“Bah!” He shoved her away, slamming the back of her head against the wall and leaving her ears ringing. “I want nothing from you—you are old and haggard.” He spat, but she could not see where it landed as her vision danced with black spots. “Women love me here. All kinds, rich, poor, beautiful . . .”

Serena didn’t care, as long as he kept well away from her. Not that he would. No, she was the goose who laid golden eggs, and he took them without remorse and without ceasing.

She heard his boots on the wood planking and blinked rapidly, until she could see his shadow flickering as he paced.

“You flatter yourself that I came here to see you. I’m on my way to Dover, where I have business.”

Serena knew what that meant: smuggling. Etienne Bardot was a criminal from a long line of criminals and she rued the day that misfortune had led him to her little corner of the world. A Parisian by birth, he’d run from the city after an unfortunate incident that left an influential member of the local government dead.

He’d joined the army and quickly found his level, assembling a group of like-minded criminals and deserting at the first opportunity. They’d gone from village to village, until they found one so ill-defended, so lacking in men—men who were either dead from the endless fighting or off preparing to become cannon fodder—they could set up a private fiefdom.

Her vision cleared enough to see he was not looking at her, but at the block of marble. He shook his head and gestured to it before turning to her. “Why do you do this? You could live off the duke; he would care for you and the boy.” He snorted, “Oliver is the only child of his dead, beloved son.”

Serena pushed back her hair, which had shaken loose at his manhandling. “What? And live with you always lurking about? Do you think these people are stupid just because they are wealthy? And now that the War is over, do you think you will not see people who will know who you really are? What you really are?”

He waved a hand, dismissing her worries. “People of that class rarely travel.”

“You did.”

He’d returned to his usual, unflappable mood and merely smiled at her rude baiting. “Yes, but I am the odd one. I am, eh, how do you say it? On my way up the social ranks?”

He was filth, and lower than pond scum, but he was smart enough to know that. Which made him even more dangerous.

“Well, I have just come to pay my respects. It is unfortunate I do not have time to stay—meet your employer, see the boy. But perhaps on the return journey?”

Serena hoped he was run over by a wagon or shot by his criminal conspirators, but his type was hard to kill.