Page 42 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
Phee knew her eyes grew as round as saucers. “But you were a child.”
Marla shrugged in a way that made it appear she was rolling Phee’s words off her back. “Me mum had eight kids, another coming. I had to start earning my own way. How long have you been in service?”
Phee could hardly believe that Marla was so accepting of the treatment she’d endured, but obviously she wanted to move the conversation along, so Phee obliged her.
“I don’t know. Supposedly I’ve been here for a fortnight.” She studied the door. “Do you think I’ve polished this since I set foot in the house?”
“Doesn’t look like it, does it? Windows need washing, too.”
Oh God, that was going to be a chore. She’d have to get a ladder. Was she afraid of heights? “Maybe Mr. Darling doesn’t care about the windows and doors.”
“Of course he does. All the middles care about appearances. It’s why they hire servants.”
“The middles?”
Marla laughed. “You have forgotten a lot. You know, those who aren’t poor, but they’re not the upper swells either. Like Mrs. Turner. They hire at least one servant for appearances’ sake, so people know they havesomemoney. Most have two or three domestics, whatever they can afford. We make them feel rich.”
Was that why Darling had hired her? For appearances? No, he didn’t strike her as giving a fig about what others thought of him. He was quick enough to put her in her place if he didn’t like what she said. “All right then. Windows. What other chores do I need to see to?”
“Oil lamps have to be cleaned and prepared every day. Some households have a gent and that’s his sole job. He’s in charge of the oil lamps.”
“Our furnishings are rather spartan at the moment so that chore shouldn’t take an inordinate amount of time. What else?”
Phee polished while Marla began listing all the things she needed to tend to. Oddly, she didn’t find it overwhelming. Instead, she thought her chores would make the day go rather quickly, but more she imagined how rewarding it would be when Drake Darling noticed her efforts. The next time a fancy carriage rolled to a stop in front of the residence, the driver and footman would see a gleaming door.
And just maybe Drake Darling would smile at her, revealing that intriguing little dimple.
Chapter 12
He awoke to a light nudge, late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows, and arresting green eyes. Why couldn’t they be as black and uninteresting as his? Why did they have to reflect expectation? Why did they have to make him wish he could gaze into them for the remainder of his life?
It would forever haunt him that he saw them this warm and welcoming, knowing that on the morrow they would once again be frigid and hard when meeting his.
“Your bath is ready,” she said, her voice low and enticing. He could clearly envision it whispering endearments in his ear, urging him onward as he pounded into her while she gripped his buttocks, meeting him thrust for thrust.
His cock was so damned hard at that moment that he could have driven nails into wood with it, but it was only because he was awakening and it always stood at attention first thing. It had nothing at all to do with the woman in the dark blue dress and ruffled apron leaning over him. She could have been a crone for all it cared. Was a crone beneath the silken skin and the long dark lashes that didn’t match her hair and inviting red lips that were slightly parted.
“Then leave so I can make my way there.” He hated the irascibility in his voice, the slight dimming of delight in her eyes. Which made no sense as he was doing all this—
He didn’t know why the bloody hell he was doing it. His mind was foggy from sleep, and he couldn’t concentrate with her so near, so unlike the Ophelia he knew.
Then she tipped up her pert little nose in that gesture that never failed to irritate—thank God, thank God, thank God—tilting his world back onto its rightful axis. “Of course. Pardon my intrusion.”
He watched the swing of her hips, the apron ties swaying, as she made her way from the room. She may not have slammed the door in her wake, but it closed with a definite resounding click that conveyed her pique.
He covered his eyes with his arm and wondered why clothing that left so little skin revealed was so incredibly enticing. He wanted to see her wearing naught but the apron. Where had that thought come from? What was the matter with him? Tomorrow was not soon enough. Perhaps he should return her tonight. As soon as he was convinced she was in no danger. No sense in prolonging the inevitable.
Tossing back the covers, he rolled out of the bed, coming to a halt as her words finally hit him. She’d prepared his bath. He shouldn’t be surprised that she’d managed to learn by observing him the day before. He’d always known she wasn’t an idiot. Still, he was taken aback that she hadn’t feigned ignorance today, that she hadn’t garnered some excuse to avoid the chore. A chore that wasn’t truly hers.
He wondered if it had felt foreign to her or if she’d conjured images of others doing the task for her.
He went through the door that connected the bathing chamber to his room. No steam arising. He climbed in, settled his head back against the lip of the tub. The water wasn’t as blistering hot as he preferred it but—
Who the devil did he think he was—her?—complaining about something that had been done for him? The temperature of the water didn’t matter, didn’t undo the effort that had gone into preparing—
Click.
He stilled. The door was opening. He glanced over his shoulder.
