Page 14 of The Spaniard's Wedding Revenge

Leonie wasn’t unhappy with that—especially when she hadn’t had a chance to use that amazing bath yet, and also didn’t like being in close proximity to a lot of people—but she didn’t like his automatic assumption that she could be told what to do.

And your need to fight is what gets you into trouble.

This was very true. And there was also another problem. A problem she’d foreseen the night before and yet had dismissed.

In accepting a bed for the night, and now a job, she’d had a tiny taste of what her life might be like off the streets.

Having a shower whenever she wanted it...having clean sheets and clean clothes. Having food brought to her and having something to do that wasn’t figuring out how to shoplift her next meal or begging for coins. Being safe behind walls and locked doors.

Just a tiny taste. Enough to know she didn’t want to give it up—not just yet.

This is how they suck you in. You should have run...

She swallowed, clutching her cleaning implements even tighter. It was too late to run now—too late to decide that life on the streets was better than being in this house and working for this duke. Like Persephone from the myth, she’d had a bite of the pomegranate and now she was trapped in the Underworld.

Which makes him Hades.

And a very fine Hades he made, too. No wonder she found him dangerous. He was the snake in the garden, offering temptation...

‘I don’t need a special room,’ she said, because her need to fight was so ingrained she couldn’t stop herself. ‘I’m happy to sleep wherever the other employees—’

‘As I said, you will stay in the room you’ve been given.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I said so,’ he replied easily. ‘I’m the duke and what I say goes.’ That smile was still playing around his fascinating mouth. ‘Which reminds me—I usually have a formal job interview with my employees, and since you didn’t have one, I suggest we schedule one for tonight. Over dinner.’

Instantly all her alarm bells went off at once. A job interview over dinner? That didn’t sound right at all. Not that she had any experience with job interviews, but still...

She gave him a suspicious look. ‘Job interviews are usually in offices during the day, not over dinner.’

‘Astute,gatita. If being in an office would make you more comfortable, I can have dinner served to us there.’

Leonie scowled. ‘I’m not sleeping with you.’

He raised both brows this time. ‘Have I asked you to sleep with me?’

‘No, but when a man asks a woman to dinner he expects certain things. Men always do.’

‘You appear to have a very poor opinion of men—though I suppose that’s understandable. We’re not especially good examples of the human race.’ His eyes glittered strangely. ‘It’s also true that I’m a particularly bad example. But I don’t have any sexual designs on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

Shehadbeen worried about it. The threat of sexual violence was ever-present for a woman on her own on the streets. So why did him telling her that he had no sexual designs on her make her feel almost...disappointed?

‘That’s all very well,’ she said, ignoring the feeling, ‘but I don’t trust you.’

He shifted, drawing her attention to his powerful body, making her aware of him in a disturbingly physical way.

‘Fair enough. We’ve only just met after all. Bring your knife with you. And if I try anything romantic feel free to cut me with it.’

‘Or you could just decide we don’t need to have an interview,’ she suggested. ‘After all, you’ve already employed me.’

‘It’s true—I have. But the process is the process. I can’t just let anyone into my house. Security checks need to be done...reference checks, et cetera. It’s all very tiresome but absolutely necessary.’ He paused, his gaze sharpening on her. ‘Especially when said employee hasn’t even given me her name.’

Leonie took a silent breath. She should have given it to him last night when he’d asked. What did it matter if he knew? She’d only wanted to retain a little bit of autonomy, but now she’d turned it into a big deal and maybe he thought she was trying to hide something, or that she was on the run from something.

Not the actual truth, which was that she was only a girl who’d been discarded by both parents. A girl nobody wanted.

Her gut tightened. He certainly didn’t need to know that. And, anyway, her name was her own and it was hers to give. No one had the right to know it.

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