“Under ordinary circumstances, I would never entrust a woman with the task. But time is of the essence, and there’s no one else around.”
He heard her inhale slowly.
“I mean to compensate you handsomely,” he said. “Fifty pounds.”
“Per annum?”
“Per day.”
That breath she’d inhaled whooshed out of her.
“Think on it. You seem to have wits, if not the best ideas on how to apply them. Chances are, the answer to our little property dispute is somewhere in that pile of paper. When we confirm that the castle is still mine, you’ll have the money to go somewhere else.”
He could sense her softening.
Or maybe his senses deceived him.
“One hundred,” she said.
“What?”
“I want one hundred a day. I’ll use it to fix up the castle once it’s confirmed to be mine.” A coy note crept into her voice. “And I want you to say please.”
He gave her arm a swift tug, drawing her to him.
She collided with his chest.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said low. “You need money. We both need answers. The arrangement makes sense for us both.”
“Then release my arm. And ask nicely.”
He lowered his head until he felt a stray curl of her hair against his cheek. “Two hundred. Two hundred pounds per day is a very nice sum indeed.”
“Saying ‘please’ costs you nothing.”
He kept silent, refusing to relent. If she was going to be his employee, she needed to learn that he alone gave the orders.
“My goodness,” she whispered. “Are you truly so afraid of asking for help? It’s that terrifying?”
He balked. “I’m not afraid at all.”
“I hear you saying that.” She pressed a hand to his shirtfront. “But this frantic, pounding thing in your chest is saying otherwise.”
Little minx.
There was exactly one reason his blood was pounding, and it had nothing to do with “please.” It had to do with “yes” and ”God, yes” and “just like that, but harder.”
“I beg your pardon.” The familiar voice came from the entryway. “I seem to be interrupting.”
Duncan.
Ransom gave himself a shake. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s obvious, Your Grace.”
Obvious, and worrisome. It was a testament to this woman’s effect on him that Ransom hadn’t even noticed his valet’s return.
“I never thought I would say this, Your Grace, but it’s strangely heartening to see you back to your old debauchery. I’ll clear out of your way for the evening.”
“No,” Miss Goodnight jumped to insist. “Please, don’t misunderstand. This isn’t debauchery. I was just lea—”
“Duncan, this is Miss Isolde Goodnight. My new secretary. Tomorrow, we will find her new lodgings. But tonight, she will stay here. She’ll need a clean, comfortable room, a proper bath, and a hot dinner.” He gave her wrist a squeeze before releasing it. “Isn’t that right?”
Chapter Five
Izzy had always been raised to believe that “please” was a magic word.
She’d been misled.
Apparently, the magic word was “dinner.” In addition, the words “bath” and “comfortable room” had their own particular charms. When spoken in quick succession, they had the power of an incantation. Izzy hadn’t been able to say no.
“I hope this will do for tonight, Miss Goodnight.” Duncan showed her into a small, sparsely furnished chamber. “I know it’s meager, but it’s the only proper bed in the castle. My own.”
“How generous of you to offer it.” And how strange, that it would be the only one. “The duke doesn’t have a bedchamber?”
“No.” Duncan sighed, as if to communicate that this was a point of frequent contention. “He sleeps in the great hall.”
Izzy studied the manservant. He was tall and lean, with dark hair turned silver at the temples. Unlike the duke, he was turned out in a brushed black coat, a crisp neckcloth, and gleaming boots.
“So you are Rothbury’s valet?”
“Yes. Though it pains me to say it when his appearance is so willfully slovenly. It’s an embarrassment.”
“And how long have you been living here?”
“Seven months, miss. Seven long months.”
Heavens. Seven months was a long time. “What happened?” she asked. “How was the duke injured?”
“Miss Goodnight, I have served the family since before His Grace was even born. I am bound, by duty and honor, to avoid any gossip about my employer.”
“Yes, of course. Forgive the liberty. But I had to ask.”
Izzy supposed she would have to get the story from the duke herself.
Over the course of several trips, Duncan brought up her valise, a tray of simple, yet hearty food, a ewer of warm water, and a basin.
“It is paining me, Miss Goodnight, that I cannot offer you finer accommodations.”
“Please don’t worry. This is lovely.” Anything was lovely, compared to that chamber of horrors with the bats.
“It’s so frustrating. After long months of having my every attempt at proper valet service rebuffed, finally, we have a guest at Gostley Castle. A guest who ought to be cause for a proper guest suite and a seven-course dinner.” He dropped his voice to an unnecessary whisper. “You are the Miss Izzy Goodnight, am I correct?”
She nodded. “I’m surprised you’ve heard of me. The duke hadn’t. He said he isn’t a reader.”
“Oh, he isn’t. And wasn’t. Neither am I, for that matter. I only had one year of schooling. But the housekeeper used to read your father’s installments in the servant quarters. The Shadow Knight? Cressida and Ulric? Can you tell me anything?”
She shook her head sadly. “No.”
“Forgive me the liberty. But I had to ask.”
She smiled. Everyone had secrets. “I understand.”
He left and closed the door behind him.
Once she was alone, Izzy tried to make herself comfortable.
Snowdrop, of course, might as well have died and gone to heaven. This castle, with its ready supply of rodents, was the little beast’s equivalent of a stay at London’s finest hotel.
As she went about undressing and plaiting her hair, she recalled the sensation of the duke’s hands tangling through it. The prickling tension between their bodies as they’d ducked together, hiding from the bats.