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say, answer my query, and you can have your pick from my secret cache of novels?”
    “My lord, indeed you know how to tempt a bluestocking. I would have traded my soul for Trollope, alas you have surrendered the whole lot.”
    Lord Devon did something utterly beautiful: he tossed his head back and laughed in loud tenor peals. Sophia could not resist staring. His woodsy spice smell made her head foggy. Had he moved closer then, or had his scent drawn her in?
    Wake up, Sophia . Flirtation was a game only the rich could afford, and for now, Sophia was a housemaid. She stepped back and held up her dusting rag, keeping it between herself and the very tempting Lord Devon. “I forget myself, my lord. I have books to dust, and if I am waylaid by Wilde or Trollope, I shall never finish.”
    “You do as you please. And I allow you to do as you please.” He said this blandly, a statement of fact.
    “A grievance or edict?”
    He smiled. “Both, madam.”
    Well, what on earth could she say that?
    “I see no need to pretend our little game can sustain itself any longer.” He lowered his voice, “Perhaps you might ease my conscience. If you accept a more genteel position in my household, you may cease scrubbing and dusting, and I can quit agonizing over the sight of you doing so.”
    Ah, there it came. The choice to be a man’s mistress, or not. For the sake of being able to throw it back in his face, she blurted, “I am at your service, my lord.”
    “Ah, good. Because in two week’s time I will have need of a governess.”
    Sophia blinked, glad it was her only outward sign of shock.
    “I received word that my cousin, Sir Eldrich Cavendish has died. Since his son Philip is estranged and out pirate-hunting with the Royal Navy, I am left guardian of his three daughters. May I assume you are qualified in all the usual subjects?”
    “Do you mean needlepoint, piano, and polite conversation? Or are you referring to literature, politics, marksmanship and — ” Bed play , she swallowed before it came out. The more she studied his expression, she understood he was serious. He did not recognize her as a woman with the sensibilities of a courtesan, trained to spar with men as equals. He still thought her a lady despite her warning.
    “My nieces are precocious, with quaint French manners and neglected educations. You have your work cut out for you. I would be pleased to find your tutelage comprehensive in academic subjects, and defer to your judgment in other matters with the hope they will emulate your disposition.”
    If she had a mite less discipline, Sophia’s jaw would have fallen open. “Why, thank you, Lord Devon.”
    He chuckled, a private, maddeningly seductive sound. “Wilhelm,” he said softly. “And you must give me something to call you, other than madam . I tire of it.”
    “In private, Rosalie. In company, Mrs. Cooper.”
    He seemed disappointed. Had he expected to address her intimately before others?
    “Perhaps in time you will give me another name. Rosalie .”
    She went cold. Unsurprising he had seen through her disguise, considering how often he had caught her behaving suspiciously. But guessing she used a false name? That was dangerous.
    He touched her, his hand brushing the side of her arm slowly from elbow to shoulder. Not licentious, so she could not complain, but neither did it feel platonic.
    “You said before I may keep my secrets and I shall. I promise you would like me less without my mystery.”
    “I believe I warned you before about baiting me. Knightly quests, curiosity and cats, and all that.”
    It was her turn to laugh, and he stared. She flattered herself to believe he was transfixed .
    “Wilhelm? Oh, there you are.”
    When Lord Devon turned to look behind him, Sophia saw a regal middle-aged woman approaching. She did not appear pleased to find him flirting with the housemaid.
    “Hello, Aunt Louisa.”
    “I thought I heard you laughing a moment ago and came to your rescue. I have not