That breath she’d inhaled whooshed out of her.
“Think on it. You seem to have wits, if not the best ideas on how to apply them. Chances are, the answer to our little property dispute is somewhere in that pile of paper. When we confirm that the castle is still mine, you’ll have the money to go somewhere else.”
He could sense her softening.
Or maybe his senses deceived him.
“One hundred,” she said.
“What?”
“I want one hundred a day. I’ll use it to fix up the castle once it’s confirmed to be mine.” A coy note crept into her voice. “And I want you to say please.”
He gave her arm a swift tug, drawing her to him.
She collided with his chest.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said low. “You need money. We both need answers. The arrangement makes sense for us both.”
“Then release my arm. And ask nicely.”
He lowered his head until he felt a stray curl of her hair against his cheek. “Two hundred. Two hundred pounds per day is a very nice sum indeed.”
“Saying ‘please’ costs you nothing.”
He kept silent, refusing to relent. If she was going to be his employee, she needed to learn that he alone gave the orders.
“My goodness,” she whispered. “Are you truly so afraid of asking for help? It’s that terrifying?”
He balked. “I’m not afraid at all.”
“I hear you saying that.” She pressed a hand to his shirtfront. “But this frantic, pounding thing in your chest is saying otherwise.”
Little minx.
There was exactly one reason his blood was pounding, and it had nothing to do with “please.” It had to do with “yes” and ”God, yes” and “just like that, but harder.”
“I beg your pardon.” The familiar voice came from the entryway. “I seem to be interrupting.”
Duncan.
Ransom gave himself a shake. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s obvious, Your Grace.”
Obvious, and worrisome. It was a testament to this woman’s effect on him that Ransom hadn’t even noticed his valet’s return.
“I never thought I would say this, Your Grace, but it’s strangely heartening to see you back to your old debauchery. I’ll clear out of your way for the evening.”
“No,” Miss Goodnight jumped to insist. “Please, don’t misunderstand. This isn’t debauchery. I was just lea—”
“Duncan, this is Miss Isolde Goodnight. My new secretary. Tomorrow, we will find her new lodgings. But tonight, she will stay here. She’ll need a clean, comfortable room, a proper bath, and a hot dinner.” He gave her wrist a squeeze before releasing it. “Isn’t that right?”
Chapter Five
Izzy had always been raised to believe that “please” was a magic word.
She’d been misled.
Apparently, the magic word was “dinner.” In addition, the words “bath” and “comfortable room” had their own particular charms. When spoken in quick succession, they had the power of an incantation. Izzy hadn’t been able to say no.
“I hope this will do for tonight, Miss Goodnight.” Duncan showed her into a small, sparsely furnished chamber. “I know it’s meager, but it’s the only proper bed in the castle. My own.”
“How generous of you to offer it.” And how strange, that it would be the only one. “The duke doesn’t have a bedchamber?”
“No.” Duncan sighed, as if to communicate that this was a point of frequent contention. “He sleeps in the great hall.”
Izzy studied the manservant. He was tall and lean, with dark hair turned silver at the temples. Unlike the duke, he was turned out in a brushed black coat, a crisp neckcloth, and gleaming boots.
“So you are Rothbury’s valet?”
“Yes. Though it pains me to say it when his appearance is so willfully slovenly. It’s an embarrassment.”
“And how long have you been living here?”
“Seven months, miss. Seven long months.”