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quote him to himself: We too often mistake as a privilege of rank that breed of low behavior which, among the poor, we readily recognize as vice.
    Instead, she said sharply, “Very true, Your Grace.Bedlam is quieter. I imagined you must be disassembling your furniture.”
    He shifted a little, bringing his upper half into clarity. He was undressed from the waist up.
    She startled back into the door frame. His leanness brought into prominence the sort of muscles generally stored beneath a healthy layer of fat—and clothing . “If I have interrupted—”
    “What of it? It seems to be a habit of yours.” He reached for his shirt, drawing it on. His abdomen flexed with every movement. Rather a fascinating effect.
    She yanked her attention back to her cause. He seemed more voluble today. That wasn’t saying much, but she would press the opportunity while she found it. “These rooms should be cleaned, Your Grace.”
    “No.”
    “I am informed that you’ve forbidden the maids entry for a month or more. And to be frank . . .” She made herself look directly at him, willing herself not to redden. “It smells in here.”
    Momentarily he looked astonished. It was the most animated expression she had ever seen him wear, though it consisted merely of the widening of his eyes, and the briefest lift of his brows.
    And then, miracle of miracles, he laughed . Not for long, not with much energy, but it was definitely, distinctly, a laugh. “And what do they smell like, ma’am? Pray tell me, how do I stink?”
    “Like perspiration, I’m sorry to say.”
    He gave her a mocking smile. “How shocking,” he said. “God alone knows what I’ve been doing up here.”
    If she staged a fire, he’d flee this room quick enough.But how did one stage a fire without setting one? Arson was a step too far for her. “It would not take above an hour,” she said. “A very quick cleaning—”
    “Must I sack you again?” He stood, emerging from the shadow of the canopy. His disordered, shaggy blond hair lent him a piratical quality, amplified by his wolfish smile. “The newspapers will enjoy that detail: being fired twice.”
    She inched toward the door. She saw no bottles at hand, but for all she knew, he might throw a chair. “Indeed not. However, I think your mood would profit from cleaner surroundings. And perhaps you might open the curtains”— in for a penny, in for a pound —“for if one wallows in the dark, one cannot complain if one’s mood follows suit, you know.”
    All expression slipped from his face as he regarded her. She had the uncanny sense that she was losing him; that although the curtains could not block out all the daylight, he was falling into darkness again, all the same.
    “The room stinks,” she repeated, to goad him.
    His face tightened again. “Are you aware,” he said, “that you are speaking to your master ?”
    “My employer. Yes, Your Grace.”
    A line appeared between his brows. “Precisely what I said.”
    If there was one thing she could not abide, it was the sloppy use of language. She would have expected better from him, but clearly he had lost his faculties. “Not so, Your Grace. You employ me, but you hardly master me.”
    His brows rose. He looked her up and down. “Have you struck your head recently, Mrs. Johnson?”
    She laughed.
    His expression did not change. Apparently that had not been a joke. He’d lost his wit, too.
    “No,” she said, “but I thank you for the concern.”
    “It was not concern.” Now he spoke through his teeth. “It was simple logic, for I can think of no other reason for your bizarre and impertinent behavior. Again. ”
    No, of course he couldn’t. It would take a great leap for him to guess that she lay awake at night stricken by fear that Bertram’s man would somehow locate her here; that every hour that passed led him closer, while she squandered her chance to escape to safety, somewhere far from London, and all on a desperate gamble that