The Ace: His undercover Maid

Like a cat

*Ace*

Bloody damned hell. I don't know why in the devil it bothers me that Marguerite had come into my chamber and seen me with Louisa Parker sprawled all over me like a feline lazing in the sun.

I make no secret that I entertain she-wolves in here. However, for the first time, I'm embarrassed and experiencing a bit of the shame my father berated me for not experiencing.

It's simply the shock of her arrival. I had been expecting Tom, had needed it to be Tom, and had arranged the tableau for Tom to witness. I don't want to put Marguerite through the torment of being a witness at a divorce trial where she'll be interrogated without mercy regarding what she's seen and heard.

“Who was she?” Louisa asks demurely.

I shake my head. “Simply a servant.”

“If we were truly having an affair, I do believe I’d be jealous by the manner in which you looked at her, as though you longed to lap her up, like a cat does cream.” She says in a soft, half teasing tone.

Waving her off, I toss back the wine Perkins had poured earlier and refill my glass although I'm very tempted to switch to scotch. I need something stronger, something that burns, warms, and can make one forget more swiftly. “It was all merely a performance. As you’re well aware, within this chamber, you and I are actors upon a stage.”

Only I'm incredibly tempted to carry the strawberry to Marguerite, place the sweet fruit between her succulent lips, and watch her bite into it while I imagine she's instead nipping at my throat. “Although she wasn't the expected party, the show must go on, and hopefully she'll be tittering about what she saw to the other servants.”

Except she doesn't strike me as a titterer. She appears to be someone of honor who holds secrets close. As closely as I do. I glance over at my guest. “More wine?”

She lifts her nearly full glass. “I’ve barely touched this.”

As she takes a sip, I stride over and drop into the thickly padded dark blue velveteen chair across from the settee where she sits. “I missed our time together last Monday. How was the visit with your mother?”

“It was exceedingly trying. She spoke of all sorts of remedies to get me with child, placing an egg beneath my pillow of all things, if you can imagine. I couldn’t tell her that I can’t get with child if my husband never visits my bed, if I’ve become so abhorrent to his sensibilities that he’ll barely look at me. He pays me no attention at all. If he suspects I’m involved with someone else, he’s given no indication. It’s been two months. I thought by now …” Her voice trails off as she directs her attention to the hearth where a low fire crackles.

“Perhaps we’ve been too discreet. We may have to do something publicly.” I ponder.

Her gaze jumps back to me. “Such as?”

“Attend the theater, cross paths at a museum. Go someplace where more than my servants become aware that we enjoy each other’s company.” I explain.

“Do we?” she asks. “Do we enjoy each other’s company?”

It isn’t unusual for the she-wolves who come to me to need reassurances, reassurances they never receive from their husbands. “I look forward to the time I spend with you.”

“I daresay only because you often thrash me at cards.” She giggles.

“I do have a competitive streak I’m afraid.” I admit.

She taps her wine glass. “Let’s wait a bit longer before doing anything away from here. I realize to secure the outcome I want, my behavior will be questioned and probably written about in the newspapers and scandal sheets, but I’d still prefer to have as few witnesses as possible, to embarrass Martin as little as needed.”

“As you wish.” I shake my head. “Has he even noticed your absences or commented on them?”

“He’s usually at his office when I leave the residence, and abed when I return. The few times he has been home, I’ve told him I’m going to visit a friend. He merely grunts. But then that is his response to anything I say.” Her gaze drifts back to the fire. “Marriage to him has become so deuced lonely.”

“We’ll give it one more month, and then, if necessary, we’ll make our affair very visible to one and all.” I say.

Her smile is angelic. “I feel for all the she-wolves who won’t benefit from your kindness and help once you marry.”

Sputtering on my wine, I nearly choke in the process. “I’ve no plans to marry.”

“Whyever not?” She asks.

“I should think your experience would be explanation enough.” I mumble.

She shakes her head lightly. “We did not marry for love. You could.”

“Why would any she-wolf in her right mind want to marry a man with my reputation?” I ask.

“You could claim to have reformed, just for her. Her love or yours for her transformed you. The gossips would eat it up.” She says with a secretive smile.

I shake my head. “I have no interest in love.” It killed my mother after all.