The Housemaid's Scandalous Secret by Helen Dickson Page A

life. ‘Are you by any chance a radical, Colonel?’
    He grinned, his mouth wide over his excellent teeth. ‘I would not go as far as to say that.’ He became thoughtful. ‘But I do have notions which do not always agree with those of my associates—especially here in England. Perhaps I have lived too long in India.’
    ‘Or not long enough,’ Lisette said on a wistful note. She was quite fascinated by this extraordinary conversation and by the strangeness of having it and her eyes glowed with their interest in his startling opinions. ‘When I was in India I used to help my father collect his plants and sort out his specimens and send them back to the university. I hoped to carry on helping him with his work—it all seemed so probable then.’
    ‘So, Miss Napier, will you continue being a lady’s maid?’
    She laughed lightly. ‘Someone has to be. Someone has to look after the aristocrats and the gentry.’
    ‘Quite right,’ he replied with mock pomposity. ‘I never do a thing myself if I can get the servants to do it for me.’
    ‘But everyone should be capable of being self-sufficient. What would you do if you suddenly found yourself without anyone? Why,’ she said, noticing his boots, ‘look at your boots. Who cleans them?’
    ‘Blackstock—my valet. I suppose you’re going to tell me I should clean them myself.’
    ‘No. You’d probably make a mess of them.’
    He laughed at her pointed remark. ‘As a matter of fact you’re wrong. When I was a very small boy my father would make me clean my own boots religiously—riding boots, walking boots, everyday boots. I had to rub them until I could see my face in them. But you didn’t answer my question. Do you intend being a lady’s maid forever?’
    Lisette put her work down in her lap and contemplated his question. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I haven’t had much time to think about it since coming to England. But no, I don’t think so.’
    ‘Araminta speaks highly of you, says you’re a real asset. She’d be sorry to lose you.’
    ‘She won’t. Not yet anyway.’ She sighed. ‘I would like to go back to India one day. I shall always hope something will turn up, but in my case—well, I’m not so sure. Maybe I could go as a companion to a rich old lady and travel the world.’ She laughed. ‘But listen to me. I sound like a dreamer. I’m sure it will pass.’
    Ross did not laugh. ‘What’s wrong with having dreams and longings? We’d be nowhere without them.’
    ‘But in the end I have to be realistic. I can’t see my situation changing dramatically in the foreseeable future. This is the real world. No one’s going to wave some magic wand.’
    ‘If one believes in magic, it could come true.’
    He fell silent and beneath his gaze Lisette could feel his eyes on her as she sorted out a tangle of vividly coloured ribbons, painstakingly unravelling them and rolling each bright satin strand into a neat coil. His manner was all consideration and regard as he made a study of her person with a strange sort of intensity she could not define. She looked as she always did, so she had no illusions that he had cause to deem her worth staring at.
    It was with some amusement that she raised her head and looked across at him. ‘Colonel Montague, you study me most intently—as if I were an artefact. Or maybe I have a smut on my nose? Is that it?’
    Ross leaned back in his chair. His eyelids lowered as his gaze raked over her with the leisure of a well-fed wolf. ‘Your nose is perfect,’ he replied, his voice husky. If ever he had discounted the possibilities that a woman’s features could be flawless, then he was swiftly coming to the conclusion that Lisette Napier would set the standard by which all other women would have to be judged, at least in his mind. If her face wasn’t at the very least perfect, it came as close to being so as he was able to bear. Several feathery curls had escaped their confines at her temples and in front of her ears,