That Despicable Rogue. Virginia Heath
leave me cold and chewing on gristle.’
She smiled ever so slightly at that, but quickly covered it. Underneath all that frost she might possess a sense of humour at least. Of course it might have been wind. The expression had been so fleeting he could not be sure.
‘A sensible budget of around eight hundred pounds a year is probably more than enough—assuming that you do not want an army of servants, sir?’
‘Heavens, no! There is only me—and in a few months my mother and sister will be coming to live here. I have no need of an army.’
Hannah could not hide her surprise. ‘You have a mother and a sister?’ She had not discovered that titbit in all her research.
He regarded her with amusement. ‘Of course I have a mother. Did you assume that I had been created by some other miraculous method?’
‘Not at all, sir,’ she said hastily, ‘but I had not considered the possibility that you had a family.’
A look of pleased affection crossed his features. ‘I do—although they drive me to distraction and nag me incessantly. At the moment they both live in a lovely quiet village in Kent, but my sister is twenty and she is begging me to bring her to town for the season. Why? I have no idea. But for the sake of peace I will do it. I thought I would surprise them with this house when it is finished. I think my mother might actually be lost for words for the first time in her life.’
His admission made her curious. ‘Why do they live in Kent?’
The moment the question popped out she regretted it. Servants were not meant to ask personal questions.
However, he did not appear to mind and answered happily. ‘My business requires me to be in London, mostly at the docks, but that is not a particularly...safe place to live. This house is a good compromise. It is only an hour away from town, but far enough away not to be too close to all the dirt and danger.’
Danger? That was an interesting word for him to use, and it said a great deal about him, in Hannah’s humble opinion. He must regularly mix with some shady characters indeed if he feared for the safety of his family in the city. Hannah had certainly never felt unsafe there. From what she remembered, Mayfair had been a charming place.
‘One of your main duties will be to get this house shipshape, Mrs Preston. Many of the bedrooms are in a shocking state, and the whole place looks as if it needs a touch of paint. I take it that you have had a good look around the house? Tell me, what things do you think need doing first?’
His question startled Hannah, so she answered honestly, forgetting to be demure as a good servant should be. ‘The main family rooms need to be sorted out first and foremost. The morning room and the dining room are looking very shabby.’
She had been shocked at just how shabby they had become in her absence. George had certainly run the house into the ground after he had banished her to Yorkshire.
‘I agree,’ he said, smiling. ‘And I hate this room as well.’ He waved his hand dismissively at the oppressive panelled walls.
Hannah had always loathed how dark the stained wood made this room. Even so, his criticism of it irritated.
‘I think the panelling adds a certain gravitas to the study,’ she countered, and watched his dark eyebrows draw together as he considered her words.
‘But it is so dingy in here,’ he finally ventured. ‘It is far too depressing to work in.’
‘What sort of work is it that you do?’ she asked politely, wondering how he would answer. He would hardly admit to swindling people, robbing them blind and driving them to suicide.
‘I make money,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I know that is considered a bad thing to confess in this day and age, but it is the truth. I make investments. I speculate—buy and sell. Whatever looks as if it has the potential for a solid profit I will dabble in. I was not born into money, Mrs Preston, so I appreciate its value and its power. And as I spend a great deal of my time poring over ledgers and papers I need a pleasant and light place to work in. This room, quite frankly, is not pleasant. Those ugly paintings need to come down for a start.’
He pointed to the ostentatious family portraits that her father had had painted and scowled.
‘I presume that they are all long-dead members of the Runcorn dynasty?’ They were—her brother, her father, grandfather and great-grandfather stared down at them haughtily from the walls. None of them had been particularly handsome men, she acknowledged. And it was difficult to remember any of them with any great affection.
‘They look like a bunch of pompous arses,’ he said disdainfully.
He took her expression of shock as outrage at his use of bad language, but he was unapologetic.
‘Come on, Mrs Prim and Proper—surely you have heard the word arse before?’
Something about the way she bristled amused Ross. She was so easy to rile he decided there and then to do it often. If nothing else, it would make the days go quicker. He would start this very moment, by peppering his speech with a bit more colourful language and seeing how long it took her to bite back.
‘Make a note to get all this blasted panelling painted a nice cheerful colour, and get those pompous arses shifted to the attic as soon as possible,’ he said dismissively, and watched her scratch his instructions down in obvious irritation.
When she had finished she peered at him over the rims of her spectacles. ‘What colours do you consider “cheerful”, sir? Do you want something light and subtle? Like a pale primrose-yellow? Or would you feel more at home with something bolder—like bordello-red?’
Her blue eyes glared at him defiantly. The woman had spirit. Ross quite admired her cheek, but pretended to ponder. ‘Hmm...perhaps we should save the red for my bedchamber, where it can be properly appreciated? I quite like the idea of pale yellow—but not for in here.’
She could picture the perfect place. ‘The morning room would look lovely in pale yellow. It faces the gardens and catches the early-morning sun—’ Stopping herself abruptly, Hannah stared at her notes. She was being much too presumptuous for a servant.
‘Would you paint it pale yellow?’ he asked, with an obvious interest that she found strangely flattering. The man was actually asking for her opinion on something.
‘I would paint all the dark wood white and mix solid walls of primrose-yellow with some printed wallpapers. Flowers or vines or some such pattern—something that brings the garden into the room.’
Her favourite room would look stunning in such a sunny shade.
For several seconds he just stared at her, and then his face split into a devastating grin that made her pulse flutter in a most disconcerting way. ‘I do believe that you have an eye for decorating, Mrs Prim. That is exactly how the morning room should look. But I want no spindly little chairs. I was not built for puny furniture—I want something more robust. Manly. And comfortable.’
‘There is a lovely big sofa in the drawing room. If we had it reupholstered and found a pair of big wing chairs to go with it I think that might do quite well,’ she answered wistfully as she imagined it, caught up in the vision.
She had always dreamed of changing the interior of the hall but had never, ever been consulted. She caught him watching her. Far from appearing annoyed at her presumptuousness, he looked impressed.
‘Another good idea. Jot it down. I think I will put you in charge of picking out all the colours henceforth.’
This was a great responsibility he was delegating to her and one that she would relish. Hannah forgot herself, and grinned at his unexpected generosity. ‘Shall I make a note of the bordello-red for your bedchamber too?’ she asked cheekily, forgetting herself, and then blushed as his eyes twinkled flirtatiously.
What on earth was she thinking? He really was dangerously charming—and manipulative. Already he had briefly made