Secrets of a Proper Countess Read Online Free Page A

be interesting indeed.”
    â€œNever mind. I’ve been waiting for you to put in an appearance this morning.”
    The valet’s eyebrows shot up into his neatly combed hairline. “My apologies, my lord, I had no idea you wanted me. Of course, any time you do, you need only ring the bell,” Burridge said pointedly. He concentrated on deftly folding the ruined breeches, and Phineas knew he was hiding a smirk. Burridge probably thought he had been too drunk to even find the damned bell.
    He’d spent years cultivating his image as the worst rogue in London, until even his servants believed he was. It was damned irritating at times. He played his role so expertly he hardly knew which half of his personality was the real Phineas anymore. Was he the rake, the gambler, the seducerof ladies young and old, or was he still an honorable man who just happened to handle the crown’s dirty work?
    Annoyed, he threw back the covers and sat up awkwardly. Burridge’s eyes widened, and Phineas glared as his servant choked on a laugh, turning it into a cough.
    â€œJust get it off, would you? It’s been plaguing me for hours.”
    Burridge immediately came to undo the clasp that still held the sword against Phineas’s hip. He fumbled for a few minutes then looked up apologetically. “I’m sorry, sir, but it appears to be stuck fast. A bit rusty, perhaps. Should we summon Mr. Crane?”
    Phineas gave the belt an angry tug. The last thing he needed was his dour butler seeing him in such a state, and thinking the worst.
    â€œNo. I’ll dress first, then I’ll find Crane myself.”
    â€œYes, my lord. What will you wear? Will you be going out this morning? Riding in the park, perhaps?” the valet asked as he crossed to the dressing room.
    â€œYes,” Phineas mumbled, still fiddling with the belt. “On second thought, no. At least not until I get this damned sword off.”
    Half an hour later he was in the salon, dressed in fawn breeches, polished Hessians, and a crisp white linen shirt. He’d dispensed with a coat to allow his staff better access to the sword that clung to him like an eager lover who refused to be dismissed. Crane had given up after twenty minutes of undignified jiggling and tugging and suggested they send for the gardener, who arrived with an astonishing assortment of tools.
    Phineas pretended to read the newspaper and tried his best to maintain his dignity while his staff knelt at his feet and worked to free him. If the ancestor who owned the sword had been present, he would have run the bastard throughwith it. After he’d tortured the secret of its removal out of him, of course.
    A maid came in with coffee, her eyes widening at the unusual sight. Phineas watched as she set the tray down and poured, nearly overfilling the cup as she kept one eye on the activity. She sidled away at a sharp warning from Crane, only to pause near the door, her lip caught between her teeth.
    â€œWhat is it?” Phineas snapped.
    All eyes turned toward the girl, who bobbed a nervous curtsy. “Begging your pardon, my lord, and Mr. Crane. If I might suggest it, I think Thomas could be of assistance,” she said.
    Crane frowned. “The footman?”
    â€œHe had, um, special talents with locks and such before he entered service,” she explained, her face reddening.
    â€œYou mean he’s a picklock?” Phineas asked, and the maid blushed.
    â€œOh, he isn’t anymore, my lord! I mean, I’m sure he still remembers a few tricks o’ the trade, but he’d never ever do any such thing now, of course.” She twisted her hands together. “Unless you wanted him to, and it was an order.”
    Crane stood. “That will do, Mary.”
    Phineas looked at the gardener. The man was eyeing the hatchet that lay at his feet. It was the only tool he hadn’t yet tried. “Send for Thomas,” Phineas said wearily, and regarded