‘Not really.’ But even that minuscule amount of liquor had started to dissolve the tight knot of tension in the pit of her stomach, sending a warm glow flooding through her body. Molly stared out of the windows where clouds were racing across the silvery face of the moon. Outside the temperature had plummeted but in here it felt cosy—in fact, she might even go so far as to say she was starting to feel relaxed. Yet here she was in a strange man’s bedroom in her black uniform and heavy-duty shoes as if she had every right to be there. What on earth would Lady Avery say if she happened to walk in? Anxiety rippled through her as she glanced at Salvio, who was replacing the heavy stopper in the bottle. ‘I really shouldn’t be here,’ she fretted.

‘So you said,’ he drawled, his tinge of boredom implying that he found repetition tedious. ‘But you are here. And you still haven’t told me why you were crying.’

‘I...’ She took another sip of brandy before putting the glass down on a nearby table. ‘No reason really.’

‘Now, why don’t I believe you, Molly Miller?’ he challenged softly. ‘What happened? Did you get into more trouble about dinner?’

Her startled expression told Salvio his guess was correct. ‘I deserved it,’ she said flatly as she met his gaze. ‘The meal was rubbish.’

Briefly he acknowledged her loyalty. She would have been perfectly justified in moaning about her employer but she hadn’t. She was a curious creature, he thought, his gaze flickering over her dispassionately. Totally without artifice, she didn’t seem to care that the way she was sitting wasn’t the most flattering angle she could have chosen. Yet her abundant hair glowed like copper in the firelight and as she crossed one ankle over the other he was surprised by how unexpectedly erotic that simple movement seemed. But he hadn’t brought her here to seduce her, he reminded himself sternly. Tonight he had cast himself in the role of the good Samaritan, that was all. ‘And that’s the only reason for your tears?’

Molly gave an awkward wriggle of her shoulders. ‘Maybe I was feeling sorry for myself,’ she admitted, shifting beneath his probing gaze. Because no way was she going to tell him the real reason. He wouldn’t be interested in her wayward brother or his habit of accumulating debt, but more than that—she was afraid of saying the words out loud. As if saying them would make them even more real. She didn’t want to wonder why Robbie had rung up just an hour ago, asking her if she had any spare cash for a ‘temporary’ loan, despite his promises to find himself some sort of job. Why hadn’t he got any money of his own? Why was he asking her for more, after all his tearful promises that from now on he was going to live his life independently and free of debt? She swallowed. She couldn’t bear to think that he’d got himself into that terrible spiral yet again—of playing poker and losing. Of owing money to hard-faced men who wouldn’t think twice about scarring his pretty young face...

‘Call it a touch of self-pity,’ she said, meeting the black fire in his eyes and realising he was still waiting for an answer. ‘Not something I imagine you have much experience of.’