Page 2 of Tender Blackguard

Though the flames in the nearby hearth were full and reaching, the man remained in deep shadow. So much so, it appeared deliberate. Dressed all in black but for a glowing white cravat, he sat straight in the chair. His booted feet were flat on the floor, and his gloveless hands rested on his thighs. Black hair was brushed back from a square forehead, and dark stubble shadowed his angular jaw. Thick, straight eyebrows at first obscured his lowered gaze as he took in the sight of her, much as she did him, though a great deal slower.

Starting at her sodden feet, he assessed her worn boots, her modest day dress of navy-blue wool, and the long pelisse she wore over it. His gaze paused at the mismatched buttons fastening her outer garment and the darker material at her shoulders where the rain had soaked down to her skin. His focus flickered briefly over her dark gray bonnet before settling finally on her face.

Ice.

His eyes. A blue so pale and clear they made her think of ice. And just as cold.

He was a predator. A hunter. Every survival instinct she’d honed over the years was suddenly on high alert. An acute tingle of awareness speared through her, awakening every nerve. She was not the type to indulge in fantastical imaginings, but something about this man made her feel as though she balanced on the knife-edge between fight and flight.

“Mrs. Evans.” He spoke her name slowly then paused as though awaiting her confirmation.

She remained unmoving and silent. Everything inside her urged her to proceed cautiously. But caution was a luxury she didn’t have.

There was a subtle bunch and release at the corners of his jaw, suggesting he’d clenched his teeth. “You’re rather young to be a housekeeper.” His tone was heavy with judgmental accusation.

“I’m older than I look, my lord.” It was true. She was often believed to be a great deal younger than her twenty-eight years. Even so, he was not wrong. Not many maids managed to work up to the position of housekeeper at her age. She hoped he wouldn’t press the issue, but she was prepared to provide proof of her qualifications should he require it.

Lark had gone to a great deal of trouble, reaching out to acquaintances from years past, calling in age-old favors, making promises she couldn’t honestly be certain she’d be able to honor. It had taken weeks of unrelenting determination to gain this interview. She was not likely to get such a fortuitous opportunity again, and she couldn’t allow it to slip away. There was no telling when she’d get another.

“You’ve reviewed my references?”

Another pause. “Diligently.”

“Then you know I’m more than capable of managing a household of this size, my lord.” She pressed her lips together to keep from saying more in her desperation to persuade him. Sometimes, the less one said, the more convincing they were. She did not want him to suspect how badly she wanted this position.

“You’ve held positions in a number of noble households, some of them for less than a year at a time.” His focus remained fiercely direct.

“That is not so unusual,” she calmly pointed out. “There can be a variety of reasons a household servant might seek occasional changes in employment.”

“What were your reasons?” Unrelenting.

Lark evaded his question by stating firmly, “Every one of my prior employers provided positive reports of my time with them.”

He stared at her with a cool, unwavering gaze. “Your most recent position was the only one noted to be in the role of housekeeper. A position you held for less than two months.”

“I never claimed not to be new to the position, my lord, but I assure you I am qualified.”

Angular features narrowed with irritation. “Why should I hire a young woman with such little experience to fill one of the most important roles in my household?”

His voice was impatient. Dismissive.

Panic flared. Lowering her chin, she met the man’s chilled gaze. “Lord Warfield, as my references support, I’ve more than fifteen years of experience serving a number of aristocratic families. I am quite capable of managing your household with proper efficiency.” She paused, bracing herself for the risk she was about to take. “Something of which I know you’re in rather desperate need. You see, I’ve been diligent, as well. You’re significantly understaffed when it comes to upstairs and downstairs maids and have been for all the months since you reopened this house. I also know that you’ve had precious few applicants for the empty positions, including that of housekeeper. If you hire me, I can fix that.”

Lark met his hard stare. Ignoring the way his intense expression made her insides twist into a tight knot of apprehension, she tilted her head. “You need me, Lord Warfield.”

There was a lengthy silence. Every muscle in her body tensed as she waited to discover if her bold impertinence would be punished with a quick dismissal or if her candor would serve her purpose. Being new to London, the lord likely had no idea why he’d had such a difficult time hiring on female servants, but Lark was privy to the fact that the Warfield name had been on a blacklist for many years. There weren’t many women willing to take a position in a household that had been the source of so many rumors even if they had been from more than a decade ago. Though the dark tales had all been in regard to the prior marquess, the current lord’s deceased father, such things had a tendency to linger in the minds of working girls who wished to avoid...perilous situations.

Finally, and slowly, the marquess relaxed into his chair for the first time, lifting a foot to rest the ankle across the opposite knee. Though he remained silent, Lark felt something different emanating from him. His edges seemed less sharp. His manner, less forbidding.

The predator at rest.

“How soon can you start, Mrs. Evans?”

She did not dare show the depths of her relief. “Immediately, my lord.”

“Have you any personal belongings to be fetched?”

She tipped her chin toward the bag at her feet. She thought she detected a flash of surprise in his gaze, but it was gone too fast to be sure.

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