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James walked out of the drawing room, but his thoughts were no longer on Lord Boulton, marriage, or even the baby. They were fixed upon the woman who looked exactly like Olivia but was clearly not Olivia.

There is a mystery in this house.

And James had never been particularly good at leaving mysteries alone.

Olivia had discovered that there were advantages to being treated like a servant, though she would have preferred not to discover them at all. For one thing, nobody expected a maid to sit through tedious conversations about marriage, debts, or the supposed virtues of Lord Boulton. For another, she had found that she and Louiza could exchange their duties whenever one of them became too exhausted to continue.

It had become an unspoken arrangement between them, Olivia would take the heavier work when Louiza was tired, and Louiza would quietly take the tedious work when Olivia's temper threatened to make her say something that might get them both dismissed.

That morning, Olivia had volunteered to clean the library, partly because it was quieter than the rest of the house and partly because it gave her somewhere to think.

Thinking, unfortunately, had become her greatest enemy. She dusted the shelves while her mind returned again to the baby, to the duke, and to the impossible proposal he had placed before her as though asking her to marry him were no more complicated than requesting another brandy.

I wonder where the little boy is now and whether he is being cared for properly.

She wondered whether James truly intended to marry her or whether some sensible person would eventually point out the absurdity of the whole arrangement to him. Most troubling of all, she wondered whether she wanted him to marry her. Olivia was so deep in her thoughts that she did not hear the library door open.

She turned with a cloth in her hand and nearly dropped it. James stood just inside the room, watching her with an expression that suggested he had been there long enough to enjoy her surprise.

Olivia's heart leapt into her throat, and heat rushed straight into her cheeks.

"You might make a noise when entering a room," she said, attempting to recover her dignity.

"I did," he replied calmly. "You simply did not hear me."

Olivia narrowed her eyes. "I was occupied."

"I can see that." His gaze travelled briefly over the shelves, the dusting cloth, and the rather plain gown she wore for her work.

Then he looked back at her. "Do you have a twin sister?"

Olivia stared. "Yes."

James's eyes sharpened with thought. "Interesting."

He said nothing more, and the silence became peculiar. Olivia wondered whether he had suddenly forgotten how conversations worked. Then again, she had spent enough time around men to know that some of them became remarkably quiet when confronted with information that required actual thought.

She took the opportunity to study him instead. It was a dangerous thing to do. His face was far too handsome, with strong features, dark hair, and eyes that seemed capable of becoming remarkably intense when fixed upon her.

Olivia quickly looked away before her thoughts became embarrassing.

"Do you need another horse?" James asked.

She glanced back at him. "Another?"

"To escape Lord Boulton." His mouth curved. "You seemed rather fond of my first one."

Olivia smiled despite herself. "And what if I ended up really liking Lord Boulton?"

James smiled back, though something in his expression suggested he did not believe it for an instant. "I doubt someone like you would like someone like him."

"You know very little about me."

"I know enough."

The warmth in his voice made Olivia's stomach flutter, and she immediately turned toward the bookshelves, pretending the dust had become a matter of urgent importance. She refused to allow herself to become carried away by a handsome duke who had appeared in a library while she was dressed as a servant. That was precisely the sort of behavior from which sensible women protected themselves.

She cleared her throat. "Did you discover what happened to the baby's parents?"