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told you. In
the future I shall hold my tongue."
    "Fine. You do that."
    "Well, I'd best find my way to the sitting
room. You did say it was just down the hallway, didn't you?" She
stood looking up at him expectantly, waiting for his dismissal.
    "Yes... just down the hallway…" Damon caught
the aroma of sandalwood and found the effect unsettling. His eyes
rested on a pair of parted lips. Lips he intended to sample in the
very near future. Stepping aside for her to pass, he said, "Keep in
mind that my butler takes an accounting of all the silverware,
every day."
    Green eyes flared. "I am not a thief," she
said. "I am willing to make things right because I have done you an
injustice, and I assure you, I am here in that capacity only."
    Her words had the distinct ring of a lie.
Damon resolved to watch her closely, although he wasn't certain why
he should even keep her on. She'd been nothing but trouble from the
moment he'd set eyes on her. But he wasn't ready to let her go. At
the horse fair she'd given him a glimpse of what she had to offer,
and he intended to collect. "If you want to make things right," he
said, "you’ll see to ridding my bedchamber of a family of mice who
invade my quarters nightly."
    Her eyes widened. "Mice, my lord? But, surely
you don't expect me to come into your bedchamber at night... for
mice."
    Damon's mouth curved with an ironic smile.
"If you come to my bedchamber at night, gypsy girl, I pray it will
not be for mice.”
    “And I can assure you, I would not come for
any other reason.”
    The image of an enticing gypsy wench, warm
and naked and curled in his arms, filled his mind's eye. It would
happen, though not tonight.“Then I'll expect you to prepare the
room before I retire for the night and clean up the mouse remains
in the morning after I leave. You do know the procedure for
eliminating mice, don't you?"
    "No, my lord. I've never been given that
duty."
    As Damon peered down at her, he resisted the
urge to touch her face. Her skin looked as smooth as porcelain, as
unblemished as a child's. He could only imagine how the rest of her
would look laying naked against silk sheets. "You'll find corks in
the kitchen," he said, redirecting his thoughts to the issue of the
mice. "Slice the corks crosswise and as thin as a rupee, have Cook
stew them in grease, and place them near the mouse hole, which
you’ll locate when you clean my bedchamber. The mice will eat the
corks and die. In the morning, you can dispose of them, clean up
the bits of cork, and scrub the floors."
    Batting her eyes, Eliza said, "Tomorrow is
Sunday. Surely I’m not expected to work seven days a week."
    "You have not yet worked an hour."
    "But, Mrs. Throckmorton insists I attend
church."
    "And so you will... After you rid my bed
chamber of mice. And so that I am out of the room in time for you
to take care of things before church, I will rise with the six
o'clock gong," he said, magnanimously.
    "Very well my lord," she replied. "Your wish
is my command." Dipping a demure curtsy, she turned and walked
away.
    Damon watched the graceful sway of her hips
as she sashayed down the hallway. Perhaps he would send Mara back
to her maharajah. Then he could install a certain gypsy miss in the
bungalow. Yes. That idea pleased him.
    ***
    The sound of Mrs. Throckmorton's irksome
voice thrummed in Eliza's head: ‘ Not so much soda in your pail.
Scrub harder, harder. Up and down. Not crosswise on the boards, you
stupid girl. There are still spots. See here, and here, and here.
Leave no spots!’ She'd hovered over Eliza until Eliza felt as
if the walls were closing in. By seven, Eliza still had corks to
prepare. But for that, she’d work outside where the air was
fresh.
    From the kitchen scullions she procured a
lantern, matches, several coals, lard, a long-handled spoon, a
cutting board, and a copper kettle. Gathering her supplies, she set
up behind the smokehouse. While grease heated in the kettle, a
multitude of nocturnal vagabonds fluttered