Page 3 of Tender Blackguard

“You’ll receive fifty pounds a year, paid quarterly. And a few hours will be allotted for your personal use every Sunday.”

Lark nodded. It was a generous wage, but she wasn’t here for the income. The personal hours, however, were invaluable.

Without warning, he rose to his feet in a fluid motion. Lark stood as well and was immediately aware of the man’s significant height and lean strength in comparison to her smaller form. She’d always hated the way her petite stature tended to incite assumptions of helplessness or fragility. She was neither. But in that moment, as she stood before her new employer, she felt a flicker of vulnerability.

Tilting her head back, she made a conscious effort to meet his cool stare directly. Though she was fully capable of displaying proper deference and respect, she had never been one to cower or simper, and she wouldn’t begin with this lord. No matter how intensely intimidating or handsome the man might be.

Handsome? She didn’t mean that.

Warfield was intense, dark, cold. Some might see his angular features and crystalline eyes and think them an attractive, potent combination. But not her.

He was a means to an end. Nothing more.

“I’ll have a footman show you to your room. You’ll begin your duties first thing in the morning.”

“I prefer to begin this evening.”

His jaw muscles bunched and released again. “If you insist. The accounts are kept in the housekeeper’s rooms if you’d like to familiarize yourself with them. Gideon is my butler and can assist with anything else you might require.”

Lark nodded in acknowledgment. “And whom shall I report to? I understand there is no lady of the house?”

“There is not.”

“A steward then?”

He looked down his nose at her. “I’ve no steward. You’ll report directly to me.”

Unusual for the house of a titled lord. But not completely unheard of. Still, the thought of meeting face-to-face with this man on a regular basis gave her pause. For a split second, uncertainty rushed in.

Harriet.

She firmed her resolve and gave another short nod. “As you wish.”

The lord’s gaze narrowed, briefly dimming the light of his pale eyes. Then he swept his hand in a gesture indicating she should precede him toward the door.

Lark bent to pick up her bag. As she passed by her new employer, sandalwood-scented warmth momentarily enveloped her. It surprised her. She’d not expected a man with the marquess’s chilling manner and cool stare to emanate such heat.

As she crossed the study in strong strides, she very distinctly felt the presence of the marquess behind her. When she paused at the closed study door, his large hand reached past her to turn the doorknob. Once again, his scent drifted around her.

A heaviness settled low in her body. She forced herself to ignore it.

The footman who’d shown her in was waiting in the hall.

“Harris, take Mrs. Evans to the housekeeper’s rooms.”

The male servant gave a dip of his chin in acknowledgment before turning to lead Lark toward the back hallway. She was tempted to glance back at the marquess, but she refrained. She didn’t need to look back to know he watched her. She could feel his silent regard.

Lord Warfield was not what she’d expected. But she could handle him. She certainly wasn’t going to allow the man’s unsettling intensity sway her from her purpose.

Harris brought her to a room tucked in along the back hallway. The way there was dim and narrow, but once she stepped into the space reserved for her to live and work, she managed a full, deep breath. The first she’d taken since entering the Warfield mansion.

Though no lamps were lit, the drapes covering a large garden-level window were thrown open, casting the room in a soft gray light. The room was good-sized. A deep alcove to her left was separated from the rest of the room by a folding privacy screen. Beyond the screen stood a narrow bed, nightstand, and wardrobe. Before the window was a sturdy desk. Shelves lined the wall beside it, holding the account ledgers for household expenses which she’d be in charge of. And across from the desk were a pair of matched armchairs and a tea table angled toward a small brick hearth. A simple braided rug covered the floor.

Turning back to the footman, who’d remained a step outside the door, Lark offered a tight smile. “Thank you, Harris. I understand the butler is named Gideon?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’d like to meet with him as soon as possible. Do you know if that may be arranged?”

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