Gazing at them, she felt as if she was Eve in the Garden, being tempted by what she should never have.

She grabbed her portmanteau from under the bed, and she stuffed it with her meager possessions, leaving all his gifts untouched. Then she drew a piece of stationary from the desk, and after a lengthy debate, she jotted, You swore to me that there would be no gambling in the house. So I've left.

It conveyed her every sentiment, yet it said nothing at all. She signed it with her initials, H.S., then, note in hand, she started down the stairs, hoping she'd locate a servant to give it to. If not, she'd set it on the table by the front door.

Unfortunately, as she entered the foyer, Miranda was coming down the hall. She studied Helen's bag, and she frowned.

"Are you going somewhere, Miss Stewart?"

"Yes." Helen declined to elaborate.

"May I take this to mean Lord Westwood has fired you? Or are you quitting without his consent?"

"You may take it to mean whatever you wish."

Miranda pointed to Helen's letter.

"What have you there?"

"It's for his lordship."

"How very thoughtful of you." Miranda's sarcasm was biting. "No doubt he'll be humored by your paltry farewell."

Helen ignored her and put the letter on the table as she'd planned, but Miranda s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. Helen knew that Miranda would never show it to him, so he wouldn't be aware that Helen had gone. The realization made her terribly sad, but she pushed away any doldrums.

She didn't care if he received the note! She didn't care if he learned of her departure!

Of course Miranda read what Helen had penned, and when she finished, she smirked.

"If James chooses to gamble, Miss Stewart," she scolded, "it's really none of your business."

"You're correct. It's not."

"But I find it completely typical of you to suppose that you're welcome to comment on the subject."

Helen shrugged, and Miranda watched her, evidently waiting for Helen to argue or explain. When she didn't, Miranda seemed intent on quarreling, as if she couldn't let Helen go without chastising her a final time.

"You don't belong here," Miranda declared.

"No, I don't."

"I told James over and over again to fire you."

"You certainly did."

"He agreed with my every complaint, and he recognized how unsuitable you were to be my companion. You may imagine that you're leaving on your own, but he was just getting ready to terminate you. He swore to me that he would."

Helen chuckled glumly. "Were I you, I wouldn't put too much faith in his promises."

Miranda gasped with indignation. "Are you disparaging Lord Westwood? In his own home? How dare you!"

"You're right: It's badly done of me."

Helen moved toward the door, but Miranda leapt over and blocked her path.

"You think you're so smart, but you're a lowborn, low cla.s.s servant."

Miranda hurled the word servant as if it was an epithet, and Helen shook her head at the girl's venom.

"Why have you been so hateful to me?" Helen asked. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Nothing. I just don't like you."

Helen knew she should keep her mouth shut, but she couldn't resist a retort. "The feeling, Miss Wilson, is mutual."

Miranda shrieked with offense, as Helen stepped around her and exited. Miranda huffed after her.

"You may not go until you have my permission!"

Helen scoffed. "It obviously hasn't occurred to you, but I don't work for Lord Westwood anymore, so I don't have to do anything you say." She kept walking.

"Miss Stewart!"

Helen glanced over her shoulder. "Does your fiance know about that temper of yours?"

"You annoying shrew," Miranda seethed. "I can guarantee that you'll never be employed in this city again."

"Idle threats, Miss Wilson."

"I'll speak to Mrs. Ford. I'll call on her and tell her what you're really like."

"I'm sure she'll be delighted to hear from you."

Helen whipped away and continued on.

Miranda strolled inside, grinning. She flounced into the nearest parlor and reread Miss Stewart's trivial message.

"Good riddance, you meddlesome witch," she muttered.

With Miss Stewart having fled, she could finally get on with her scheme to ensnare James. She'd plotted so meticulously, but with Miss Stewart constantly in the way, Miranda hadn't been able to implement the smallest detail.

When James had suggested her engagement to Tristan, she'd eagerly accepted. She'd deemed Tristan-the handsome, dashing brother of an earl-to be a marvelous catch. But after discussing the arrangement with her Aunt Bertha, she realized her mistake.

Why settle for the earl's brother when she could have the earl instead?

