Free Never Kiss a Rake by Anne Stuart

the one thing that would discredit him entirely. Cecily was the keeper of that secret, and if it were out it would be worthless to her. The value was in the holding of it, and she would protect it with her cold, black heart.
    Mrs. Greaves had vanished into the cavernous hallway without a word, and he knew a moment’s regret. Collins remained, still holding his gloves and hat. Kilmartyn glared at him. “Go away,” he snapped.
    “As you wish, my lord,” Collins murmured.
    Kilmartyn stared down the hallway where Bryony Greaves had disappeared. After a moment he headed for his library, trying to ignore temptation for the very first time in his life.



CHAPTER SEVEN

    N OW DIDN ’ T THAT SABOTAGE all her plans, Bryony thought as she headed back down to the kitchens. She’d been busy every single moment since she’d risen at that ungodly hour—once she’d returned from the employment agency she’d assisted with the cleaning, with the intention of taking sole responsibility for Kilmartyn’s study and whatever papers might be there, but Emily had insisted on helping her, and all her efforts to dislodge the girl had been fruitless. So instead she’d spent hours scrubbing fireplace bricks and polishing doorknobs, cleaning windows and shaking out rugs. She hadn’t wasted time looking for a bathing room, but tonight she had no choice. She was filthy.
    She’d hoped to make it back to the study when they’d finished cleaning for the day, but the new employees arrived, and Mr. Lawson’s suggestion had been brilliant. Hiring an Irishman to serve Lord Kilmartyn was positively inspired, and Mr. Lawson had assured her how rare it was to have found a qualified candidate. His arrival at the agency that very day had been most opportune, and Bryony could only agree.
    The others, a new footman and two new maids, were exceptionally well chosen. Interviewing them, getting them settled, and instructing them in their duties had taken the rest of the day, and she had devoutlyhoped that she could slip away during dinner, having been told that the earl never returned home until the small hours of the morning.
    Apparently they’d been wrong. Now he was ensconced in the library, the most logical place for her to find any evidence of wrongdoing, and there was no way she could search the place.
    Belowstairs they had already eaten their supper. Becky was scrubbing dishes while Mrs. Harkins sat by the stove with a disheartened expression.
    “What’s wrong?” Bryony asked, shoving her disordered hair away from her face.
    “Not a thing, Mrs. Greaves. At least, nothing I’m not used to. I made
truite meunière
, followed by the most succulent of lamb chops, some fresh spring potatoes with mint and parsley, a baked turnip with watercress glacé, and they won’t eat.” Her torture of the French made Bryony hide her smile. “Her ladyship says she requires nothing but toast and tea, and his lordship—”
    “His lordship says he is not to be disturbed,” Collins spoke from behind her.
    Mrs. Harkin’s face crumpled. “It’s a waste of my time and genius! It fair to breaks my heart, working so hard over a meal only to have it tossed back in my face.”
    There was an awkward silence in the kitchen. They all knew that the vagaries of their employers were sacred and that life was unfair, and there was no comfort to offer the poor woman.
    The hell there wasn’t
, Bryony thought. “Mrs. Harkins, please make up a tray.”
    The woman brightened slightly. “Would you be wishing to try this, Mrs. Greaves? If I’d known the quality weren’t going to be eating I could have fed it to the staff, but everyone’s eaten a full meal.”
    “Thanks to your most excellent cooking I’m sure that the staffis as full as I am. No, I’m bringing it to his lordship.”
    “If he’s in a mood he might throw something at you,” Emma said, worry in her voice. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”
    “I can duck.”
    “Allow me carry it for you, Mrs.