Page 13 of The Confessions of a Lady
Four steps. Hardly unattainable. If I can maintain focus.
That is what mattered. Not some pixie-eyed servant girl whose scent invaded his senses, whose sharp tongue invited him to spar, whose blend of strong lines and soft curves made his fingers itch and his mouth water.
With his priorities realigned, Liam strode into his study painfully early in the grey morning with the best of intentions to begin work. And then he crashed intoher.
The fates are toying with me again. Fuck the fates.
He wasn’t one to be trifled with, even by the divine. He would take a step back. Create distance. Control the urge to reach up and test the softness of her skin, just there, where freckles sprinkled across her cheekbone.
But then he’d opened his stupid mouth and issued a challenge. Which was bad. But when the contrary woman returned the gauntlet he threw, it was even worse. At the very least, for his evaporating control.
He dared her to be honest with him, and damn her warrior spirit, she reciprocated. With brutal truth.
But now she lowered her head, pulling the guise of obedient servant back on despite how ill it fit her form. ‘Forgive me, my lord.’
This was his opportunity to retreat. Accept her apology. Dismiss her from his study. Forget the whole encounter.
But I never retreat.
He let his fingers reach out and brush over the simple cotton of her uniform. A breach of propriety and unforgivably bold. He pulled back, but not before his index finger encountered a noticeable bulge in her apron pocket.
Quirking his eyebrow, suspicion dawned.
Was Miss Smith stealing from him?
Disappointment broke the spell he’d allowed to wind around them like a mist. He stepped back, his gaze falling to her apron. Yes. A definite lump.
‘What is in your pocket, Miss Smith?’ He clipped his syllables as fiercely as he clipped his desire.
The young woman’s cheeks paled, her shadowed eyes grew huge in guilt or surprise, he couldn’t determine which. She swallowed. Liam was momentarily distracted by the contraction of her delicate throat.
‘Thieving is something I will not abide in my household. Show me what is in your pocket, Miss Smith.’
She didn’t move. Frozen like a wild creature caught in an iron trap.
‘Should I reach in there myself?’ God, he wanted to do just that. Any excuse to step closer and put his hands on her, even if it was just to prove the woman was pilfering a silver candlestick, or perhaps the brass paperweight on his desk.
Miss Smith took a halting step backward. ‘I… it’s just…’ She dipped a shaking hand into her pocket and pulled out… a pastry.
Surprising relief flooded Liam before quickly being replaced with shame. Theft carried heavy consequences for a servant. Dismissal without recommendation. Whipping. Months of hard labour. Even transportation if the items were of value. She wasclearly terrified of his threat, and all because she dared put a scone in her pocket.
Following in Father’s footsteps. Terrifying the staff. Fear and respect meant the same thing to him. Wouldn’t he finally be so proud of me?
Black anger rose to eclipse the shame. Anger with his dead father. Anger with himself. Liam provoked Miss Smith to speak plainly with him about the value of her thoughts and opinions, then immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion.
Because she was a servant.
Because she was lowborn.
Because she didn’t like him, and while he could fathom a wealth of reasons why, he didn’t like the idea of her finding him undeserving.
And, if she were a thief, I could extinguish this ridiculous power she holds over me.
Even that was bullshit. Liam’s attraction to Miss Smith was not within her power. He was responsible for his thoughts. His actions. His feelings. Only a weak man blamed others for his own desires. His own failings.
He breathed deeply through his nose, letting the cold air clear his head.
Miss Smith rushed on with her explanation. ‘Mrs O’Brian gave me a scone.’ Crumbs from the squished treat fell onto the Aubusson rug. Her eyes flicked to her boots, now covered in fragments of her snack. ‘Oh, dear.’ Miss Smith shoved the offending delicacy back into her apron pocket and dropped to her knees to pick up the mess she’d made. Because of his accusations.
