Page 3 of To Resist a Scandalous Rogue
“Well, I suppose that’s as good a reason as any,” Finlay managed with a chuckle.
“I’m relieved you approve, sir.”
Despite himself, he laughed again. A hearty laugh he felt in his toes. It was rare anyone, let alone a woman, spoke to him in such a way. Women tended to titter and flutter their lashes, hopeful their antics would snare the merry Viscount Firthwell. He should have known a tart tongue would capture his attention.
“What is your husband’s position with the East India Company?”
“He was the undersecretary to the Governor.”
“Was?” The word rang out to Finlay despite the fact she hadn’t emphasized it.
He watched her stroke the fingers on her left hand. “He died last year. Cholera.”
“Ah,” he said stupidly, and he wanted to kick himself again. “My condolences.”
“Thank you.” Her words were whispered, but he heard them all the same. The sudden stillness of the air made them resound as loud as a shout.
A new thought occurred to him. “If you were the wife of the undersecretary to the governor of India, why on earth are you a servant here at Belling House?”
Her shoulders curved in, as if she thought she could make herself disappear. “There were some issues with his will.”
Finlay leaned forward. “What sort of issues?”
Pivoting, she faced him, defiance evident in her frame. “Why do you care, sir? Are you not here for distractions? For debauchery? My story isn’t available for your entertainment.”
Well.
He flexed his jaw and dropped his head to his chest, thoroughly chagrined. She was right. He was interested in her story because it distracted him from contemplating his multitude of problems. Belling’s party was supposed to do the same thing. Both were failures.
“I apologize,” he said, his voice tight. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
She nodded, then angled her face away.
The sudden awkwardness that replaced the easy chatter they’d previously experienced made him want to run his hands through his hair and pull it. What had happened to his legendary charm? He’d used to be able to flirt and converse with women as naturally as drawing breath. Apparently, his father had taken his talent with him on the man’s exile to the Continent.
“I’m not a maid, anyhow.” Her voice was low, and he squinted as if that would allow him to hear her better. “I was misled. With the best of intentions, as odd as it sounds.”
He frowned. “How were you misled?”
“There was no maid position.”
“What position were you offered instead?”
Her silence drew his attention. She stared at her lap, where her hands knotted and unknotted in obvious agitation. Observing her distress delivered a shot of clarity. “Oh,” he managed.
“Indeed,” she said and inexplicably laughed. A diverted, husky sound that sent streaks of heated awareness rushing over his scalp and down his back. “Here, I thought I would be cleaning, dusting, and delivering tea trays. How naive.”
Finlay swallowed, forcing down the surge of arousal her innocent laugh had encouraged. Why he responded in such a way he couldn’t say, but perhaps he would be better off returning to the drawing room, which was filled with the kind of women who’d welcome such a reaction. The kind of woman his seatmate had just confessed tonotbeing.
He coughed into his hand. “Who led you to believe it was a maid’s position?”
“My cousin, Eliza. The lovely blonde in red.”
Finlay knew exactly who Eliza was. She’d been working her wiles on him rather unsuccessfully before he’d departed for the gardens. “I don’t think it’s naive to think your cousin would be interested in helping you. No doubt, in her own way, she thought she was.”
“I’m sure.”
A wave of sympathy swept over him. To be widowed and in obvious need of help, she must have been devastated to learn the advertised job was very different than the one she was offered.
