Luck Is No Lady(27)

“This room is for your convenience alone,” he continued in a casual tone. “You may close the door for privacy or leave it open, whichever you prefer. The kitchen is open throughout the day for light meals. The bellpull rings for a maid, who will bring you whatever you need.”

Emma strode to the desk and turned back to face her new employer. “Thank you,” she replied. “I doubt I shall need much.”

Mr. Bentley stood just inside the door. His arms were folded across his chest, but rather than giving him a forbidding appearance, the posture had the opposite effect. It made him look quite amicable. His chin was lowered and tilted slightly to the side in a way she was becoming familiar with, and his gaze fell on her with steady interest.

It worried her when he looked at her so intently. She hoped it was simply his way rather than an indication of something more unsettling. Surely he had not recognized her from their first encounter. She had been careful not to give herself away in voice or deed.

Still, his attention had an unnatural effect on her. The longer he stared at her, the more difficult it became to maintain her rigid composure. In her growing anxiety, she nearly chastised him for his rudeness, but was saved from such an imprudent reaction when he finally spoke.

“If I may be so forward, I feel it necessary to assure you that while you are in my club, you are under my protection.”

His sincerity struck Emma acutely. No one had claimed a right to such a personal obligation since she was a child.

“Mr. Bentley,” she replied stiffly as she linked her fingers together, “I am quite capable of seeing to my own security.”

His head tipped forward in acknowledgment even as his lips curled into a smile that made her skin tingle. “I do not doubt it for a minute. However, while you work for me, you will allow me to take on that particular responsibility. All members of my staff know I expect an atmosphere of mutual respect and consideration.” His gaze held hers, and Emma felt a strange thrill flow from her chest to her toes. “If you experience anything to the contrary, I insist you advise me of it immediately.”

She nodded, uncertain how else to respond. “Yes, sir.”

After obtaining her agreement, he slid his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew an envelope. He crossed the room in long, easy strides and held the small package out to her. “Your first week of wages. As promised.”

Emma was careful not to touch his fingers as she took the envelope from his hand. Knowing what it contained managed to ease some of the tension riding across her shoulders.

“Thank you, sir. You will not regret your decision to hire me. I vow to give my utmost attention to Bentley’s accounts.”

He chuckled. The sound was warm and rich. “Better you than me,” he replied with a rueful glance at the materials piled atop her new desk. “You have a notion on where to start with all this?”

Emma thought of the challenge ahead and experienced a fine flare of anticipation. “I do.”

“Excellent. I will leave you to it. I shall be unavailable for the next few hours, but the staff will be able to address any concerns that arise.” He started toward the door then paused to look back at her. “By the way, we do not insist on unnecessary formalities here. You may call me Roderick.”

A shiver chased across her sensitive nape. She felt as though his suggestion were another test of some sort. She was not in polite society anymore. Would a refusal to accept the informal address be seen as unusual?

She nodded her acceptance, and he lifted his chin in question.

“And what shall I call you?” he asked.

Emma’s pulse quickened in reaction to the challenging gleam in his vivid gaze. She was on unfamiliar ground and she knew it, but she was not about to show any weakness at this early stage.

“You may call me Emma.” It was a common enough name and certainly shouldn’t have garnered any particular reaction.

She realized her error in that assumption almost immediately as his finely shaped lips curved into a generous smile that sent subtle shock waves of sensation through her body.

“It suits you,” he said before he continued from the room.

Once the door closed behind him, Emma released a long and tortured breath. Then another.

She tucked the envelope into the deep pocket of her pelisse, then lifted her hands to remove the pins keeping her bonnet in place. She took a moment to smooth her hair back before removing her gloves and releasing the buttons of her pelisse. After removing the outer garment, she draped it over the arm of one of the chintz chairs, careful to ensure her wages remained secure in the pocket.

Her mundane actions allowed her to ground herself now that Mr. Bentley was not present to send her senses spinning. Returning to what would be her desk for the next several weeks, she drew out the chair and took a seat. She slowly splayed her hands flat on the surface and perused the materials laid out for her.