The childishness of that last reflection had his lips twitching. He’d feared months of boredom ahead, but his return started in a most intriguing fashion. If he’d known this odd, fascinating creature waited in Yorkshire, he might have visited more often, instead of burying his head in parliamentary business in London.
“Just what are you up to?” he asked softly, placing the candles on a table and stepping closer.
Ah, she wasn’t totally foolhardy. She retreated toward the door, eyes widening. He wished he could see their precise color. The light simply wasn’t good enough. “You’re trying to frighten me.”
“Perhaps I’m seeking a little respect,” he said smoothly.
She curtsied, but he could tell that her heart wasn’t in it. “Your lordship.”
He folded his arms and surveyed her under lowered brows. “So you know I’m Leath.”
“You said it’s your library. And her ladyship has a portrait in her room. I recognized you when you lit the candles.”
The world toadied to his wealth and influence, but the spark in this girl’s eyes looked like hostility. A challenge sizzled between them. Or perhaps the beginnings of attraction.
“At last a straight answer,” he said wryly. “Now can you bring yourself to tell me who you are?”
“Will you let me go if I do?”
Her audacity stole his breath. Nobody defied him or denied him or bargained with him. Most people tripped over themselves to do his bidding before he’d even worked out what his bidding was. “We’ll see.”
Her eyes narrowed, confirming his impression that she didn’t like him. He wondered why. “You have a reputation for keeping your hands off the housemaids, my lord.”
“What in Hades?” Her meaning smashed through his burgeoning interest. “Are you saying that you’re a…housemaid?”
A fleeting smile tilted her lips. His wayward heart jolted at the promise of other, more generous smiles. “Yes.”
“You don’t look like a blasted housemaid.” Nor did she speak like any housemaid he’d ever known. She sounded like a lady.
“You…you caught me at a disadvantage.”
“I’ll say I did.”
He waited for some retort, but her expression turned blank. For the first time, to his disappointment, she looked like a servant. Although this sudden docility meant that he might discover why she was in his library. Housemaids started work early and generally didn’t have the energy to run around after bedtime. “What’s your name?”
She dipped into another curtsy. He could have told her she overdid the meekness, but he held his peace.
“Trim, my lord.”
Trim? He couldn’t argue with that. “Trim what?”
He thought she might smile again, but she’d leashed her rebellious spirit as tightly as she tied back her hair. He wasn’t a man who experienced profound and sudden sexual urges. But he’d give this girl every sparkling diamond in the family vault if she’d take down her hair. If she let him touch it, he’d throw in the damned house as well.
“Nell Trim, sir.”
“Helen or Eleanor?”
“Eleanor.” Her voice retained its curiously flat quality and she stared somewhere over his shoulder.
Eleanor. An elegant name for an elegant woman. An elegant woman who was his housemaid.
“Very good.” Except Eleanor wasn’t a suitable name for a junior servant. Eleanor was a queen’s name. It brought dangerou
s, powerful women to mind. “What are you doing in my library, Trim?”
By rights, he should call a housemaid Nell, but with her slender neatness, Trim suited her so well.
“If I tell you, you’ll dismiss me.”