Seven Secrets of Seduction by Anne Mallory Page A

could tell him that it was highly improper for her to go. Convince him to send one of the others instead.
    Her feet didn’t move. Her hands stayed at her sides. The light filtered through the bottom of the door, undimmed.
    Somewhere inside her she knew that it would have to be her choice. Her uncle had already sent her to return the books without a thought to any proprieties being violated. What difference would her going to work on the viscount’s library make in his mind? She would simply be another servant for a time.
    She looked at her chapped hands. And why would she think otherwise, anyway? What sort of perverse spell had the viscount cast? Or cruel joke did he play? To make her Malvolio? To seduce her into wearing yellow stockings and cross garters?
    But to feel his hands upon her, caressing her stockings, those fleeting touches turned into more…
    She shivered, the chill of the night finally catching up and sifting under the hem of the robe, under her equally unattractive, worn nightgown. Icy tendrils clawing her calves.
    She took a step back, then another. She would go. The viscount’s words had held the ring of truth. She would worry about any decision she needed to make another day. There was always tomorrow to decide.
    Â 
    She was still chewing her lip the next morning as she approached the kitchen door to the grand house once more.
    One of the maids from the day before, the one with the poor balance, was digging in a vegetable garden to the side with another servant. She looked up as Miranda drew closer.
    â€œCor, you are the girl from the bookshop.”
    Miranda switched her weight to her other foot as the second servant, a middle-aged woman also looked up. “I am from a bookshop, yes.”
    â€œWhat you doing back here?”
    Miranda shifted her weight again, uncomfortable at the echo of the question in her own mind. “I am helping to organize the library.”
    â€œCor, girl, I know why you are here. What you doing back here instead of up front?” The maid motioned down the drive.
    â€œThis is the entrance,” Miranda said, her discomfort rising.
    â€œFor us, not you. No need for traipsing the sweaty kitchens.”
    â€œI was hired—”
    â€œGirl, don’t care what you think your purpose is, your entrance is up front. Cook’ll have my tail.”
    â€œAgain,” she thought she heard the other maid mutter.
    â€œI don’t think you understand—”
    The maid shrugged. “I know you are supposed to go to the front.” She pointed. The other woman nodded sharply.
    Miranda considered her options but bowed to the command and turned around. She’d likely be sternly put in her place up front, but there was something more unsettling about barreling past the two servants, who were eyeing her so curiously.
    She trod back down the long drive and turned the corner to see Jeffries in the doorway, imperiously beckoning her inside as if she were an expected guest instead of a laborer.
    She tripped over a stone but righted herself. She turned behind her, sure that there must be someone there to whom he was motioning; but only two gardeners strode the path, neither of whom were looking at the butler. She turned back to the entrance, and once again the butler beckoned her forth.
    It was as if the news of her arrival had reached the front of the house before she had.
    â€œGood afternoon, Miss Chase. May I take your coat?” She was a little stunned as she shed the garment, barely remembering her manners.
    â€œYes, please. Thank you, Mr. Jeffries.”
    â€œShall I show you to the library?”
    She stared at him. A head butler didn’t “show” servants. At most an underbutler might direct a new hire on where to go, but Miranda had expected to be assigned a random housemaid, or the housekeeper, if the latter felt her authority needed to be established over the new girl.
    Then again, a viscount wouldn’t pick up a