My Three Masters Read Free Page A

precisely the same thing fled my
mind. “I believe I’d make an excellent employee.”
    He smiled, that glittering, complicated smirk for which he
was famous. “I have no doubt. I’ve seen how loyally you’ve served my wife. But
would you be such a faithful servant to one such as myself? Perhaps you know my
reputation.”
    Color flooded my face. I knew his reputation perhaps better
than he did himself. I was fascinated by it.
    Once, in a moment of spectacular boldness, I’d asked the
Marquise why she’d married him if he was so sinful. She laughed until she began
to cough and I had to fetch her some mullein. When the spasms died down, she
answered, “We were two of a kind, or so I thought. But the bastard disappointed
me. He left me in hell, all alone.”
    Had she banned her husband from her bed? I never once
witnessed any moment of physical intimacy between them. I never saw him enter
her bedchamber before that final conversation. Why did she allow so many others
to partake of her favors when she denied them to her rightful husband? The
husband whose bedroom exploits provided fodder for a thousand stories during
the year I cared for her. The husband who haunted my dreams and made that place
between my legs burn with need.
    I put my hands to my scalding cheeks. “Yes,” I admitted
stiffly.
    “And yet you’re still willing to enter my household?”
    No. Of course I wasn’t. That was why I’d ventured into the
library. But I found myself nodding. He shifted his legs so his knee brushed against
my dress. His head tilted backward so it rested on the russet leather chair
back. He looked utterly disreputable, and utterly fascinating. “I’m not sure I
believe you.”
    I said naught. I felt guilty, as though I’d been caught in a
lie.
    “I’m afraid I’ll require some proof.”
    “Proof?”
    “Proof that you’re fit to work for me. I require a certain
ease with one’s sexual nature. I cannot have prudes in my house. Are you a
prude, Miss Miranda Brown?”
    The diabolical glitter in his eyes made my knees weaken. This
was how I’d always imagined him in my midnight fantasies. For a wild moment, I
wondered if I was dreaming this whole encounter. I swayed from side to side.
    “My dear, you look a bit faint,” said the Marquis. “Perhaps
you should lean against that mantel behind you.”
    I glanced behind me. A beautiful rose marble mantelpiece
protruded from above the hearth. My mistress had a taste for ornate Italian
design. I could comfortably lean my shoulders against it, but that would take
me farther away from the Marquis, and I discovered I didn’t want that. I shook
my head.
    “Then come here and stand between my legs. I promise to keep
you upright.” He said the word “upright” with light irony, as if referring to
more than my stance.
    I stared at him with wide eyes. Perhaps now was the time to
tell him I wouldn’t work for him. Couldn’t work for him. Instead, I took a step
forward, then another, until I stood between his two long legs clad in fine
garnet velvet. His boots shone in the light of the fire. His waistcoat was slightly
open, his cravat hanging to one side. His dark hair fell over his forehead in
unruly waves. I’d never seen the impeccable Marquis in such disarray.
    “Are you quite all right, milord? Shall I fetch a tonic for
you?”
    “Don’t waste your worry on me. I’m merely drinking to my
soon-to-be late wife.” He raised his glass and swallowed more brandy. “Besides,
I don’t want you to leave yet. I still haven’t gotten my proof yet.”
    “Really, milord—”
    “It’s nothing overly difficult. It won’t take long, the
matter of a mere moment.”
    Excited chills raced up my spine. What was he referring to?
The way he was speaking, and watching me with those lazy black eyes, it had to
be naughty. Again I swayed, but he caught me between his strong legs. Through
my dress, through his velvet breeches, I felt the heat of him, and it made my
head swim as if I’d