That Despicable Rogue. Virginia Heath

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      ‘I think I should be brutally frank, Mrs Preston, and let you know now that I have absolutely no idea how to manage a house or staff. I am not completely sure, if I am honest, exactly what a housekeeper does. In that regard, I was hoping that you could let me know what exactly I need to attend to first.’

      Ross watched her blink at his admission, but her face did not soften. Instead she pinned him with her scary frog stare, then tilted her head to one side.

      The motion dislodged a curling tendril of golden hair from her lace cap, which she stuffed back in ruthlessly. The fact that it was such a lovely shade of blonde surprised him. He had not even considered that she might have hair. Not that he had thought her hairless, of course, but he had assumed that it would be nondescript and colourless—much as his housekeeper appeared to be. But now that he knew that she had such luscious-coloured locks he could not help wondering why she covered it all up in that dreadful mob cap.

      Out of habit he smiled flirtatiously at her. Usually that garnered a faint blush at the very least. Mrs Prim-and-Proper Preston, though, was clearly made of granite, and she pursed her lips slightly in disgust at the overture. Then she launched into another lecture.

      ‘The role of a housekeeper is to ensure the good running of all things domestic. I will need a budget to buy the necessary day-to-day supplies, such as candles, then there are costs such as staff wages, linens, brandy and wine, et cetera. Obviously all expenditure will be logged properly by myself, in the household accounts ledger. Occasionally, as you are not married, I will have to consult with you about menus and such things—usually a housekeeper would go to the mistress of the house for that. Unless there is a mistress I need to be apprised of?’

      He could tell by the insolent raising of her eyebrow that that comment was meant to allude to Francesca or a similar type of woman. He did not care for her opinions on his morality.

      ‘No mistress at the moment,’ he replied with a wolfish smile. ‘Married or otherwise. But I am always open to the possibility.’

      He watched her lips thin and stifled a smile. He was actually enjoying irritating her. Something about disapproving people always brought out the worst in him, and as a self-defence mechanism he preferred to find humour in that disapproval rather than allow it to bother him. Mrs Preston was as prickly as a cactus. So far he knew that she disapproved of fornication and flirting, so he had plenty of ammunition already to use to rile her and he had only known her for a few hours.

      ‘I think we should start by deciding upon the new household budget, sir,’ she said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘What figure did you have in mind?’

      Ross did not have a clue. ‘My solicitor advised me on costs when the property deed was stamped, but as I have never owned or lived in a grand house with a full staff before I shall have to defer to your expertise.’

      The housekeeper blinked, and allowed herself the merest huff of exasperation before answering. ‘That depends on how much you are willing to spend, sir. At the moment the budget really only pays the servants’ wages and provides the basics. Some houses are run on a tight budget, and some of the grandest houses require vast sums of money—especially if the owner does a great deal of entertaining.’

      ‘Mrs Preston, I work with numbers. Would you be so kind as to clarify, in pound notes, exactly what you mean by “tight” and “vast”?’

      Her sandy eyebrows drew together as she considered this, and she chewed her bottom lip for several seconds. ‘Realistically, with new servant costs included, the minimum yearly budget would have to be around five hundred pounds, sir. But that would mean that I’d have to be particularly thrifty. I suppose we could reduce that if we closed up part of the house in winter and reduced fuel costs. We could also purchase the cheaper cuts of meat.’

      Ross screwed his face up in disgust. ‘We do not need to be “thrifty”, Mrs Preston. Give me a figure that will not leave me cold and chewing on gristle.’

      She smiled ever so slightly at that, but quickly covered it. Underneath all that frost she might possess a sense of humour at least. Of course it might have been wind. The expression had been so fleeting he could not be sure.

      ‘A sensible budget of around eight hundred pounds a year is probably more than enough—assuming that you do not want an army of servants, sir?’

      ‘Heavens, no! There is only me—and in a few months my mother and sister will be coming to live here. I have no need of an army.’

      Hannah could not hide her surprise. ‘You have a mother and a sister?’ She had not discovered that titbit in all her research.

      He regarded her with amusement. ‘Of course I have a mother. Did you assume that I had been created by some other miraculous method?’

      ‘Not at all, sir,’ she said hastily, ‘but I had not considered the possibility that you had a family.’

      A look of pleased affection crossed his features. ‘I do—although they drive me to distraction and nag me incessantly. At the moment they both live in a lovely quiet village in Kent, but my sister is twenty and she is begging me to bring her to town for the season. Why? I have no idea. But for the sake of peace I will do it. I thought I would surprise them with this house when it is finished. I think my mother might actually be lost for words for the first time in her life.’

      His admission made her curious. ‘Why do they live in Kent?’

      The moment the question popped out she regretted it. Servants were not meant to ask personal questions.

      However, he did not appear to mind and answered happily. ‘My business requires me to be in London, mostly at the docks, but that is not a particularly...safe place to live. This house is a good compromise. It is only an hour away from town, but far enough away not to be too close to all the dirt and danger.’

      Danger? That was an interesting word for him to use, and it said a great deal about him, in Hannah’s humble opinion. He must regularly mix with some shady characters indeed if he feared for the safety of his family in the city. Hannah had certainly never felt unsafe there. From what she remembered, Mayfair had been a charming place.

      ‘One of your main duties will be to get this house shipshape, Mrs Preston. Many of the bedrooms are in a shocking state, and the whole place looks as if it needs a touch of paint. I take it that you have had a good look around the house? Tell me, what things do you think need doing first?’

      His question startled Hannah, so she answered honestly, forgetting to be demure as a good servant should be. ‘The main family rooms need to be sorted out first and foremost. The morning room and the dining room are looking very shabby.’

      She had been shocked at just how shabby they had become in her absence. George had certainly run the house into the ground after he had banished her to Yorkshire.

      ‘I agree,’ he said, smiling. ‘And I hate this room as well.’ He waved his hand dismissively at the oppressive panelled walls.

      Hannah had always loathed how dark the stained wood made this room. Even so, his criticism of it irritated.

      ‘I think the panelling adds a certain gravitas to the study,’ she countered, and watched his dark eyebrows draw together as he considered her words.

      ‘But it is so dingy in here,’ he finally ventured. ‘It is far too depressing to work in.’

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