I stood inside the guest bedroom, my jaw slack with disbelief. All I could do was point at the fucking bed, and keep jabbing my forefinger at it with nothing spitting from my mouth because this was fucking ridiculous.

The Purcell girl stood before me, her dark brown eyes round and unblinking. She nervously wrung shaking hands, her nerves tattered from the Venetian Vase incident. Which, after facing off against Tabitha's wrath when she'd pointed her godsdamned wooden spoon at me like she wanted to shoot me in the ass, for fucking starters, I'd put the vase down—intact.

Finally, I managed to suck in a breath of air and push out, "What the hells is this?" I hooked a thumb sideways at the teddy bears propped around a tiny table and chairs. "Is this some kind of joke?"

The servant's bobbed hair swished from side to side as she fervently shook her head: no.

I flicked an open hand down my body, indicating my mammoth build. "Look at me."

She jerkily nodded at my request but her terrified gaze didn't stray from my fuming expression. I waved my hands up and down my body, on the verge of losing it completely, and hissed, "I mean, take a real good,"—fucking—"look."

She dragged her wide-eyed gaze slowly down the length of my armored body to the very tips of my black boots and then back up again. She swallowed and I heard the dry rasp of her mouth. "You're very tall," she croaked.

"You think?" I narrowed my eyes and angled my chin toward the bed behind her. "I'm six-fucking-five. Do you really think I can fit into that?"

She darted a brief glance over a trembling shoulder at the bed with its pink duvet and a picture of a princess on its frilly pillows. "It's...well...um, slightly on the small side...but comfortable?" Her voice squeaked upwards like a question as she tried to downplay the madness of the bedroom with a forced innocent expression.

"It's a kids' bed," I said flatly.

The bed was perfect for a child, not my fucking gigantic physique. I didn't even know if it would support my weight. I certainly wouldn't fit on it properly—my legs would be dangling over the edge all night. Who the hells could sleep like that?

I stomped deeper into the room, ducking my head to clear the mobiles of fairies and glittering stars hanging from the ceiling, and edged around the tiny table with its tiny tea set. My nostrils flared as my gaze skimmed the room with its various shades of pink, the stuffed toys and Barbie dolls, the grand Victorian doll house, and the frilly bed with its lacy Princess canopy.

I rapidly tapped my booted foot on the floor—thump-thump-thump—an agitated gesture that had the servant girl tensing further with every thump. I noticed in my periphery she was making small incremental moves to create more distance between us.

I hissed through gritted teeth. I couldn't believe Romain Deniaud had the gall to put me up in a kids' guest bedroom. A bedroom decorated for girls at that. Beneath the collar of my armored jacket, my skin heated with my building temper at the insult and the slight against me and my family.

Then I reminded myself what was at stake here.

Tabitha Catt.

Hells-gate. This was a waste of fucking time arguing over where I'd been put up for my stay at the Deniauds'. Ever since I'd overheard Tabitha's conversation with her aunt, that someone was going to ask her out, and discovered whom, I'd been on edge with a desperate urgency to break up whatever the hells was going on between Toolface and Tabitha. I might have barked at the servant girl to move faster as she led me here, my mind spinning along the horrible possibility that Tabitha would agree to go out with the jerk just to spite me.

I needed to shower, change into fresh clothes, and get down to the Servants' Quarter, fast. Spinning around, I scooped up my heavy bags from the floor and headed toward the open doorway. My mind was wholly consumed with how Toolface could mysteriously disappear or perhaps encounter an accidental death. Maybe while I was out driving I just didn't see him in time and ran him over, maybe several times, maybe I might back over him once or twice more to ensure he was a bloody smear across the asphalt.

"Excuse me, Mr. Crowther, where are you going?"

Annoyed, I twisted back around and barked, "To Chateaux Crappo."

She blinked in confusion, not understanding.

"Another room," I explained in exasperation. "You've got dozens more guest bedrooms I can stay in. Just tell Romain and the Butler which one I'm in."

"You can't!" she shrieked, reaching a hand out in protest. Then her lips went white as she pulled her mouth wide and tight, cringing at herself and shrinking a little. She anxiously kneaded her throat with trembling fingers and whispered hoarsely, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I shouldn't have shouted."

I stared in bewilderment as her whole face suddenly scrunched up, her thin eyes squeezed shut. A moment later, in horror, I realized why.

Holy shit, I was not prepared for this.

