light, the figure of a snarling fox. My lord looked up
from his book and grinned with those luscious lips.
He caught my eyes. “Every man must keep his own
chambers, lad. Both in his home and his heart.”
“Indeed, sir. I was just admiring the
craftsmanship.” What was behind that door, I
wondered. I was hungry for knowledge of this man
who had so surprisingly chosen me, a novice by all
accounts, for his stewardship. Some secret to his heart
locked away.
“There’s much to admire here,” he looked at
me. “Do you ever take that little suit off?”
“Sir?”
“No more working. Take off that suit and to
bed, lad. And that’s an order.”
“Of course, sir. Right away, sir.” I exited the
library, starting up the stairs, following my lord’s
request without hesitation, as a butler ought, when I
heard him stirring. Looking back, I saw him watching
me from the door, staring intently and still, with a
feline grace and acumen.
“My lord?”
He said nothing, gestured for me to continue
walking, and I felt his eyes follow me up the stairs. On
my way back to the room, the painting of his wife
with the red jewel glared accusingly as I felt a flush of
unspeakable pleasure rise to my face. I closed the door
to my bedroom.
28