Wicked lessons by the rogue

Teaching her a lesson

*Lupo*

Her eyes go wide in horror. Her jaw drops. For a moment there, I am afraid she might swoon, and I will have to lunge for her before she hits the floor.

The Goddess help me, but it takes every bit of control I can muster not to burst out laughing and ruin the moment. The startled look on her face... I would have paid a hundred quid to see it. No, a thousand, a million.

I don’t know what had possessed me to tell her she is the servant. I had been worried about her as I had prepared the bath, working as quickly as possible to get it done, so she would be more comfortable, so she could be clean once again, so I could deliver her to her family.

And for my trouble, not even a thank you. Not a hint of gratitude. Only more demands. Fetch this, fetch that. The water isn't to my liking. Why are you so slow? I am far too important to have to wait for anything or anyone.

She keeps her nose stuck in the air and never looks down long enough to notice the masses, to appreciate that the luxury in which she lives is provided by the hard work of others. She awakes to draperies drawn, fires crackling, heated water waiting.

Clothes are pressed, beds are warmed, food is served.

Suddenly I just had quite enough of her. Spoiled, pampered, entitled. Bored. Because she might have very nearly drowned earlier, the unkind thoughts now prick my conscience, but only slightly, certainly not enough to cause me to retract my words. Let her mull on them for a bit, let her rethink her place in this world for a few more hours, until morning, and then I will return her home. It will take that long at least for her clothing to dry sufficiently so she can put it back on.

Although it would be somewhat damp still so she would complain about it. I don't have a carriage to be prepared for her comfort so we will have to walk for a bit and find a rental one. She won’t be pleased about that. I doubt she has ever ridden in one.

She might not remember who she is, but it seems, by the Goddess, that she remembers what she is.

“What do you mean?” She asks.

"It means, sweetheart, that you are my housekeeper." I tell her.

She hastily skitters away from me, circling the edge of the tub, as if putting distance between us could alter my words. I resist dwelling on how vulnerable and innocent she appears, wrapped in my coat, how effortlessly my body could envelop hers. I won't allow myself to think about her bare, delicate toes, or how I might have caressed them if she weren't such a shrew. Shakespeare would have adored her.

Dazed, she shakes her head. "That can't be right. I would know..."

"You don't even know your name. Why would you know you're a servant?" I ask.

She takes in her surroundings, visibly struggling to recall them. Then, her chin juts up so abruptly that I'm surprised she didn't snap her neck. "Why was I telling you to fetch things if I'm the one who does the fetching?"

"Wishful thinking on your part? Perhaps this entire 'I-can't-remember' business is your attempt to avoid fulfilling your word: taking care of my residence."

I don't know why I'm prolonging this charade, except that I find perverse pleasure in unsettling her. It's not very gentlemanly of me, but hadn't she accused me of being a blackguard and a scoundrel earlier? I'm merely striving to meet her expectations.

Physically, she doesn't seem to be suffering from her river swim. As for her memory, it doesn't seem to be completely lost either. I'm fairly certain it will return any moment now. She's experiencing temporary confusion, nothing more.

"A servant?" she repeats, her voice filled with such disdain that it seems she might vomit at the mere mention of the word. "Your servant?"

"Quite right. I suggest you continue with your bath. You may sleep in my bed for the remainder of the night, as it's more comfortable than yours. In the morning, we'll discuss the matter further." In the morning, I'll confess my wickedness and escort you home.

Before I change my mind and confess everything now, I spin on my heel to leave.

"No, wait!"

Glancing back, I refuse to let guilt seep in at the sight of her distress. I know she cares only for her own needs, never giving a thought to anyone else's suffering. I'm certain I'm not the only one she has lashed out at with that sharp tongue of hers. Besides, it's not as though I'm inflicting any physical harm upon her.

With an exasperated huff, she pushes up the sleeves of my coat. They fall back into place, making it awkward for her to wring her hands, though she manages.

"I can't be a servant." She says desperately.

"Why not?" I ask.

She bites her lip. "It just... doesn't feel right. Yes, that's it. It simply doesn't feel correct. What are my responsibilities, exactly?"

"Everything. You scrub my floors, prepare my meals, polish my boots, press my shirts, make my bed, prepare my bath. Anything else that I deem necessary."

"Little wonder I leaped into the river," she mutters.

"Did you leap in?" I ask, taking a step toward her, wondering if the shock of my earlier words has triggered her memory. "Do you remember it now?"

She shakes her head. "No, but I must have. How else could I have ended up there?"

"It was an accident. You slipped." I suggest.

She rubs her brow. "It doesn't matter. That's in the past. It's the present that matters. This..." She gestures around her. "...can't be my life."

"Why not? It's a good life. I'm sure you'll remember once you're properly rested. Sleep as late as you like. Given the circumstances, I won't deduct your pay. Since it seems you need a reminder of your duties, we'll discuss them tomorrow."

I walk out, closing the door behind me. I don't want to dwell on the image of her removing my coat and climbing into my tub. By now, the water is undoubtedly less than warm.

Perhaps I won't take her home when she wakes.

Perhaps I'll treat her to a day in a servant's shoes. Just for a day. No need for her family to suffer any longer, worrying over her absence.

Chuckling darkly, I shake my head as I make my way down the stairs. I'll have to find a way to clean the mud from her clothes. But then I pause. If I return her clothing to her, its quality will immediately give away the fact that she isn't a servant. Although she seems to recall some basics, I'll need to make a quick trip to the missions at the break of dawn to find suitable attire.

Am I really going to continue with this charade?

It's utterly ludicrous to even consider it. She's the daughter of an Alpha. Faye would never forgive me for subjecting her friend to such misery. But then again, no one ever needs to know.

Knowing Miss Odette as well as I do, I'm certain she would never disclose what transpired during her absence from high society. Even if her memory never fully returns, once I bring her back home and she realizes the truth about her position in the world, she will once again embrace it with the same arrogance that defines her existence.

What harm is there in giving her a glimpse into a different kind of life?