Free Dangerous 01 - Dangerous Works by Caroline Warfield Page A

detail of the proposed operation.
    “You will most certainly keep me informed, Mr. Harley, whether you wish to or not,” she said to the empty room. “We will make sure Mr. Mallet gets the best of care and then, Mr. Mallet, oh yes, then you and I will do business.”
    “ Cheeky bastard,” Andrew grumbled under his breath. He glared at Harley.
    He kept one servant and that one reluctantly. Andrew knew Harley to be strong, capable, and loyal, but the man didn't know his place. Harley did what he pleased. In the three weeks since the hellish procedure in Peabody’s surgery, Harley became a miracle worker as well. “Cheeky bastard,” Andrew repeated.
    Peabody deemed Andrew’s own house, with its bedroom above stairs, inadequate for recuperation, so Harley found rented space on the first level of a private home very close to Magdalene College and, more importantly, Peabody’s premises.
    Peabody ordered round-the-clock care for several days, so Harley found two excellent women and a kindly lad to help him.
    Since boredom threatened to make Mallet unbearable, Harley brought reading matter but was unable to explain how he found books and journals so well suited to Mallet’s interests.
    When he was not eating well, improved food and tempting dishes appeared. When he wished for fruit, there were oranges in winter from someone’s succession houses.
    Andrew confronted him only once. “You can’t expect me to believe that you’ve done all this yourself, and in our budget.”
    Harley did his best to look affronted.
    “You were given explicit orders not to accept help from the Marquess of Glenaire.”
    Harley swore convincingly. “Never spoke to the Marquess. I know my orders.”
    Andrew could think of no other explanation. Damn Richard for corrupting my servant. Powerless in his weakness, he let it drop.
    Andrew endured the regime for two weeks before he exploded during Mr. Peabody’s daily visit. “You can’t expect me to get better here. Let me at least take to my own bed.”
    It took another week and Andrew’s promise to stay in bed to convince Mr. Peabody to move him.
    “You don’t need me every day. Healing nicely. Stay down until I tell you and you can go.”
    Harley arrived with a well-sprung carriage, its plush interior converted to an ingeniously constructed bed. Andrew sunk into the mattress without questioning the source of his miraculous conveyance.
    He endured a blessedly brief, if not pain-free, journey home. The carriage bounced down the cobbles of Little Saint Mary’s Lane and rattled to a welcome stop.
    “You may tell Glenaire that we used his damned help well at least,” Andrew spat at Harley when he yanked open the door.
    “Told you, I never took help from the Marquess, just like you ordered.” Harley spoke while he unbuckled the pallet, avoiding his master’s eyes.
    Questions that sprang to Andrew’s lips died in discomfort and confusion when two young men reached in to lift his pallet out. They handed him down, turned, and carried him head first through the narrow door to his house.
    A bustle of activity greeted him. Strange servants carried linen and porcelain jars up the stairs. Noises and the delicious smell of food baking emanated from his kitchen. “Harley, he growled, “Who—” A woman walked toward him from the kitchen.
    “Bloody hell,” he swore.
    “Quite,” the woman said. Lady Georgiana stared back at him, assessing his condition.
    Her eyes slid over his face and down his chest. They rendered him incapable of breath or speech. He could only gape at her eyes, her stunning body, and the expression on her strong, intelligent face.
    She leaned over to examine the dressings on his leg.
    “Damn!” He pulled at the sheet and belatedly covered his lower body. He felt pale, weak, and disheveled with travel. He hated being seen like that.
    Her eyes returned to his, but she didn’t speak. He spared her the trouble. “Have you applied some new cosmetic to your nose, my lady? White