So she'd waited until she knew Tristan would be gone, then she'd traveled to London with Bertha who had suddenly been notified of an emergency that required her immediate return to the country.

Miranda was in town-alone-with James, and she had every intention of instigating a compromising situation so he'd have to wed her. She'd planned it all out, but then, he'd spoiled everything by hiring Miss Stewart.

Miranda had done her best to force the idiotic harpy to go away, but nothing had worked. But to have her simply pick up and march out! It was an unexpected boon, and Miranda was already calculating the ways she could create a public scandal, when James entered the room. At the notion that he would soon be her husband, she was practically quivering with glee.

She went over to him, a smile on her face. Due to his mother's abandonment of the family, James's opinion of women was very low. When she was around him, she liked to appear happy and carefree so he would be refreshed by her pleasant company.

"h.e.l.lo, James. What brings you downstairs? I thought you were entertaining guests."

"They're getting along fine without me. I decided to slip away."

"I was about to ring for a tea tray. Will you join me?"

She took his arm and urged him toward the sofa, but he wouldn't budge.

He peered about and frowned. "Where is Miss Stewart?"

"You won't believe it."

"What?"

"She's quit! She left!"

"Left?"

"Yes-without so much as a by-your-leave."

"When did she go?"

"Just a few minutes ago."

"Did you speak with her? Did she give a reason?"

"She wrote you a note."

She handed him Miss Stewart's curt statement, ecstatic to have him see it. Miss Stewart had dared to disparage an earl. And James of all people! After everything he'd done for her. Surely he'd comprehend why Miranda had complained so vociferously.

James scanned the short message, then crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the hearth.

"She doesn't have my permission to resign," he murmured.

"I know! I told her as much."

"What was her response?"

"She didn't care. She didn't feel she owed you any deference or loyalty. It was the most shameful insult I've ever witnessed." She grinned in a way that highlighted her dimples. It was a pose she often practiced in the mirror, and it made her look very fetching. "We didn't need that old sour puss anyway. I'm glad she's gone."

"Are you?"

"She was horrid to me, and now, she's been horrid to you, too. With her departure, we won't have to fuss with her ever again. The cook bakes the best cakes. How about if I order us a plate to celebrate?"

"Celebrate what?"

"Her leaving, silly."

She tried to drag him to the sofa again, but he eased away and started out.

"What are you doing?" She could barely hide her disappointment.

"You'll have to excuse me, but I have some important matters to attend."

"I understand completely." She waved to the door, the very picture of accommodation. "You go on. I was just going shopping myself."

"Not without a companion," he insisted. "Take one of the maids."

"What? You can't mean it."

"Oh, but I do."

She bit down on her frustration, not keen to have him observe how her temper was sparking. "I'm eighteen, and I'm about to marry. I don't need to have a servant trailing after me."

"Until I can replace Miss Stewart, I'm afraid you'll have to humor me."

"Tristan wouldn't mind. He believes that I'm mature enough to behave however I wish."

"Well, Tristan isn't here, and I am. You'll take a maid, or you won't go out."

He stared her down, his male authority blatant and impossible to fight, and she had to relent.

"It's sweet of you to worry about me." She smiled flirtatiously. "I'll bring someone."

"Thank you."

He turned and hurried out, and she tarried, perfectly positioned for maximum effect. She had supposed he'd glance back, but he kept on, as if-the moment she was out of his sight-he'd forgotten she existed.

The coach rumbled to a halt, and a footman peeked in the window.

"We've spotted her up ahead, milord."

"Tell the driver to approach until we're directly behind her, then I want to get out."

The servant gave a smart salute, then stepped away, and the carriage lurched forward.

James relaxed in his seat, trying to figure out exactly what he was doing.

He'd schemed like a madman to force Helen to work for him, but she'd been correct in stating that Miranda hated her. He hadn't had a second's peace since she'd crossed his threshold, yet he was chasing her down the street like a besotted swain.

What in the h.e.l.l was wrong with him? What was it to him if she quit?

It was that d.a.m.ned kiss, he realized.

He didn't know why he'd kissed her. Nor could he fathom how such an insignificant event had fl.u.s.tered him, but he couldn't stop thinking about her.