Big fat tears started rolling down her face. "A-A-A-A..."

Shame twisted my insides.

She was crying.

I made her cry.

I held up a hand, my weapons bag dangling, as I tried to pacify her. "Don't cry..." Shit, what's her name? "What's your name?"

"M-Mei," she sobbed.

"I didn't mean to make you cry, Mei."

It only made her cry harder and uglier.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The corners of her tear-soaked mouth curled into a despondent line. "A-All the other rooms are all scheduled f-for a Deep Clean," she wailed.

I lowered my hand to my side, the battered leather bag leaning against my thigh. "What"— the hells— "is a Deep Clean?"

Mei tried pulling herself together, wiping the tears from her face with the crisp white cuff of her House uniform. "It's when we c-clean every single thing in the rooms." She hiccuped, then sniffed. "From the windows to the w-walls to the ceiling, the curtains and carpet, shelvings and cupboards, replace all the linen, make sure all the antiques are polished or buffed." Her hands clenched by her sides as she took a brave step forward. "Mr. Crowther you're really scary but..." her voice trailed off.

I cocked my head with an expectant look, encouraging her to continue.

She hurried past me, her low-heeled shoes pattering across the wooden floor and colorful ABC rugs, to the bedroom door. She poked her head into the hallway, I assumed to double-check we were still alone, because when she turned back she whispered, "Miss Catt is scarier."

That got my attention straight away.

I slid my eyes sideways and clicked my tongue, feigning ignorance. "Miss Catt?"

"The order came from Miss Catt, our Between Maid. She said I had to put you in this room—specifically this room." She swept a hand around the pink bedroom with its slender books with gold spines, toys and dolls, and tiny bed. "I don't understand it either, but I think because we hosted so many of the upper ranks last weekend she wants to deep clean everything. And this is the only room not on the list."

I looked at the bedroom with fresh eyes. Respect warmed my blood at the bold move Tabitha had made against me—right out of the gate too.

Oh, she's good. Really good.

If I'd earlier suspected she didn't want me back here at the Deniauds, I certainly fucking believed it now. I thought back to her threat that I'd stupidly discounted in the utility cupboard a few days back. She'd warned me she was going to get me back for blackmailing her.

"Miss Catt's tougher than Mr. Volkov, the Head Housekeeper, and he's really mean. She can spot a speck of dust or an ornament out of place by a mere inch from a hundred paces." She blinked up at me earnestly, her hands clasped on her chest. "Do you know what it's like to have to live up to those exacting standards? With someone breathing down your neck because something isn't quite right?" She unlatched her fingers and flopped a limp hand back and forth in front of me. "My wrist hurt so much after polishing and repolishing one day, I had to bandage it."

I made a humming noise of contemplation at the back of my throat. "Maybe this Miss Catt of yours isn't so much a hard taskmaster, maybe she just takes great pride in her work. I mean, I've never seen a more immaculate home." I sucked on my teeth before making several clicks with my tongue, pretending to think about it further. "I imagine as a Between Maid she has a lot of responsibility serving under three bosses. I expect someone like Miss Catt has a lot of experience in polishing and cleaning and has a high standard of work ethic. I suppose she just wants to share those techniques with whoever works for her." I clamped my mouth shut wondering if I had gone too far in defending Tabitha.

Mei's eyebrows slashed upward, and despair swept across her narrow features. "Her standards are impossibly high, and she's got a sharp tongue and a look. Mr. Crowther, you never want to encounter her look. It makes you feel this high." Mei half-bent over and held her hand to her knees.

Actually, I had.

And yes, Mei was right.

The servant girl straightened, her brown eyes shimmering with unspilled tears. "If you don't sleep here, in this room, she'll think I had something to do with it. She might put me on toilet detail for the remainder of the week."

I closed my eyes and heaved a heavy sigh, admitting defeat. There was a rocking chair, maybe I could sleep in that, or on the floor. "The room is fine," I gritted out, opening my eyes and dropping my fisted hand to my hip.

"It is?" She beamed, clapping her hands and bouncing up and down. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr. Crowther."

Mei scurried from the room, perhaps worried I'd change my mind. I dumped my weapons bag onto the floor, along with my luggage with clothes and other things Valarie had organized one of our servants to deliver, with a loud thump that resounded in the bedroom with its many tiny girl things.

My mouth curled downward. All that pink was going to give me a fucking headache.

