the club. “I see Burnley is here this afternoon.”

“Yes.” Arthur did not look up from his newspaper.

“I saw him watching you a few minutes ago. I swear, if looks could kill, you would have cocked up your toes by now.”

Arthur turned the page. “Fortunately, looks do not have that effect upon me. At least, Burnley’s do not.”

“I believe that he has conceived a deep hatred of you,” Bennett warned quietly.

“I cannot comprehend why. He is the one who got the lady, not me.”

Bennett sighed and sank deeper into his chair. It worried him that Arthur refused to show any signs of concern about Roland Burnley’s clear and unwavering dislike of him. But, then, at the moment his friend was focusing all of his attentions on his scheme to catch his great-uncle’s murderer. And when Arthur concentrated on a venture, it consumed him until it was completed.

Such intense single-mindedness could be a decidedly irksome trait at times, Bennett thought. But he was forced to admit that it was likely the reason why Arthur had, in the matter of only a few years, managed to rebuild the once-depleted St. Merryn fortunes to their current very high level.

Although he knew that Arthur was not interested in hearing any warnings about Roland Burnley, Bennett felt obliged to deliver another one.

“Rumor has it that Burnley’s financial situation has deteriorated to a very low point,” he said, trying to ease into the subject from another angle. “He is trying to recoup his gaming losses in the hells.”

“If he has resorted to gambling to provide an income, his financial status will only decline further.”

“No doubt.” Bennett leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “I do not like what I see in his face when the two of you are in the same room.”

“Then do not look at his expression.”

Bennett sighed. “Very well, but I advise you to guard your back.”

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