Free Master of Sin by Maggie Robinson

the surprise on his face he had expected exactly that. “When I was originally hired, I assumed I was coming to a normal sort of household with at least a nursery maid,” she continued patiently. “Gull House is not normal. Mrs. MacLaren cannot be expected to spell me—she has the duties of two or three people as it is.”
    â€œI’ll look into hiring someone,” he said, his voice clipped. “Until I do, I imagine you’ll try to shake me down for an increase in your salary.”
    Gemma felt her face flush, never a good sign to those who knew her. “I never said anything of the kind. The terms Lord Christie and I came to were most generous.”
    â€œThen I can’t bribe you to go away?”
    â€œYou agreed to give me a two-week grace period to see how Marc and I get on. Should I fail that, I won’t even want the year’s salary you promised me. I’ll get on the next boat without a backward glance.” Foolish, foolish . But he’d set her teeth on edge, accusing her of avariciousness. She needed money like everyone else, especially now that her trunk had gone missing, but was not about to sell her soul to get it.
    He gave her a sour smile. “I forgot about our bargain. Before I go employing anyone to please you, let’s see if you please me . Can you manage being a slave to my son for the next thirteen days?”
    â€œAs long as I am not a slave to you! But you’re going to have to add staff here eventually. Unless you can’t afford to.”
    His face shuttered. “My finances are none of your concern.”
    He looked haughty as a duke. Perhaps he really was the runaway son of some grand house, forced to flee to the Continent after killing someone in a duel. Where he met his tempestuous Italian bride who drove him mad with desire. Until she came to her senses and tossed him out on his beautiful bottom.
    Gemma had noticed. The man’s clothes were exquisitely and expensively tailored. He definitely had money. And eclectic taste in literature and the arts and sciences, if she were to judge him by his book covers.
    But what healthy young man would choose to bury himself here on this windblown volcanic rock, unless he really was hiding from trouble? Gemma’s curiosity had only intensified from her aborted search. The mysterious Mr. Ross was concealing something, she was sure of it.
    Just as she harbored one or two regrets of her own.
    Marc chose this moment to commence beating on his pot. Gemma jumped a mile.
    â€œYou really have to find something else for my son to occupy himself with. At this rate, he’ll grow up to be a chef and we’ll all be deaf.”
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong in good, honest employment. Those that provide nourishment and sustenance to people should be valued, not mocked,” she said primly.
    â€œI have greater hopes for Marc.”
    â€œDo you want him to follow in your footsteps?”
    A look of horror crossed Mr. Ross’s face so quickly Gemma was not entirely sure she’d seen it. “I want him to have the freedom to choose what he is to be.”
    â€œAn admirable goal.” Gemma bent to pick up Marc again. “Did you ever do one of your drawings for Mr. MacLaren yesterday? Sketch a set of blocks? They would be far less noisy unless Marc decided to throw them at you. I’m surprised you didn’t pack his toys when you left Italy. Surely he had some.”
    â€œThere was great confusion when Giu—when my wife died. I thought it best to make a clean break.”
    â€œHmm. I cannot agree with you. Children prefer stability. Comfort and familiarity.”
    â€œI know that now. Let’s agree, Miss Peartree, that I was a very poor father before. I’m learning every day.”
    Gemma was surprised by his humble admission. Perhaps he wasn’t a duke’s son after all. Cooing to Marc, she made for the door to leave the man alone with his books.
    His