Read Never Kiss a Rake for Free Online Page A

giving her a chance to answer his purposefully outrageous question. “So, do you think you have a chance in hell of putting this wretched household in order?”
    She wasn’t used to cursing, he noticed by the faint flicker in her eyes. So she’d had a sheltered upbringing. That made the whole farce even more intriguing.
    “Of course,” she said calmly. “I am used to running far larger households. For a house this size I would expect no less than four footmen, a boy for lugging things, at least three parlor maids, perhaps more, a maid for the mistress, a scullery maid, and a valet for the master.”
    “Absolutely no valet,” he said quickly, a little too quickly for someone supposed to be castaway. “I’m not some fey Englishman who can’t dress himself. I’ve done so since I was six years old—I don’t need someone fussing at me. If society doesn’t like the way I dress then they can go fuck themselves.”
    He’d shocked her with his language, but she didn’t waver. He saw the almost imperceptible rise of one eyebrow as she chose to ignore his deliberate crudeness. “Aren’t you English, my lord?”
    “It’s an Irish title. I’m a fish out of water in this bloody place.” He shouldn’t tell her that. She was a spy, and he was confiding in her. That was the trouble with drinking too much, he thought.
    “Nevertheless, right now you are a gentleman living in London society. A valet will simplify matters, and if you end the evening… indisposed he’ll be able to help you retire.”
    Oh, lovely
, he thought, hiding his expression behind half-lowered eyelids. It hadn’t even occurred to him until she mentioned it. Mrs. Greaves was going to have to help his supposedly drunken carcass to bed. That was full of possibilities. “I’ll consider it. As for the rest of the staff, do as you please. I trust you.” Now there was a lie of monumental proportions.
    She nodded, all dignity. “I won’t betray that trust.”
    A magnificent lie in return. They were well matched. “I’m afraid my wife can prove difficult. If you have any problem simply come to me.”
    “I will endeavor not to give cause for disturbing her.”
    “She already has cause. She’s a jealous woman.”
    The woman… what was her name… Brianna? Bryony? Something like that. She just stared at him. “You’ve had even more to drink than I thought, my lord. I’m hardly the sort of woman men are attracted to.”
    He laughed, just a soft sound, but said nothing. He cocked his head, surveying her. Beneath that astonishingly frowsy dress she was a little thin, but even in his slightly inebriated state he could see curves. Respectable breasts, the faint flare of hips. He wondered how the late Mr. Greaves performed in bed. Not well, he suspected. She held herself like a spinster.
    A sudden thought struck him, and he frowned. “Are you a widow, Mrs. Greaves? Or is the ‘Mrs.’ merely a courtesy title taken on by housekeepers?”
    He could see her flash of hesitation. “A widow, my lord. My husband died.”
    “How?”
    He’d flustered her. “A carriage accident.”
    Another mistake. It was unlikely the husband of a housekeeper would be riding in a carriage. A coach or a wagon, perhaps, but carriages were mostly reserved for the upper classes.
    To which this woman clearly belonged. He managed to focus on her. Definitely a spinster. In which case a virgin. Too bad—virgins were best left entirely alone.
    “You’re going to have to take me to bed, Mrs. Greaves,” he said. It was difficult to hide his amusement as a look of shock and horror washed over her face. “Don’t jump to conclusions, my dear. While I’m never too drunk to perform, I suppose I ought to leave the staff alone. It’s damned hard to find a decent housekeeper.”
    She rose, effectively shielding her reactions now. “I’ll call Bertie.”
    “I want to go to bed now, Mrs. Greaves. I don’t wish to wait for the footman, and if my memory serves me Bertie has never