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Another encounter with him was not to be thought of. How she wished she’d been able to escape Choke’s sharp eyes before the viscount arrived. Without the master in residence, however, both Choke and the housekeeper had had time to watch all the servants closely.
    Liza paused as she crumpled up the newspaper upon which she’d scraped the muddy boots. He’d come at her out of the dark, cornered her. But when she should have been frightened, she’d been something else as well—she’d been drawn to him.
    He wasn’t what she’d anticipated. Despite his reputation for wildness and rapacity, she hadn’t expected him to possess great personal beauty. Seductive men often didn’t. Yet he could wear buckskin and cotton and turn a woman’s spine to treacle.
    She should be ashamed of herself. What happened to her every time she was in his presence? At first she’d put down her flustered feelings to fear of being caught, but now, now she knew better. She had only to look at him, and her mind stopped functioning.Several times she’d forgotten her role and nearly insulted him.
    She had always prided herself on her good sense. Not for her the silliness and vapidity of other girls, the skittish niceness of other spinsters. Now look at her. She polished the boots quickly.
    By the time she was ready to take them upstairs, Tessie came into the kitchen bearing a silver tea tray and sniffling. The teapot rattled against the tray when she set it on one of the big tables in the middle of the room.
    “What are you blubbering for now, Tessie?” asked Cook as Liza passed by with the boots.
    “H-he yelled at me.”
    Cook raised her eyes to the roof and crossed her arms over her chest. “What did you do?”
    “Nothing,” Tessie wailed. “He wanted lemon, and there was no lemon on the traaaaaaay!”
    Liza hesitated, staring at Tessie as the woman bawled into her kerchief. A low, drawling voice whispered in her ear.
You smell like lemons. I want you too. You smell like lemons. I want you
.
    Shivering, she put her hand on Tessie’s arm. “Has he gone?”
    “Yes. He’d hurt his foot somehow. Loveday bandaged it, and he went away. Thank God. He’s never been like this. I shall speak to Mr. Choke. If his lordship’s to continue like this, I’ll look out for another place. Oh, are you going up, Miss Gamp? Would you take his shirts with you? I pressed them, but I just can’t go up there again.”
    “I’d be might glad to do it. And I’ll tidy the room so you don’t got to do that either.”
    She followed Tessie to the laundry room. The maid placed a pile of ironed and folded shirts in herarms. She hooked her elbow around the handle of a coal scuttle filled with brushes, cloths, and a dustpan.
    Loaded with the scuttle, silk, fine wool, and a pair of boots dangling from her fingertips, Liza marched upstairs. She passed Loveday on his way out, hat and gloves in hand. At last her luck was turning. She should have at least an hour to investigate the viscount’s rooms.
    Laying aside her burdens, she closed the door to the hall. She didn’t dare lock it for fear of arousing suspicion should another servant have business in the suite. She glided quickly to the bathing and dressing rooms and searched them. Since she guessed they were the least likely places to hide anything, she wanted to deal with them first.
    She found a battered trunk that had arrived with the viscount. She opened it and withdrew a brown horsehair rope, a strange, beaded bag containing eagle feathers on a thin, beaded band, and a pair of buckskin leggings. When she unfolded the leggings, an image came to her of Jocelin Marshall strapping them around his thighs.
Stop that
.
    She set the leggings aside and dipped her hand into the trunk again. This time she retrieved the viscount’s belt, holster, and revolver. The smell of freshly cleaned leather and gunmetal reminded her of him. She traced the intricate engraving on the belt buckle, remembering where it had rested