Page 55 of Once More, My Darling Rogue
“Don’t be stubborn about this, Phee. Talk to her, find out what her services are worth, and I’ll pay her.”
“But you shouldn’t have—”
“It’ll come out of your salary.”
“Oh.” That stopped her protests cold, but she didn’t seem particularly happy about it. “If you would hire a cook you would pay her and it wouldn’t come out of my salary.”
“No, it wouldn’t. You’re quite right. I’ll pay her out of my pocket.” Which he would have done anyway since he wasn’t really giving her a salary. The argument was moot but quite fun. He shook his head. He didn’t want to have fun with her.
“Perhaps we should have her prepare all our dinners,” Phee mused. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind the extra income. It was tasty pheasant. You said so yourself.”
“All our dinners? And what will you do with yourday?”
“According to Mrs. Beeton, quite a bit. I shall talk with Mrs. Pratt on the morrow. And you need not worry. I shall ensure the terms are fair.”
As though she’d know what terms were fair. Narrowing his eyes, he couldn’t help but believe she’d manipulated him somehow. But he didn’t care. He wouldn’t take this victory from her. He liked too much the way triumph lit her eyes. They held no arrogance, but a spot of teasing. Shehadmanipulated him. He was rather sure of it.
The question was: Why wasn’t he angry about it?
She was quite right. The exercise had proven futile. She knew buildings: Buckingham Palace, Parliament, the Clock Tower. She recognized the clanging of Big Ben. But beyond that, she recalled little.
“Perhaps it would be different if we went during the day,” she said as they entered the foyer. He’d ordered the hansom cab driver to wait, so she knew he was going to head to his club, to see to his duties there. She wished he’d stay here, that he’d ward off the nightmares she feared were lurking in the shadows of her mind, ready to spring as soon as she drifted into slumber. Turning, she faced him. “But I don’t think so. I appreciate your efforts, though. I know my situation is quite bothersome. You hired a competent servant, and find yourself burdened with one who can’t even recall how to properly polish furniture.”
“You’re not a burden. You’re safe here in this residence. You know that, don’t you?”
She nodded. “Yes. It’s one of those odd things I know by instinct. I knew the moment I opened my eyes and saw you. Even though I didn’t remember who you were.”
“Phee ...” It appeared he intended to say more, but he merely shook his head. “I must return to the club. Sleep well, sleep late.”
“According to Mrs. Beeton, a body is supposed to arise early. It is the only way to accomplish anything of worth.”
The dimple formed in his cheek. “You’re truly reading that book?”
“I must earn my keep lest you let me go.”
“I’m not going to let you go.” He seemed startled and bothered by his words. He settled his hat on his head. “I must be off.”
He left then. She locked the door, leaned her back against it. She’d seen larger houses tonight, fancier ones, palaces. During odd moments, she’d envisioned herself inside them, waltzing. She imagined being courted by nobility. No doubt a dream shared by all housemaids.
Strange how she realized that it wasn’t what she wanted, wasn’t what she’d ever wanted. She’d wanted something ... more. Pity she didn’t know what themoreentailed.
Chapter 15
As the hansom rattled through the streets, Drake cursed himself. He’d nearly told her everything, everything he knew about her and who she was, everything she’d once known about him. But telling her meant ending the farce. Ending the farce meant her leaving his household.
He’d been quite arrested by her tonight. Her courage, her determination. Her description of laughter. He wanted it. Balling a fist, he pounded it against his thigh. He did not want to be intrigued by her, did not want to get to know this woman who lived in his residence. He wanted to be rid of her. And he would be as soon as he had a better grasp of how she’d come to be in the river.
The driver pulled the cab to a stop in front of Dodger’s Drawing Room. For the first time in his life, Drake was not focused on his responsibilities here. He always worked from dusk until dawn and beyond. Phee was serving as a distraction he could ill afford. His obligations, his life took place within the walls of the gaming establishment. Beyond it, his life entailed eating, sleeping, existing. It was only at Dodger’s that he truly lived.
But he’d never laughed uproariously within those walls.
Suddenly he had an insatiable desire to laugh until his sides ached.
The hatch above his head opened and he handed up the money to the driver, who then released the latch on the door. Drake leaped out, charged up the steps, and crossed the threshold into the building that had the power to destroy and rebuild. Fortunes were lost here. Fortunes were made.
He’d taken only three long strides inside when he knew—knew—he was being watched. Jerking his gaze up to the shadowed balcony, he was unable to make out any form or figure, but he knew Jack Dodger was up there. The man’s presence was so bold and powerful that it could be felt even when he wasn’t visible. In his day he’d managed Dodger’s with an iron fist, and on occasion he returned to stretch his muscles. Tonight was apparently one of those occasions.
By the time Drake reached his office, Jack was sitting behind the desk pouring whiskey into two glasses. Even now, dressed in the finery of a gentleman, Jack had the look of the streets about him. Gray feathered through the dark hair at his temples. His eyes were dark, alert, assessing.
