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arrange for a time when you are not present.”
He shook his head. “I used to have similar discussions with Mrs. Beatty, and we agreed that the servants could clean every room in the house. Every one except this one.”
“Correct me if I am wrong,” she persisted, “but I am given to understand that you did let Mrs. Beatty inside to tidy up every now and again.”
“She took care not to rearrange my papers and such,” he admitted begrudgingly.
“As would I,” she said, her heart beating out a hopeful tattoo. “Why do we not have the same agreement as you did with Mrs. Beatty? I shall do the cleaning myself, and should you discover anything missing or out of place, you may reprimand me and dock my pay.”
“Or sack you,” he mumbled under his breath as if he had already contemplated such a thing.
She made no effort to pretend she had not heard. “You may do that as well should you find yourself displeased.”
And then wouldn’t I be in the broth, she thought, her chest suddenly tight with fear. Tossed out of the house without the cipher. But she sensed this was her best chance, and if she didn’t find a way now, getting back into the room to search would be nearly impossible and doubly dangerous.
He studied her for a long moment, his brows furrowed over his penetrating eyes. “You’re to leave the books and papers exactly as you find them. You’re not to straighten or organize or rearrange in any manner whatsoever. You’re not to clean or polish any of the tools or fiddle with the bottles since some of them contain potentially harmful substances.”
Fitting her hands at her waist, she suppressed a smile.
“And you are never—and I mean never—to smudge, wipe or erase anything you may find written on the slate board. Some of those calculations are months, if not years, of work and you will be dismissed if they are tampered with.”
“I shall give the slate a wide and reverent berth,” she promised, forcing the inner elation from her voice.
A long moment of silence fell before he spoke. “Very well. You have my leave to clean and polish when it does not disturb me. See to it I have no cause to regret my decision.”
“You won’t, my lord, I promise. Now, I will leave you to your repast before your tea grows cold. Should you require anything further, you have only to ring.”
One corner of his mouth curved up. “Thank you, Mrs. Greenway. I shall be sure to keep that in mind.”
Giving a polite nod, Sebastianne turned on her heel to leave. As she did, a sharp rap of knuckles sounded at the door, and a tall, well-dressed man strode confidently over the threshold. Seconds later, he appeared to stride in again—or rather a duplicate of him did—the second man a seemingly exact copy of the first.
Twins! she realized, blinking at the unexpected sight. And not just any twins but a pair who bore a striking familial resemblance to Lord Drake. Young, handsome and strongly built, they were leanly broad-shouldered, with wavy golden brown hair and irreverent smiles. A devilish light glinted in their arresting green-gold eyes, their identical expressions giving her a disconcerting sense of seeing double. Which actually, she supposed, she was.
“Hallo, Drake,” one of the young men drawled in a pleasant baritone. “Hope you don’t mind us dropping in.”
“We were taking a turn in the neighborhood—” the other began in his equally deep, melodious voice.
“—And decided to see if you were home,” finished the first.
They smiled, their eyes turning toward her. The young men, who looked as if they were of university age, gave her a keen, head-to-foot perusal.
She straightened her shoulders and sent them a stern look for their boldness.
Rather than their being fazed, however, their smiles only widened. The one on the right even had the nerve to wink. “And who might this lovely specimen of womanhood be?” he inquired, before making her an elegant bow.
“Yes, do tell,” the other
He shook his head. “I used to have similar discussions with Mrs. Beatty, and we agreed that the servants could clean every room in the house. Every one except this one.”
“Correct me if I am wrong,” she persisted, “but I am given to understand that you did let Mrs. Beatty inside to tidy up every now and again.”
“She took care not to rearrange my papers and such,” he admitted begrudgingly.
“As would I,” she said, her heart beating out a hopeful tattoo. “Why do we not have the same agreement as you did with Mrs. Beatty? I shall do the cleaning myself, and should you discover anything missing or out of place, you may reprimand me and dock my pay.”
“Or sack you,” he mumbled under his breath as if he had already contemplated such a thing.
She made no effort to pretend she had not heard. “You may do that as well should you find yourself displeased.”
And then wouldn’t I be in the broth, she thought, her chest suddenly tight with fear. Tossed out of the house without the cipher. But she sensed this was her best chance, and if she didn’t find a way now, getting back into the room to search would be nearly impossible and doubly dangerous.
He studied her for a long moment, his brows furrowed over his penetrating eyes. “You’re to leave the books and papers exactly as you find them. You’re not to straighten or organize or rearrange in any manner whatsoever. You’re not to clean or polish any of the tools or fiddle with the bottles since some of them contain potentially harmful substances.”
Fitting her hands at her waist, she suppressed a smile.
“And you are never—and I mean never—to smudge, wipe or erase anything you may find written on the slate board. Some of those calculations are months, if not years, of work and you will be dismissed if they are tampered with.”
“I shall give the slate a wide and reverent berth,” she promised, forcing the inner elation from her voice.
A long moment of silence fell before he spoke. “Very well. You have my leave to clean and polish when it does not disturb me. See to it I have no cause to regret my decision.”
“You won’t, my lord, I promise. Now, I will leave you to your repast before your tea grows cold. Should you require anything further, you have only to ring.”
One corner of his mouth curved up. “Thank you, Mrs. Greenway. I shall be sure to keep that in mind.”
Giving a polite nod, Sebastianne turned on her heel to leave. As she did, a sharp rap of knuckles sounded at the door, and a tall, well-dressed man strode confidently over the threshold. Seconds later, he appeared to stride in again—or rather a duplicate of him did—the second man a seemingly exact copy of the first.
Twins! she realized, blinking at the unexpected sight. And not just any twins but a pair who bore a striking familial resemblance to Lord Drake. Young, handsome and strongly built, they were leanly broad-shouldered, with wavy golden brown hair and irreverent smiles. A devilish light glinted in their arresting green-gold eyes, their identical expressions giving her a disconcerting sense of seeing double. Which actually, she supposed, she was.
“Hallo, Drake,” one of the young men drawled in a pleasant baritone. “Hope you don’t mind us dropping in.”
“We were taking a turn in the neighborhood—” the other began in his equally deep, melodious voice.
“—And decided to see if you were home,” finished the first.
They smiled, their eyes turning toward her. The young men, who looked as if they were of university age, gave her a keen, head-to-foot perusal.
She straightened her shoulders and sent them a stern look for their boldness.
Rather than their being fazed, however, their smiles only widened. The one on the right even had the nerve to wink. “And who might this lovely specimen of womanhood be?” he inquired, before making her an elegant bow.
“Yes, do tell,” the other
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