The Traitor Read Online Free PDF

Danforth?”
    “Please.”
    She wasn’t used to him, was the trouble. He seldom came down for breakfast and had accompanied his aunt on an evening outing only once in the two weeks since Milly had accepted this post. He’d joined them in the coach as far as Haymarket, seen them deposited at the theater, then gone off on some gentlemanly errand and sent the coach back for them.
    Which meant he’d walked home alone through the streets of London in the dead of night—or spent the night with his mistress.
    He poured for her, set the teapot down, and added cream and sugar to her cup. “What else will you do with your liberty, Miss Danforth? One can play Beethoven for hours, of course, but a day is also livened by variety.”
    Milly appreciated that making small talk with the paid companion was gallantry of a high order for a baron at his breakfast, so she mustered a response rather than commit the public eccentricity of applying raspberry jam to her lemon tart.
    “If the day holds fair, I’ll likely walk in the park.”
    “Take a footman, at least. Take Giles, in fact. He enjoys the park and is sent stepping and fetching all over Town the livelong day because he’s such a brute.”
    Giles was a genial giant, and his company would be pleasant, but the idea that Milly merited such an escort was absurd.
    Also…flattering. “Yes, my lord.”
    He stirred her tea and set the spoon on the saucer, another nicety, done with both elegance and a casual ease.
    “And if it rains, Miss Danforth? Will you let the footmen make you a blazing fire in the library, order a pot of chocolate, and curl up with one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels?”
    His tone invited a confidence, and his green eyes were so grave as to invite all manner of nonsense. He was being French, for all he’d served her tea like an Englishman.
    The image his words evoked, an image of an afternoon spent in a world of fictional adventure and happy endings, was painful nonetheless.
    “I might sketch, my lord. I also enjoy paper cutting, embroidery, and knitting.”
    He downed his tea in one gulp, then shuddered. “Knitting. You are a paragon of domestic virtue, Miss Danforth, and as such, I pronounce you entitled to apply that jam to your tart. You’ve been staring at it with shameless longing, you know.”
    No, she had not. She’d been thinking of an afternoon in the library with shameless longing. “Yes, my lord.”
    Her response was the most innocuous ever manufactured on a pretty English morning, and yet, St. Clair narrowed his eyes at her.
    “You have been good for Tante . She’s laughed more in the past fortnight than in the previous season. She flirts with the help, and she dwells less on me and my endless shortcomings, matrimonial or otherwise.” He came to an internal conclusion. “She worries less. I am in your debt, Miss Danforth.”
    He was not an easy man to spend time with, but he knew how to give a sincere compliment. The occasion was so rare for Milly, a blush rose up, along with a pleasant warmth in her middle.
    “Thank you, my lord. One wants to be useful in this life.” One also wanted a decent place to sleep and some food, too, and the St. Clair household provided that in generous abundance, along with a tidy bit of coin.
    Aunt Hyacinth had been right. A good position could be far better than the crusts and criticism handed out among one’s own family.
    “One does want to be useful.” He slid the jam pot closer to her plate and rose. “If you will excuse me, madam. Like my aunt, I have correspondence that demands my attention, though your company has been a delight.”
    He might have bowed to her, but Milly was staring at the jam, trying to ignore his meaningless flattery. She heard him move off toward the door, and reached for the preserves.
    “Miss Danforth?”
    He’d stopped by the door, a big, elegant man who could carry off lace at his throat and wrists even in riding attire.
    “Sir?”
    “You must not begrudge yourself that