“Was he…bothering you, my lady?” Lucas couldn’t help but ask. Mrs. Cotswold would no doubt disapprove of a footman being so nosy. But façade or not, he was still a gentleman and a gentleman always protects a lady. But who was this young lady, and what danger did she face from Sir Reginald of all people? The man could be a pompous ass, but harmless otherwise, as far as Lucas knew. Though the knight had certainly been a thorn in Lucas’s side over the summer. Sir Reginald had been teetering between defense of the Employment Bill and rejecting it, which meant Lucas had spent the better part of the last few months trying to convince the knight of the law’s merits.
Normally, Lucas would have been pleased to find one of the men he still needed to convince at the same house party. It would give him more of an opportunity to make his case, but at this particular house party, it would be nothing but embarrassing if Sir Reginald recognized him, which was entirely possible, powdered hair or no. Lucas would definitely have to steer clear of the man.
“He wasn’t bothering me…yet,” the young woman replied with what looked to be an irrepressible grin. “But that’s why I wanted to get away from him so quickly. I’m certain he shall bother me in future.”
Lucas was torn between smiling and frowning. This young woman had a fascinating way with words. Everything she said was unexpected. He found himself looking forward to her next sentence. But he didn’t like to hear that she predicted trouble from Sir Reginald. Had the knight said or done anything ungentlemanly toward her?
“Would you like me to tell him to stay away from you, my lady?” As soon as the words left his mouth, Lucas realized how impertinent they must sound. As an earl, Lucas had every right to say such a thing, but as a footman…it was another matter entirely. Blast. He wasn’t off to the best start at this charade, was he? Not to mention, he could hardly tell Sir Reginald to stay away from her while dressed as a footman. For the first time all morning, Lucas was seriously doubting the intelligence of The Footmen’s Club experiment.
The young woman took a step closer to him. She seemed to study his face. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. …?”
“Lucas,” he blurted. Damn. Now she’d think that was his surname. What was it about this young woman that had him so flustered? Normally, he was much more self-possessed than he was acting at present.
“Mr. Lucas,” she replied, “but I don’t think that’s necessary. I can handle Sir Reginald on my own. As long as I see him coming first,” she added with a whimsical laugh.
“As you wish, my lady,” Lucas said. He’d been there long enough. He should leave before her mother arrived and found them in the room together unchaperoned. He cleared his throat and gestured toward the door the young woman was once again blocking.
“Will there be anything else, milady?” he asked in his most obliging tone. Mrs. Cotswold had drilled into him that a proper servant never left a room before asking if there would be anything else.
“Oh, I . . .” The young lady blushed again, and he found himself wanting to touch her soft-looking skin.
“Well, then, I’ll just . . .” He gestured toward the door.
“Oh, yes, yes, of course.” She blushed an even deeper shade of pink. His hand was on the door handle when she said, “Wait, I—”
He turned and knocked her outstretched hand, which apparently had held some sort of a coin because it fell to the wooden floor with a smack.
They both bent to retrieve it at precisely the same moment. He said, “My apologies,” while she said, “Oh, dear.”
They knocked heads with a hearty thunk. He was the first to scoop up the coin while they both profusely apologized to one another as they lifted themselves up, rubbing their skulls. He made to hand back the coin and she pushed his hand away. The warmth of her fingers burned him even through her glove.
“No. No. Keep it. That was meant for you,” she said, still blushing profusely.
“I couldn’t possibly take it, milady. Not after having nearly knocked you to the floor.”
“No, please. You’ve earned it. Thank you for your discretion about Sir Reginald,” she added, with a nod.
“My pleasure, milady.” Lucas hated to take her money. He felt like a cad, but the longer he waited, the more chance they would have of being discovered together. Worth’s words rang in Lucas’s ears. The duke had been all for taking money gifts from guests. Worth had said he looked forward to it. In fact, he’d bet the Footmen’s Club that he would get more gifts than any of them. That was a bet Lucas and Bell could hardly refuse. Worth was the least likely of any of them to be paid for exemplary service. They’d readily agreed and now it was the thought of the bet that had Lucas sticking the coin in his pocket. That and the fact that were he a real servant, he’d gladly accept the gift. No use appearing suspicious unnecessarily.
“Thank you, milady. I must go.” He patted the coin in the pocket of his emerald waistcoat.
“No, thank you,” she replied. “It’s the least I could do.”
Lucas pulled open the handle. “Would you do me one favor, my lady?” he asked, knowing he was being wholly inappropriate but unable to stop himself.
She blinked at him. “What favor?”
“Will you tell me your name?”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “My name?”
“Yes, I do hope you don’t think it too forward of me.” Suddenly, he felt awkward for asking. But his purpose had been twofold. First, he truly wanted to know her name so he could make some discreet inquiries about her and her family. Second, he’d decided that asking an inappropriate question might just be the best way to discover how she truly felt about servants,
