when you lifted this hat off my head. All of your workers know the truth and most of the men in Portsmouth Square. If I can't hide what I am any longer, then I don't see that I should be expected to hide what I feel. You may ignore my tender feelings, but I won't let you pretend I haven't any."
Berkeley missed Grey's faint smile because she glanced away too quickly. He noticed that these flashes of temerity seemed to have the capacity to surprise her. She was staring at the floor again as if waiting to be set in her place, not realizing she had set him firmly in his.
Grey pushed out the chair the workers left behind. It scraped against the floor, drawing her attention. "Sit down, Miss Shaw."
"I'm fine," she said. "Really, I—"
"Did you think I was inviting you to have a seat?" he asked. "I wasn't. It was an order." He held up one hand, staving off her protest. "Consider your argument said, heard, and ignored. Have a seat, Miss Shaw."
With the momentum she achieved by pushing herself out of the corner, Berkeley managed to cross the room. She pulled the chair back a few feet so she wasn't directly beneath his gaze and sat down. "Is it your intention to interrogate me?" she asked.
"It is my intention that you should stop cowering in that corner." He stood, skirted the edge of the desk, and sat on the pine crate. "Let's agree to hold further discussion until the water arrives." Without giving her another glance he began leafing through a stack of papers, sorting and filing them away in one of the drawers. While she looked on silently, Grey made an occasional note on something he read or scribbled an addition to a list he was compiling.
Almost an hour elapsed before workmen appeared at Grey's suite. Berkeley was asleep in the stiff ladder back chair she occupied, her head cocked sideways at an awkward angle and her hands lying palm up in her lap. The abused hat that she had twisted and tugged while she held her tongue lay on the floor at her feet.
Grey rose from behind the desk quietly and went to the door. He met the bucket brigade in the hallway. He gave them instructions on preparing the bathtub and motioned them to use the door leading directly into the bedroom. They accomplished their task with a surprising amount of efficiency for men who had never been in service in their lives. Grey thought their eagerness to please had a lot less to do with him than it did with Berkeley's cascade of corn silk hair and the fey appeal of her leaf green eyes.
He dismissed the men, then went to Berkeley and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She didn't stir. Grey bent and slipped one arm behind her back and another under her knees. Her head lolled comfortably against his chest. He looked down at her sleeping features and felt a small resentment for the trust she had extended him.
Grey carried her through the library and bedroom and into the dressing room. The tub had been lined with a sheet to protect her from the rough slats and filled three-quarters of the way with hot water. Two more rinsing buckets stood by. Towels, soap, and washcloths lay on top of the trunk lid. There was nothing left to be done.
"Miss Shaw?"
"Hmmm?"
"Your bath is ready."
Berkeley's only response was to offer an abrupt little snore and burrow against him.
Grey saw the cat wander into the doorway and stare at him curiously. "This could happen to you," he told the tabby. "So learn from it." He lowered Berkeley over the tub until he was in a position to drop her. Then he did.
The tabby meowed loudly, back arched, as Berkeley came up spitting and flinging water. The cat ran away. Berkeley had nowhere to go. She pushed the damp curtain of hair out of her eyes then tried to lift herself out of the tub. She was held in place by the hand on her shoulder. "Do you mean to drown me?" she demanded, sinking back under the weight of Grey's palm.
"It has a certain appeal," he admitted. He straightened. "You can take off your clothes and put them on the floor. Call
Berkeley missed Grey's faint smile because she glanced away too quickly. He noticed that these flashes of temerity seemed to have the capacity to surprise her. She was staring at the floor again as if waiting to be set in her place, not realizing she had set him firmly in his.
Grey pushed out the chair the workers left behind. It scraped against the floor, drawing her attention. "Sit down, Miss Shaw."
"I'm fine," she said. "Really, I—"
"Did you think I was inviting you to have a seat?" he asked. "I wasn't. It was an order." He held up one hand, staving off her protest. "Consider your argument said, heard, and ignored. Have a seat, Miss Shaw."
With the momentum she achieved by pushing herself out of the corner, Berkeley managed to cross the room. She pulled the chair back a few feet so she wasn't directly beneath his gaze and sat down. "Is it your intention to interrogate me?" she asked.
"It is my intention that you should stop cowering in that corner." He stood, skirted the edge of the desk, and sat on the pine crate. "Let's agree to hold further discussion until the water arrives." Without giving her another glance he began leafing through a stack of papers, sorting and filing them away in one of the drawers. While she looked on silently, Grey made an occasional note on something he read or scribbled an addition to a list he was compiling.
Almost an hour elapsed before workmen appeared at Grey's suite. Berkeley was asleep in the stiff ladder back chair she occupied, her head cocked sideways at an awkward angle and her hands lying palm up in her lap. The abused hat that she had twisted and tugged while she held her tongue lay on the floor at her feet.
Grey rose from behind the desk quietly and went to the door. He met the bucket brigade in the hallway. He gave them instructions on preparing the bathtub and motioned them to use the door leading directly into the bedroom. They accomplished their task with a surprising amount of efficiency for men who had never been in service in their lives. Grey thought their eagerness to please had a lot less to do with him than it did with Berkeley's cascade of corn silk hair and the fey appeal of her leaf green eyes.
He dismissed the men, then went to Berkeley and tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She didn't stir. Grey bent and slipped one arm behind her back and another under her knees. Her head lolled comfortably against his chest. He looked down at her sleeping features and felt a small resentment for the trust she had extended him.
Grey carried her through the library and bedroom and into the dressing room. The tub had been lined with a sheet to protect her from the rough slats and filled three-quarters of the way with hot water. Two more rinsing buckets stood by. Towels, soap, and washcloths lay on top of the trunk lid. There was nothing left to be done.
"Miss Shaw?"
"Hmmm?"
"Your bath is ready."
Berkeley's only response was to offer an abrupt little snore and burrow against him.
Grey saw the cat wander into the doorway and stare at him curiously. "This could happen to you," he told the tabby. "So learn from it." He lowered Berkeley over the tub until he was in a position to drop her. Then he did.
The tabby meowed loudly, back arched, as Berkeley came up spitting and flinging water. The cat ran away. Berkeley had nowhere to go. She pushed the damp curtain of hair out of her eyes then tried to lift herself out of the tub. She was held in place by the hand on her shoulder. "Do you mean to drown me?" she demanded, sinking back under the weight of Grey's palm.
"It has a certain appeal," he admitted. He straightened. "You can take off your clothes and put them on the floor. Call
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