Page 24 of Ruthless, But for Her

Before she could answer, he glanced at the tub, its rose-scented water now cold.

“Aye. My compliments to the cook.”

He almost smiled again. “Cook came to Margot years ago, after she put a knife through the hand of a man who'd not paid for his supper or for the girl upstairs. Margot hired her that same night.”

Paid for the girl upstairs. So that was the third floor's purpose.

“What is this place?” she whispered.

“You guessed as much upon our arrival.”

“But,” she argued, attempting to explain herself. “The tub.” She gestured toward it. “The quality of the soap. The candles. The wine. The linens.”

Although he didn't answer, neither did he look away when she met his gaze. Holding it a bit too long, she finally turned away, pretending to study the coverlet.

“Have you been inside one before?”

“Of course, I have not.”

He looked at her in the same way he had when she'd called it a house of ill repute. She immediately regretted her tone.

“No, I would imagine you have not. There are as many types of stew houses as there are men who visit them. This one happens to be of a... How shall I say this? It’s of a higher respectability than most.”

He paused.

“Excepting, of course, that none are deemed respectable by most.”

That last bit was for her.

“Margot is the owner?”

“Aye.”

“I could respect her more easily, I suspect, than many members of the nobility would. I am grateful for her kindness.”

He studied her silently for a few moments. Though he sat, Ashton's presence continued to overpower the chamber. But not, she realized, in a way that was threatening.

“There is a line in one of my books,” Cassia said. “One given to me by my tutor when he moved on from his time in Grantchester to accept a more prominent position. The line reads, 'A man is made noble by his deeds, not his birth.' I first read it when I was twelve and I’ve never forgotten it.”

More silence followed her statement.

If you wish for me to continue to procure these books, you will at least promise not to reach above your station with such ideas.

Her mind traveled back to her life in Grantchester. She could almost see her father, standing at her bedchamber door, watching as Nell brushed her hair one eve. He oft spoke to her there, as if coming inside were too...fatherly. Still, her betrothal aside, she knew that her father loved her, and cared for her in many ways, including building the collection of books she escaped into.

But his warnings had never left her.

“There was a man once,” Ashton said, finally breaking his silence. “His name was Walter Crey. He'd been an advisor to the English crown before he found his way to Mere's End. He stayed at the Daisy when it suited him, and when it did, he taught my brothers and me. Letters. Strategy. How to speak in rooms we were never meant to enter. He knew the words you just quoted. He made me read them.”

“He stayed here? And you were raised here? So this...has always been...”

“I was raised here. By Margot. Alongside my brothers. You met Ryker.”

Ashton studied Cassia, as if weighing his next words.

“Ryker believes your presence here poses a danger. Sorren believes we should hire an escort to deliver you straight away to your husband. He is...unhappy...with the turn of events that brought you here.”

“You met. To discuss me?”