“I normally am not one. I am a widow who could use a bit of coin, however.” She looked down at her basket. “Doing this for a short time does not require I eat my pride too much.”

His expression cleared. A new one took its place. One she knew too well and wished she did not witness now. He looked her up and down again. “There’s all kinds of ways to earn some coin without relinquishing too much pride.”

“A few. This suits me, however. I do not mind the labor.” She inched to her right, so she stood close to the fireplace implements. “I should find my way back now. I’m to help in the kitchen.”

He stepped along with her, so he continued blocking her way. “No need to run down there. There’s so many of you here that it is unlikely the cook knows who should be working and who shouldn’t.” He cocked his head so he could peer at her face. “You are a handsome woman.” His gaze drifted to where she held the basket. “Beautiful hands. Sad that they should be ruined by such work as this.”

“As I said, I don’t mind.” A shiver crawled up her back. His intentions became more apparent in the way he crowded her.

“Ah, but I do. It’s a pity for such elegant hands to do such work. There are far better ways for such softness to be employed.”

Her blood froze. Her whole body did. She battled her immobility by finding a very hard place in her mind, one that had learned how to survive when she felt helpless.

She gave him her coldest, most impassive stare. “You must allow me to leave now.”

“Must I?” He chortled, but a hardness entered his gaze. He knew she had looked at him with disdain. “I don’t answer to anyone here, not even the duke. Least of all you.”

I can do whatever I want in this house and no one will believe you if you complain.

Her entire body tensed like a plucked bowstring. She moved the basket in front of her body and her other hand behind her back.

He snatched the basket out of her grip, then stepped closer yet. His hand closed on hers just as her other hand gripped the iron poker in the holder behind her.

He held her hand and caressed it with his other. It echoed what Chase had done earlier, but this touch did not distract her. It repulsed her. His hold hurt her wrist. Algernon had held her that way.

His gaze rose to her face. “Lips just as soft, I’d warrant. And the rest of you too.”

She struggled to keep her disgust in check, so as not to goad him. If he made any attempt to do more . . . She gripped the poker hard, ready to swing it.

“Phillip.”