The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,41

you left out the part where he mentioned that I was too skint to be choosy.”

Benna didn’t bother to deny it.

“I wonder why Fielding never told Worth?”

“I’m still perplexed by that,” Benna admitted. “All he would say is that he did not want Mr. Worth drawn into the matter or made a fool.”

The earl snorted. “Imagine that.”

Benna’s face, already hot, became even warmer under his sardonic gaze.

Thankfully, the earl moved on from the matter. “You say your father was a teacher. Why didn’t you consider teaching—at least once you’d eluded your landlord and had time to think. Surely that would be easier than masquerading as a man?”

“I did consider teaching,” Benna said, honestly, this time. She’d given a great deal of thought to applying for a governess position. “But finding a decent post takes time and connections and I had neither. And even if I’d had the time, I did not possess the credentials or recommendations.”

“Why not write your own recommendation. I daresay you had to have some sort of reference to get your first job? Or, barring that, why not seek a position as a maid or even a serving lass?”

“Anyone hiring a domestic would almost certainly check my references. As for working as a serving wench?” She gave him a pointed look.

He nodded. “Fair enough; that was a foolish suggestion on my part.”

Benna knew that not all serving wenches sold their wares, but many customers treated them as if they did.

“Besides,” she added, “I could earn more than twice as much as a post boy than I could as a maid or tavern wench—or even a governess.” All three positions required much harder work than postilions but reaped neither the money nor respect.

Once again the earl nodded. “So, the rest of your tale—the part about working for the same master for several years—that’s all twaddle? You’ve really been working as a postilion until Worth hired you?”

Benna hesitated. “Er, actually, my lord I did work for Mr. Fenton in the capacity I previously described to you.”

“As a groom?”

Benna swallowed. “And all the rest.”

The earl’s eyes grew huge. “Good Lord. I cannot believe you are serious. You actually valeted a man?”

She nodded.

Tell him you were also my lover, darling—and a most inventive and energetic one, at that, I might add. Let’s see what the good, upstanding doctor you so adore has to say about that. Perhaps he’ll offer you a similar position. Geoff chortled at that.

Benna’s face heated; she was ashamed by the sudden tightening in her sex at the far-too-enticing thought.

“Did the man know that you were a woman?” the earl finally asked.

“Yes.”

The earl sat back in his chair as if Benna had punched him. “When did he find out?”

“Right from the first. He saved me when I was getting a thrashing at my first postilion job. He, er, cared for me while I was unconscious and discovered the truth then.”

He looked nauseated. “My God. Were they beating you because they learned you were a woman?”

“No, they were beating me because I took a man’s job when he was too intoxicated to work.”

He looked down and seemed startled to find a drink in his hand. He raised the brandy to his mouth and emptied the glass.

And then he stared at her, as if she were a tangled ball of yarn that he had no idea how to begin unraveling.

Benna had already finished her brandy and was pondering the wisdom of asking for another when he finally spoke.

“Is it your plan to live out the remainder of your life as a man?”

Benna’s shoulders sagged in relief at the change of subject. She opened her mouth and told her second-biggest lie of the evening. “My plans are to work until I have enough money saved up to hire a cottage in a small village, somewhere I could teach and live a simple life—as a woman.”

Well, that last part was true. At this point in her life, she had forgotten why she’d once hated dressing in women’s clothing. In fact, she got positively giddy at the thought of wearing stays, petticoats, and gowns.

“Six years you have lived this way. It is positively … staggering.”

Benna decided to take that as a compliment.

When he seemed disposed to merely stare at her, Benna felt compelled to ask, “I know I deceived you. I understand if you want me to leave, my lord.”

“Why would you understand that?” he demanded, suddenly sounding irritable.

At her? Or at himself?

“Well,” she said, after a moment. “I suppose because you might