"I...need to leave."

"Why? We've only just begun. We have the whole afternoon and evening ahead of us."

"I can't continue."

"Why not?" His forceful gaze wandered down her torso, and he frowned. "Something's wrong. What?"

"I...I...liked it."

"Well, I hope so."

"Should I have liked it?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand this."

To her great shame and dismay, she burst into tears. She couldn't remember the last time she'd cried, and he stoically watched her as if he hadn't been affected in the slightest by their raucous dalliance. She couldn't abide that she'd exhibited such raw emotion in front of him, but that he'd exhibited none at all.

"I have to go," she said. "We can discuss it later." Except she thought she'd expire from mortification before she'd ever talk about the incident.

"Georgina! You're being absurd."

"No, I have to go."

She whipped away and ran, and though he called to her, she kept running all the way to Drummond Cottage. She didn't slow until she was in her decrepit room with the door closed and the key spun in the lock.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Sophia was confused over whether she should knock or not.

Mr. Roxbury's bedroom suite had been hers ever since she'd moved out of the nursery. Clearly she'd never cherished it as much as she should have, but then it had never occurred to her that a stranger could swoop in and seize it.

It was Mr. Roxbury's now, and after Mr. Drummond left she wondered if Roxbury would remain in it or if he'd claim the master suite. If he did, could she persuade him to give it back to her?

She didn't think so. Earlier they'd received an official document from Mr. Drummond ordering them to leave on Saturday morning. As it was currently Thursday night, she had one more day to tarry at Kirkwood.

Then...?

She couldn't guess what would happen.

Her mother was languishing at Drummond Cottage, bewailing their plight but making no preparations to depart. She was acting as if Fate would intervene, as if a knight on a white charger would ride in and rescue them.

Miles-as was typical-had vanished, abandoning her and her mother to wallow in the indignity of expulsion without him.

Georgina was the only one who'd taken an affirmative step. She'd beautified herself, then had gone to plead with Mr. Drummond, but apparently it had had no effect. Whatever had transpired-Georgina wouldn't discuss it-the eviction notice had arrived shortly afterward.

Sophia had finally accepted that she was on a sinking ship and she had to save herself.

Mr. Roxbury had offered his help, and throughout the torturous hours while she'd listened to her mother's unending complaints about Mr. Drummond, Sophia had thought about Mr. Roxbury constantly.

What if she went to him? What might he demand? What might she be willing to do?

Ultimately it had dawned on her that she should probably find out.

She decided it was better to knock than bluster in, and he answered right away. He was cocky, grinning, obviously certain she'd visit him.

"Hello, Sophia."

"Hello."

He gestured inside, inviting her to enter as he said, "Let me take your cloak."

She clutched at it as if he might yank it off and have his wicked way with her, and suddenly the garment felt like a protective suit of armor.

"Might I keep it on?"

"Well, you can, but I had supper delivered. It might be difficult to cut your meat."

"Oh."

She glanced over to the fireplace where a cheery fire burned in the grate. A table had been set in front of it, covered with what had once been the family's fine china and napkins. There were dishes on the sideboard, and two glasses of wine had been poured.

So...he didn't intend to ravish her. At least not immediately. They would dine first.

Since she'd been forced out of the manor, meals had been sparse and revolting. She was starving, and she smiled up at him. "Yes, please take my cloak."

She unhooked the clasp and handed it to him. He tossed it on the sofa, then escorted her to the table. He held her chair as she sat down.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're welcome."

For a brief second, he hovered, and their gazes locked. With his large physique, black hair, and blue eyes, he really was so handsome. It was very odd, but a sense of recognition passed between them as if they'd been acquainted for years or perhaps as if there was an attraction bubbling.

Could there be? If so, could she use it to garner what she craved? That being his permission to stay at Kirkwood without having to pay a price?

He seated himself in the chair across. "I can't believe you actually came. I figured you wouldn't dare."

"I wasn't going to."

"What changed your mind?"

"I'm famished," she admitted, and he laughed.

"I was hoping you might be."

"Of all the sins Mr. Drummond committed against me, the worst was his stealing our cook so we had to flounder around without her."

"You aren't terribly skilled at cooking?"

"No, girls of my station never lift a finger. I know how to tell the cook what to prepare, but that's about it. Georgina can't even cook, and she's usually good at everything."

"If you're hungry, I've found the perfect way to entice you."

"We'll see if you have," she saucily retorted, shocked by the flirtatious tone in her voice.

It seemed disloyal and treacherous to flirt with him. Wouldn't she be betraying Miles? Considering the trouble he'd caused, did she care if she betrayed him? No, she didn't.

Mr. Roxbury sipped his wine, and he was definitely cataloguing her features. It had been an eternity since any man had assessed her in an alluring manner, and she was happy to let him look his fill.

"How are matters over at Drummond Cottage?" he asked.

"About as bad as you can imagine."

"Miss Fogarty made quite a spectacle of herself today."

"How was it a spectacle? She begged Mr. Drummond, but was it awful? Did she appear foolish?"

"No. She was wonderful."

"It didn't help though. We received an eviction notice after she spoke to him."

"So I heard."

She studied him, deciding he'd probably been the one to draft it. Wasn't he acting as Drummond's agent? He likely knew the details before Drummond knew them himself.

"If Georgina was so moving," she asked, "why wasn't Mr. Drummond moved?"

"He has no intention of being kind to you."

"It was all for show?"

"Pretty much."

She sighed. "I have to leave Saturday morning."

"I'm aware of that."

"Could you stop it from happening?"

"Maybe."

He stared at her with such a hot, searing gleam in his eye that she felt it down to her toes.

"What would I have to do so I could remain here?" she inquired.

"You know what."

"I realize you want to have a fling, but I'm clueless as to what it would entail so you're demanding I bargain without possessing all the facts."

"It's horrid of me, I confess it, but I love pressuring you. When you're in dire straits, you'll be more apt to give me what I desire."

"In your dreams perhaps."

"Let's eat. You'll be friendlier on a full stomach."

He walked to the sideboard, dished up two plates, and brought them over.

"I asked the housekeeper about your favorite foods," he said. "I hope she guessed correctly."

He'd ordered beef and potatoes and the fresh bread the cook was renowned for baking.

"You picked my favorites exactly," she told him.

"There's apple pie for dessert."

"My goodness. You certainly went out of your way to please me."

"I have to wear you down somehow. I'm not a ravening beast. I have to convince you by fair means, because I'm too decent to convince you by foul ones."

"You couldn't prove it by me. In my view, you've been dreadful."

"Why is that? I'm simply offering you an escape from your difficult situation, but I expect to be remunerated for my efforts. It's not as if I'm forcing you."

"The compensation you require is illicit though."

"Is it? You're an adult. If you freely agree, how can it be wrong? How can you deem it to be force?"

"Did you grow up in London?" she asked.

He hemmed and hawed as if he wasn't sure he should apprise her of where he'd lived, but why would it be a secret?

"I was in London for a few years," he eventually admitted.

"Is it common there for men to make lewd proposals to young ladies of quality?"

"Yes, it's very common."

She scrutinized him, then scoffed. "You're lying. Even in London, morals couldn't be so different from how they are in the country."