Page 83 of The Wolf of Mayfair
Helia stilled. Her mind whirled with a sea of thoughts and remembrances.
A tense exchange with Anthony.
“Don’t you knock, Miss Wallace?”
“I did and quiteloudly. You didn’t—”
His black eyebrows snapped together. “What is it?”
She whipped her focus his way.
“Is this what you came for?” he whispered, coming to his feet with a menacing languor.
Thump.
Helia’s gaze darted to the black cat bounding out from behind the desk and thoroughly ruining any attempt from Anthony at scaring her.
Shock brought her brows up.
Anthony glared, silently daring her to mention the fact he’d had the cat on his lap.
“You were keeping company with him,” she whispered.
A flush dusted the edge of his cheekbones. “He interrupted my damned solitude, the same as a certain someone.” He looked pointedly at her.
She couldn’t suppress the soft smile that formed. “It is all right you love him,” she said thickly. “I shan’t tell a soul.”
“I don’t love anyone,” he snapped.
“Aye, I believe you’ve said as much.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Butyoudon’t believe it.” There was another warning there.
She’d never been one to scare easily. “I believe it’s possible for one to tell oneself with words they don’t love anyone or anything, but that doesn’t keep the emotion from living in here.” Helia touched a fist to her chest.
“Why are you here?” he asked in a tone that indicated he’d absolutely no intention of continuing this particular dialogue.
“I came to speak on behalf of your servants. They are not to bla—”
“This is why you’ve come?” he taunted. “You storm my office—”
“In fairness, I didn’t storm it as much as knock, but you didn’t seem to hear me.”
“To save my delinquent staff?”
“They were in an impossible place. They were taking directives from me and received no specific guidance from you.”
“Taking directives from you, my dear?” He flashed a lazy, jeering grin. “That in and of itself is a sackable offense.”
Helia angled her head. Anthony sought to get a rise out of her. She’d come to know him well enough now to see that he buried his vulnerability in the form of harsh tones and steely grins. Inside, however, he, like anyone else, hurt. The marquess just concealed his far better than most.
“You won’t fire them, then,” she finally said.
“Is that a ques—”
“No,” Helia interrupted. “You won’t. I know it.”
He chuckled. “My, how confident you are, my dear.” With a panther-like grace, he slowly unfurled each of his six foot three inches, stretching. “On what grounds,” he purred, “have I proven to be a benevolent lord of the household?” He glided languidly from behind the desk.
