Page 25 of A Rake's Redemption
Alex frowned. “You are right about that.” He hadn’t really considered Inis would think he was trying to buy his way into her bed. While he had no qualms about plundering and pillaging his way through the bedrooms of aristocratic wives, he didn’t ever want to put a servant in the position of feeling obligated to do more than her job. He took note that Brice was watching him with a skeptical expression. “What?”
Brice swirled his cognac and took a slow sip before answering. “I am wondering if bedding the girl is not exactly what you want to do.”
Alex glared at him. “I am not that much of a blackguard.”
“I did not say you were,” his friend answered. “I think you might actually like this one.”
“Of course, Ilikeher,” Alex said, trying to keep irritation out of his voice. “She is refreshingly unassuming.”
Brice grinned. “That would be unique.”
Alex opened his mouth, closed it, then reached for his brandy so he wouldn’t have to respond. He knew he was attracted to Inis for her free spirit. He admired her courage in trying to be independent after her parents’ deaths. He knew it couldn’t be easy to be a young woman alone in a foreign country, with no money or prospects. He even liked Inis’s stubborn streak, which was more of a challenge than anything else. That’s why he’d bought the wardrobe. He looked forward to persuading her into accepting it. Or did he? He had made a cowardly run for White’s, after all.
“You know I have a rule about servants,” Alex finally said.
“I quite agree,” Brice replied. “Maids have a hard enough time of it without being coerced by an employer.” He took another sip of cognac. “But is Inis really a servant? A hostler generally is a contractor for wage.”
That was the gist of it. Alex didn’t think about Inis as a servant. Apart from being too independent minded and opinionated to be subservient to anyone, she didn’t fit into the ranks of maids, from below-stairs scullery and laundry to above-stairs chamber or parlor. She wasn’t a stable boy or coachman or even truly a groom. She was training Goldie and, from what Jameson told him, she was also breaking several other fillies to halter and one colt to saddle. Brice was right that most of the time, hostlers were paid outright without obligation. But these circumstances were different.
“Inis is living under my roof,” Alex said.
“Perhaps you should give her her freedom, then,” Brice answered.
“I do not own her. She is free to leave if she wishes.” Even before he finished speaking, Alex knew the words weren’t true. If he couldn’t persuade her to accept the wardrobe and she insisted on paying him back, she’d be in debt for at least a year. She couldn’t afford to live on her own. Not that the thought of her living elsewhere sat well with him.
Brice shrugged. “I was thinking it might ease your conscience if you bedded the girl and she were not part of your household staff.”
He should not—wouldnot—entertain ideas of making Inis his mistress. No, no, no. Alex put his glass down and stood to leave. “This conversation is becoming ridiculous. I only have intentions of befriending Inis.”
Brice grinned again. “If that is what you want to call it.”
…
Miranda tried to rein in her impatience as she waited for her maid, Leah, to return from visiting her sister on Saturday afternoon. Not being able to sit still, she wiped her palms on an embroidered handkerchief and paced the sitting room of her suite after shutting the door to the inner bedchamber. The bed only reminded her of the delightful time she’d had in it with Alex Ashley.
She wanted him back in that bed. Or, more to the point, she wantedhim. Anywhere. Any place. Actually, the less conventional the place, the better.
Who was the red-headed bitch she’d seen him with in the park? And where in hell’s blazes was Leah? She’d given the maid the afternoon off purposely to visit her sister and ferret out whatever information she could. Miranda had used Leah before to procure gritty details on past lovers and she’d proved herself useful at getting the servants of other houses to talk, probably because Miranda paid her quite well for such information.
Miranda whirled at the sudden tap on her door. Finally. “Enter.”
Leah opened the door, stepped inside, and closed it behind her. “I had an interesting conversation with my sister.”
Miranda did not want to appear too eager for the news of who the redhead was, so she kept her voice casual. “Have a seat and do tell.”
Leah sat down with a flourish on one of the ivory-brocade chairs near the hearth, not noticing that the fire was nearly out. Or perhaps she did notice but felt herself above stoking it. Miranda didn’t really care if the maid gave herself airs—case in point, sitting on an expensive Chippendale chair instead of the settee—as long as the information she had was good and accurate.
Miranda took the chair opposite Leah’s and folded the hankie in her lap. “Is your sister doing well?” Not that she cared.
“Quite well. Lord Ashley paid her two guineas for a dress for Inis to wear to the modiste shop.”
A dress? Had Alex torn it from the little strumpet and had to resort to a servant’s clothing to get her out of the house? Somehow, Miranda managed to keep her tone neutral. “Inis?”
“Inis O’Brien. The red-haired girl you asked me to inquire about,” Leah said. “She claims to be a hostler and spends a lot of time in the stables.”
The stables. Miranda hadn’t ever met any of her lovers in a stable. The hay would be hard to get out of her hair, but if Alex liked it… “So she is actually a groom?”
Leah nodded. “Fern says Inis always smells like a horse when she comes in.”
