She stepped into the room and set the papers and pencils on the scratched-up table that someone had shoved in here, up against the boxes of papers. There were no windows, just a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and a lamp. She’d leave the door open. “I should think you of all people, sir, would recognize that this is far from a prison.”

He snarled. Then drew in a breath and made a quick bow. “Forgive me, miss. You’ve probably come to bring me tea, or to see if I’ve anything for you to type up.”

One of these days, people wouldn’t just assume she was a secretary. Or a tea girl.

No, that was wishful thinking. People would always assume it. But maybe one of these days it would stop making her itch in protest. She spread her now-empty hands. “Do I look like I’ve come with tea?”

He folded his arms over his chest, still clad in the olive-green RFC pilot’s uniform. How odd it was to see olive green here, instead of naval blue. “You could have left your cart in the corridor. Heaven knows it wouldn’t fit in this cell.”

She motioned to the equally empty space outside the door. “There are no tea girls on our floor. And I am not a secretary.” She pointed to the chair obviously brought in with the makeshift desk. “Now sit down. Unless you want to go to prison, you have a lot to learn.”

He scoffed. Scoffed. “And I suppose you’re going to teach me, darling?”

The admiral had said he wouldn’t mind if Margot snarled at him—she wondered how he’d feel about it if she employed a few of the moves Willa had taught her for self-defense. A knee to the groin might bring this chap down a much-needed peg.

She settled for a scathing look. For now. “I suppose that depends on how big an idiot you are. Sit.”

He sat, but with a smirk that said he was merely playing along for his own entertainment. “Right. Sitting. Now what? I suppose you’re going to bring in a typewriter and teach me how to type up a few papers while filing my nails?”

“Well, apparently, first I’m going to teach you how to avoid the firing squad.” She perched on the edge of the table and glared at him. “Admiral Hall has gone out on a limb, bringing you here when everyone in England is calling for a court-martial. I highly suggest you show your gratitude in some way other than by provoking every single member of his staff.”

The smirk died away into a glower. “I didn’t ask the admiral to fetch me from prison.”

“No. Drake Elton did. For some reason, he deems you a friend, whether you know the meaning of the word or not.”