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He couldn’t deny it. Miss Finch amused him, even when she wasn’t busy mortifying his brother. She was irreverent, bold, clever—and for these admirable qualities, she’d been abundantly punished.

Bloody hell. The longer he spent in her company, the more the injustice irked him. The more responsible he felt for it. For her. He frowned.

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“Home.” Miss Finch held her valise higher, tighter to her body. He had the distinct impression that she was barricading herself against his curiosity. As she turned her head to meet his gaze, her sunstruck eyes seemed to flash. “I’m happy to go back. I missed it more than I’d expected.”

“You have family, then.”

She nodded, relaxing perceptibly at the relief in his voice, as though she’d just understood his interest as a species of concern, rather than a prelude to predation.

Appalling thought. But what was she to think? A dismissed maid pursued by a lord of the manor?

He glanced at the splashing fountains so she wouldn’t suppose herself the target of the disgust in his eyes. Why had he pursued her through the garden? She’d seemed lost, but the mazy grounds weren’t a forest primeval. She’d have found the gate eventually or retraced her steps to the house. He’d acted before he’d thought it through. The scrap with Geoffrey had rattled his brain.

“I am sorry for my brother’s behavior,” he said, a bit too stiffly. “He’s an exemplary ass. They should print his likeness in the dictionary to illustrate the word.”

She smiled a demure smile. It didn’t dent her cheeks.

“On the subject of the duke, I defer to your lordship.” Her knees dipped, a whisper of a curtsey. “Yours is the longer acquaintance.”

He laughed, impressed and slightly unnerved. Her face was so sweet that each glimpse of her steely self-possession registered as a shock.

“Defer to me on this next subject as well.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I have a vacancy. A position to fill, immediately.” He heard himself speak aloud before the words had sounded in his mind. It wasn’t the first time he’d formulated one of these offers. But usually, the impulse to extend employment responded to more obvious encouragement from his future employee.

Miss Finch seemed stunned. Her smile vanished as her eyes widened. Honey brown in the sun, ringed with cinnamon.

“I can’t imagine you didn’t notice.” Slowly, she shook her head. “I make a dreadful maid.”

“Depends on how you look at it.” Alan felt his lips quirk. “From my perspective, you performed your duties marvelously. But I’m not seeking a maid.”

She went rigid with confused suspicion, not an unreasonable response. But the idea he’d formed made a kind of sense, given the circumstances.

He raised his left hand. “I’m seeking an amanuensis. Someone to write for me.”

For a moment, they considered his hand together, skin stretched like a balloon and already darkening.

“I doubt I can scrawl my own name,” he said, rotating his wrist with a frown.

Her eyes flicked up to his. “That’s your left hand.”

“Observant.” He stilled, holding her gaze. “You’re quick thinking, Miss Finch. It’s an attribute that recommends you to the position.”

He lowered his hand, which throbbed. The ache was persistent but bearable. He judged every type of pain against the one. The one that, when it came on, overwhelmed categorization, overwhelmed him.

He’d heal from this injury, but, in the meantime, it would prove a nuisance.

She was still staring, a line between her brows.

“I write with my left hand,” he explained. “Moreover, I write constantly. Books, but also reviews of art and theater. Perhaps you’ve read some of them?”

Her nod was scarcely perceptible. Of course she’d read him, or at least heard of him. Anyone literate had.

“You understand, then, what will happen if I go on hiatus? If the threat of my pen no longer strikes fear in the hearts of hack dramatists and moth-eaten history painters?” He smiled. “Culture itself will go to the dogs.”

“Then you do need an amanuensis.” She licked her lips. They were full as halved plums, but pale. Parched by her exertions.

“An experienced amanuensis,” she said emphatically. “From an agency.”