To Seduce a Sinner (Legend of the Four Soldiers #2)(9)

Melisande went to her desk and contemplated the pile of papers there. She was nearly done with the fairy-tale translation, but—

A knock sounded at her door. Mouse sailed off the bed and barked wildly at the door as if marauders were without.

“Hush.” Melisande toed him aside and opened the door.

A maid stood outside. She bobbed a curtsy. “Please, miss, might I have a word with you?”

Melisande raised her brows and nodded, stepping back from the door. The girl eyed Mouse, who was grumbling under his breath, and made a wide berth around the dog.

Shutting the door, Melisande looked at the maid. She was a pretty girl, with gold curls and fresh, pink cheeks, and she wore a rather elegant green printed calico gown. “Sally, isn’t it?”

The maid bobbed again. “Yes, mum, Sally from downstairs. I heard . . .” She gulped, squeezed her eyes shut, and said very quickly, “I heard that you’ll be marrying Lord Vale, ma’am, and if you do that, you’ll be leaving this house and going to live with him, and then you’ll be a viscountess, ma’am, and if you’re a viscountess, ma’am, then you’ll be needing a proper lady’s maid, because viscountesses have to have their hair and clothes just so, and begging your pardon, ma’am, but they’re not just so right now. Not”—her eyes widened, as if fearing she’d just insulted Melisande—“not that there’s anything wrong with your clothes or hair right now, but they’re not, not—”

“Exactly like that of a viscountess,” Melisande said dryly.

“Well, no, ma’am, if you don’t mind me saying so, ma’am. And what I wanted to ask—and I’ll be ever so grateful if you let me, truly I will, you won’t be a wit disappointed, ma’am—is if you’d take me with you as your lady’s maid?”

Sally’s flow of words stopped abruptly. She simply stared, eyes and mouth wide, as if Melisande’s next words would decide her very fate.

Which well they might, since the difference in station between a downstairs maid and a lady’s maid was considerable. Melisande nodded. “Yes.”

Sally blinked. “Ma’am?”

“Yes. You may go with me as my lady’s maid.”

“Oh!” Sally’s hands flew up and it seemed she might grasp Melisande’s in gratitude, but then she must have thought better of it and merely waved them excitedly in the air. “Oh! Oh, thank you, ma’am! Oh, thank you! You’ll not regret it, really you won’t. I’ll be the best lady’s maid you ever did see, just you watch.”

“I’m sure you will.” Melisande opened the door again. “We can discuss your duties more thoroughly in the morning. Good night.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am. Good night, ma’am.”

Sally bobbed into the hall, did a half-turn, bobbed again, and was still bobbing as Melisande shut the door.or.

“She seems a nice enough girl,” she said to Mouse.

Mouse snorted and leaped back onto the bed.

Melisande tapped him on the nose, then crossed to her dresser. A plain tin snuffbox sat on top. She briefly brushed the battered surface with her fingertips before taking out the button from where she’d hidden it in her sleeve. The silver V winked in the candlelight as she contemplated it.

She’d loved Jasper Renshaw for six long, long years. It must’ve been shortly after he’d returned to England that she’d attended the party where she’d met him. He hadn’t noticed her, of course. His blue-green eyes had drifted over her head as they were introduced, and shortly afterward, he’d excused himself to flirt with Mrs. Redd, a notorious and notoriously beautiful widow. Melisande had watched from the side of the ball, sitting next to a line of elderly ladies, as he’d thrown his head back and laughed with complete abandon. His neck had been strong, his mouth opened wide with mirth. He was a captivating sight, but she probably would’ve dismissed him after that as a silly, feckless aristocrat if not for what had happened several hours later.

It was after midnight, and she’d long since grown tired of the festivities. In fact, she would’ve gone home if it wouldn’t have spoiled her friend Lady Emeline’s pleasure. Emeline had bullied her into attending, for it had been over a year since the fiasco with Timothy, and Melisande’s spirits were still low. But the noise, the heat and press of bodies, and the staring of strangers had become unbearable, and Melisande had drifted away from the ballroom. She thought she’d gone in the direction of the ladies’ retiring room, until she’d heard male voices. She should’ve turned back then, crept away down the dark corridor, but one of the male voices had risen, had seemed to be weeping, in fact, and curiosity had gotten the better of her. She’d peered around a corner and had witnessed . . . well, a tableau.

A young man she’d never seen before leaned against a wall at the end of the corridor. He wore a white wig, beneath which was a pale and smoothly flawless complexion, save for the ruddy color in his cheeks. He was beautiful, but his head was flung back, his eyes closed, his face the picture of despair. In one hand, he grasped a bottle of wine. Next to him was Lord Vale, but a completely different Lord Vale than the man who’d spent three hours flirting and laughing in the ballroom. This Lord Vale was silent and still and listening.

Listening to the other man weep.