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She shoved back her shoulders and straightened her spine, taking advantage of every inch of her five-foot-eight stature. She was tall for a woman, and it had led to her garnering more respect. Granted, that didn’t seem to apply in this situation. Five-foot-eight was measly compared to the Norse God currently looming over her. He was a giant workhorse of a man. And she…she now felt akin to a Shetland pony.
He was clearly displeased to find that she was a woman. She braced herself for the inevitable sacking. She’d briefly contemplated disguising herself as a man—she already wore trousers more often than not. But despite her height being to her advantage in that regard, her features didn’t exactly scream gentleman. Not that men didn’t come with delicate or soft features. Not all men looked as though they had been chiseled from granite like the one before her.
She and Perry Moore, her clerk, had made one failed attempt—fully equipped with a horsehair mustache—and she’d tested it before Bash and Her Grace.
Her Grace had broken down in a fit of mirth. That was decidedly not the first impression Theo wanted to have on the Duke. She was hoping for some way to keep her position, not make herself a laughingstock.
And then Bash had simply said, “You’re still curved in all the wrong places. Men are simply not built that way.” And Bash would know. He favored men, so if she wasn’t convincing him, there was no hope.
So, here she was. As herself. A female steward. A bloody good female steward. She hadn’t once lied about being a woman. She’d simply…conveniently avoided ever mentioning anything that would give that fact away.
“You’re a woman.”
Ah. They were diving right in, then.
“How observant of you, Your Grace.”
His jaw flexed.
Oh dear. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Theo.
She cleared her throat. “I am Miss Dawson. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”
She bowed, dropping her gaze respectfully. She glanced to her left and caught Perry’s eye. He stood dutifully at his small desk, a bead of sweat building at his temple. Perry was a nervous sweater. Perry had been her father’s clerk, had known Theo since she was a tot. He’d been a second father to her, especially once Father had passed and she’d assumed the steward position.
As Theo Dawson.
A name that may have given the impression she was her father’s…son.
The dark grey eyes of the man before her slowly perused her figure. She steeled herself. Heat prickled over her skin, apprehension coasting down her spine. Sacking was one fear. But there was another. Theo knew exactly what kind of man the late Duke was. Knew what kind of man most men were.
And the Duke before her didn’t exactly instill confidence that he was housing a heart of gold beneath all that granite.
If she had to, she’d withdraw from her services. As much as this position was everything to her.
Her last connection to her father.
Her livelihood.
Something she genuinely loved.
She knew what some women had to do to keep their positions. What predatory attentions they endured in silence because they couldn’t afford refusal. That wouldn’t be Theo. Her position afforded her freedoms most women never possessed. She had enough money set away to walk if she must.
She would never need to rely on a man.
The Duke still remained unmoving, unspeaking. And now it was becoming awkward. It was like he’d frozen over. He clearly knew how to speak… And Theo really wanted to know if this was the day her world ended or if she was miraculously going to get to keep her position.
“Shall we sit? I have a full account of the damages drawn up here, and afterward, I can take you to inspect them firsthand, if you wish.”
His fists clenched. And then…he spun on his heel and strode from the room, the hem of his greatcoat snapping behind him.
Theo’s mouth went slack. Opened and closed. What in heaven’s name?
She looked at Perry, eyes wide. “He…He left.”
“How observant of you, Miss Dawson.” The elderly man’s lips twitched.
Theo propped her hand on her hip and scowled at Perry. “How clever you are.”
