The Paid Companion by Amanda Quick Page A

had not already realized that there was no genuine fiancée, they had, at the very least, deduced that there was something distinctly amiss about the situation.
    Nevertheless, there was no use going about this in a halfhearted manner, she decided. She was being paid to act, and she must do so as convincingly as possible. The maid, like those in the Polite World to whom she would soon be introduced, was part of her audience.
    “You may inform your employer that Miss Elenora Lodge has arrived,” she instructed in a polite but authoritative tone. “I am expected. Oh, and please have one of the footmen fetch my trunk from the street before it is stolen.”
    The maid managed a hasty little curtsy. “Yes, ma’am.” She stepped back to allow Elenora into the hail.
    Elenora waited until the young woman had vanished through a doorway before allowing herself to breathe a small sigh of relief
    She turned slowly on her heel, taking stock of the front hail. It was just as bleak and forbidding as the outside of the house. Very little light penetrated through the high windows above the door. The heavily carved wooden panels darkened the interior still further. A number of classical statues and Etruscan-style vases occupied the shadowy niches around the room. The place had the musty, dusty air of a museum.
    Curious, she stepped to the nearest marble pedestal and drew her gloved fingertip lightly across the surface. She frowned at the distinct line that appeared and brushed her hands together to get rid of the dirt that had accumulated on the tip of her glove. No one had cleaned thoroughly in here in quite some time.
    Footsteps sounded in the hall, heavier than those of the maid. Elenora turned around.
    She found herself gazing at the most astonishingly handsome man she had ever seen in her entire life. From his high, noble brow to his finely chiseled features, smoldering eyes and artlessly curled hair, he was a vision of masculine perfection.
    If not for the fact that he wore a butler’s formal coat and trousers, he could have modeled for an artist seeking to paint a vision of a romantic poet in the style of Byron.
    “I am Ibbitts, madam,” he said in a deep voice. “I apologize for any inconvenience you may have suffered. His lordship is waiting for you in the library. If you will follow me, I will announce you.”
    A tiny warning bell clanged somewhere in her mind. There was nothing objectionable about his words, she thought, but she was convinced that there was a thinly veiled disdain buried in them. Perhaps it was her imagination.
    “Thank you, Ibbitts.”
    She handed him her bonnet. He immediately turned to set it on a dusty marble-topped table.
    “Never mind,” she said quickly, snatching the hat out of his hand before he could put it on the grimy table. “I’ll keep it with me. About my trunk. I do not want it left out there in the street.”
    “I very much doubt that anyone would steal your trunk, madam.” Ibbitts could not have made it plainer if he had tried that he was certain her trunk contained nothing of value.
    She had had enough of his polite sarcasm. “Send a footman for it now, Ibbitts.”
    Ibbitts blinked owlishly, as though confused by the unsubtle reprimand. “Any thief with a bit of common sense knows better than to steal from this household.”
    “That is only somewhat reassuring, Ibbitts. I fear that there are a great number of thieves who lack common sense.”
    Ibbitts’s expression tightened. Without a word, he reached out and yanked hard on a velvet bell pull.
    A tall, thin, gangly-looking young man of about eighteen or nineteen years appeared. He had red hair and blue eyes. His pale skin was sprinkled with freckles. He had a nervous, rabbity air.
    “Ned, fetch Miss Lodge’s trunk and take it upstairs to the bedchamber Sally prepared this morning.”
    “Aye, Mr. Ibbitts.” Ned scurried out the front door.
    Ibbitts turned back to Elenora. He did not actually say,
there, are you satisfied