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swearing I heard a step outside my door. I drew the eiderdown up under my chin like a maiden
defending her virtue, though my virtue was long since trampled upon, and I was more disappointed than anything when no one entered my lonely chamber.
    Over breakfast with the servants, who never spoke directly to me, and looked at me as though I were a recent escapee from a traveling freak show, I fantasized about my new Master as I had done since first hearing his name: Marcus Wynterbourne. Since childhood I had dreamed of a man, cold and haughty, whose icy heart could only be melted by me. But Mr. Wynterbourne liked the ladies, it seemed, and he was probably ugly anyway.
    At length I was shown into a sunny morning room, where a man stood at the window with his back to the room, ignoring me. I remained standing by the door until he deigned to turn around. When at last he did, the sight of him captured my breath as I had dreamed it would.
    When he approached me, I observed a man nearly as slender as myself, though far taller and more masculine. He had black hair beginning to be streaked with silver, intense dark eyes and a frenetic presence. I stepped back, afraid for a moment he would grab me to examine me more closely. Instead he pulled a letter from his pocket and held it at arms’ length to read it. “James Swift,” he pronounced. “Eighteen years old, well read, handwriting excellent.”
    â€œJade,” I corrected. “Sir, my name is Jade Swift.”
    He laughed, an almost frightening sound, then stopped abruptly. “Jade? My mother changed your name. She wants you to be James while you work for me.” He looked me up and down, a sarcastic smile playing about his mouth.
    â€œWell, I won’t be,” I said, petulantly. I had had quite enough. “My name is Jade. I insist upon it.” My heart fluttered as I spoke.
    â€œDo you?” He stepped closer, looking down at me. He really was very tall.

    â€œYes, Sir,” I whispered, not quite so sure of myself now that I could feel his breath against my cheek. He smelled wonderful, nothing fancy, just expensive, masculine soap and a splash of Bay Rum. He was clean-shaven in a time when whiskers on a man were all the rage. I could not admit him handsome with his strong jaw and thin face. In fact he was a bit scary looking. However, it would not be a lie to call him attractive.
    â€œJade,” he said, as if mocking me. “I am writing a book and you will take dictation and fetch any volumes I require for my research, though most of my writing is a memoir of my extensive travels. Go to my office at the end of the hall and wait there for me.”
    As I trotted down the carpeted hall I experienced a violent excitement in my stomach. Love at first sight is what they call it, and a romantic boy like myself had passed many a happy hour envisioning such an event. I had felt attraction at first sight so many times it did not bear scrutiny. Indeed, there were times when a wink from a pretty boy or handsome man was sufficient to have me following him like a puppy into the first dark corner available. But this weakness of the stomach, this unfathomable desire, was new to me. Several minutes later my Master entered the room, threw himself into the chair behind the desk and began to dictate.
    Â 
    That was it for the next month and a half. He dictated while I transcribed. He ignored me completely while I sat bored stiff and longing to be noticed. He marched up and down the room speaking into the air, hands clasped behind his back. I caught my breath every time he walked too close, which he did increasingly as the weeks passed until I was driven insane with yearning. I entered my room each evening, my cheeks drenched in tears of frustration, to write a missive to mother about how desperate I was for London, the Theater and her.

    I was completely infatuated with my Master and I had a suspicion that he knew. I had a great tendency to fall