Nate looked up from a blueprint he was inspecting when he heard a soft knock.

"Enter."

A wisp of a woman slipped inside. She was wearing a dull brown frock and her hair was tucked neatly under a cap. "Good morning, your grace. I am Miss Fiona Butterworth."

Nate signalled her to take a seat, subjecting her to the full force of his dukishness.

She curtseyed gracefully and sat on his leatherback chair, not seeming very intimidated.

Nate noticed that although she was plain, her black eyes were frank. And she looked younger than he'd expected. Redgrave had said that she'd worked with them for five years...

"How old are you, Miss Butterworth, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I do not mind, your grace. I am two and twenty."

Nate couldn't keep the surprise from his face. He held back a retort. Why the hell had Redgrave even hired her when she'd been what...seventeen? Did he have a fetish for young girls that Nate hadn't heard of?

He examined the girl again.

She was definitely not a diamond of the first water—not by any stretch. But he conceded that although she was on the slimmer side, she had a surprisingly nice figure. Her face was pleasant as well.

Yes, maybe Redgrave had employed her for other reasons. What had been wrong with him? Why had he taken advise from Redgrave of all people? Oh yes, he'd been desperate.

"Miss Butterworth, I'm afraid I cannot employ you."

It was a shame, really.

"Why?" she stood up, aghast.

"I do not think you're in any position to question me," he replied haughtily.

He saw her face contort with anger before she closed her eyes and counted to ten. Audibly.

Nate didn't know if he should be appalled or amused.

"Your grace, with all due respect," she practically spat the words, "I would merely like to know why you wouldn't hire me."

He stared at her. He didn't owe her any explanation. And he certainly couldn't tell her what he thought about her—not directly.

She didn't seem cowed in the least. If anything, her spine straightened a bit more and her eyes flashed with indignation.

Nate felt a spark of admiration but he didn't dare show it.

"Since you ask so nicely," he paused to see if she noticed his sarcasm. She had, if her clenched jaw was any indication. He bit back a smile and continued, "I do not wish to hire you because I believe you do not have enough experience."

"What?! I have been a companion—and a very good one at that—for the last five years."

"Yes, but you are so very young."

"Age is just a number," she said dismissively.

"Alright," he conceded. She didn't look like she was going to let this go because she was standing before him with her hand on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for him to go on. Yes, she was going to make him say it.

Nate cleared his throat. "I know why Redgrave hired you."

"Yes, because I'm dam— very good at what I do."

"And what exactly do you do?"

"I act as a companion, of course," she replied, as if he was daft.

It was Nate's turn to count till ten.

"I do not require the sort of services from you that Redgrave did," he finally said.

She was chewing her lip in a distracted manner and that was distracting him.

"Are you quite alright, you grace?" she came close to him and touched his forehead.

"What are you doing?" He sputtered angrily. Her breasts were practically brushing against his face. She jumped back.

"I was just checking," she said a little defensively. "Can I be blunt?"

"I wasn't aware that you were being circumspect until now," he muttered.

She went on as if she hadn't heard him. "Yes, well. You see, your grace, you aren't making a lot of sense."

Nate had to gape at that.

"It would be more agreeable if you could just tell me—clearly—what the problem here is," she said slowly, as if speaking to a child.

Nate counted to twenty this time.

"Miss Butterworth, can I be blunt?"

"Oh please do!"

"I do not wish to bed you."

"Wha—"

Nate put up his hand, interrupting her. "It's nothing personal, I assure you. You're perfectly lovely. But I want someone who would only be a companion to my mother."

Nate noticed that her face had turned a peculiar shade of red. He supposed she hadn't taken his rejection well. He opened his mouth to apologise but she beat him to it.

"Now listen here, your grace. I am not a loose woman. I am only a companion. And if I were a man, I would've called you out for suggesting otherwise," she said angrily.

She looked like she was telling the truth. Nate blinked.

Of course she wasn't a loose woman. She had virtuous written all over her face. In bold letters at that.

He felt like a thousand kinds of fool for jumping to such conclusions.

What had he been thinking? He supposed he should apologise but he was a bloody Duke.

"You must know how Redgrave is. So it was only natural for me to conclude that—"

"Natural? I think not."

But when she saw the embarrassment on his face, her face softened. Just a little.

"The Baron was handsy. But I managed to resist his advances. I repeat, I was only a companion."

Nate sighed and rubbed his temples. He'd really blundered this time.

"What can I do to make it up to you for this transgression?"

"Allow me to act as your mother's companion?"

"Miss Butterworth, I still think that you're too young—"

"Your grace, I am most certainly not."

"You are too young for her to enjoy your company and too feeble to help her physically. I am looking for someone sturd—"

"Oh alright just give me a fortnight and I'll prove it to you. If you still don't want me after that, I shall leave gracefully."

Oh but the woman drove a hard bargain.

"Two weeks it is. You can start tomorrow," he sighed defeatedly.

"You won't want me to leave, you'll see!" she grinned before dipping into a clumsy curtsey and toppling a sculpture placed on a stand near the door in her haste to leave.

"I hope that wasn't very dear," she choked out.

It was.

"I'll clean in up right away!"

"No. Just let it be, I shall call for someone else to do it."

"I'll be on my way then," she inched closer to the door, not liking his thunderous expression.

Good.

"Go."

And then she was gone.

Nate strangely felt like he'd been swallowed up by a tornado and then spit out.

He took out his pocket watch and saw that she'd been here for a mere ten minutes.

And he was already exhausted.

He thought she was extremely unprofessional and young and a terrible choice. In fact, he'd had every intention of sending her on her way as soon as he'd heard her age. Something told him that this Butterworth woman was bad news. And he usually heeded to his instincts.

But here he was, saddled with his mother's new companion. If only for two weeks.

And Nate suspected this was going to be the longest fortnight of his life.