***

I swung my wooden spoon in a lazy arc as I paced back and forth, shooting Tomas astonished glances. Icy grass was crushed beneath the chunky soles of my practical shoes and my footfall squelched a little as melting frost soaked into the earth.

Hells, I'm not even Dolcie's boyfriend.

I stopped pacing and braced a hand on my hip. Clouded air swirled from my mouth when I asked, "Why should I believe you?"

The misery in Tomas's expression was made worse by the bandage strapped across his swollen, broken nose and the mottled-yellow petals of bruises. "I know it looks really bad because I'm the last known boyfriend of Dolcie'." He loosened a despondent sigh. "When Beckah discovered Dolcie was pregnant the night of the Servants' Dance, she jumped to conclusions and assumed the baby was mine."

"And it's not?"

His misery morphed into a black scowl. "No," he replied sharply. "I know for a fact because she and I never had..." He flipped up a hand and gestured between us as he lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. "You know, sex."

The word sex jolted through me.

I flicked a nervous glance over my shoulder, worried that my aunt would have overheard, but that was ridiculous because she'd blown her silver whistle to start the second half of the soccer game and was amongst the chaos on the field. But mostly, I'd turned my flustered gaze away from Tomas because I was trying to hide my embarrassment. Heat scorched my cheeks and I knew my face was probably as pink as my knitted hat. It was one thing thinking about sex, reading about it, and whispering about it in the safety of girlfriends, but hearing the word come from a boy's mouth was another thing altogether.

Tomas and Dolcie hadn't had sex?

I waved a mitten hand to encourage the wafting air to soothe my flushed cheeks as I thought back to the eruption in the Kitchen Cool Room several nights ago: Tomas in a panic, stumbling in, while an enraged Beckah was pounding on the door trying to get to him. Tomas had denied it, spitting out—I'm not the baby's father!

Just like everyone else there, I'd thought Tomas's fierce denial was him shirking his responsibilities.

But Dolcie...

Dolcie had been crying—I'm sorry, I'm sorry—and I'd automatically assumed that she was apologizing to Tomas for her younger sister's attempt at throttling him.

"Hells, Dolcie and I haven't even gone on one single date," Tomas continued, his tone dripping with bitterness. "That's what I meant—I wasn't her boyfriend, not properly."

They hadn't gone on a single date?

Startled, my gaze whipped back to Tomas. "What do you mean—not properly?"

"In all the time of her agreeing to go out with me, she never once showed up to any of the dates I'd arranged."

"Not one?"

His scowl faded into a sulkish expression as he shook his head.

I twisted around toward where Dolcie and her family were gathered near the soccer match, away from most of the spectators. A loud cheer erupted, everyone excitedly jumping up and down, clapping and yelling, as one of the children scored a goal. A small flock of birds burst from the bushy trees to scatter across the sky at the clamorous sound.

Dolcie's elderly parents were huddled together talking quietly, while Oswin stared back at me with puzzlement pinching his broad features, and Beckah shot me a hurtful look as if I was betraying her by talking to Tomas.

Tomas came to stand flush with me. Dolcie tucked a lock of curly brown hair behind her ear as she jiggled a toddler on her hip. Her gaze anxiously bounced between Tomas and me, and there was a haunted shadow in her big brown eyes. There didn't seem to be any fury directed at Tomas, with which I had assumed she would be burning.

Hells, I would have been.

In fact, her wan complexion seemed to pale even further. She nervously chewed on the corner of her mouth and her gaze guiltily flitted away from Tomas's before he could hold it.

I rapped my spoon against my thigh as a shameful feeling sank to the bottom of my stomach, and I considered that I'd been wrong. Perhaps Dolcie had been apologizing to Tomas that night for putting him in the villainous role of the baby's father.

My eyebrows nudged together as I tucked my wooden spoon into my jacket's belt while keeping an eye on Dolcie as she fussed with the little girl in her arms. She was in her mid-twenties, attractive with a cheery and chatty personality, if somewhat self-absorbed with her looks. I knew that she'd had a lot of secret boyfriends over the years because Beckah liked to gossip to me while rolling her eyes in exasperation. No one ever seemed to keep Dolcie's attention for very long.

As the eldest daughter, Dolcie was expected to care for her parents as they eased further into old age. I knew there had been potential suitors which she'd dissuaded or flat-out refused to encourage, and she always seemed to flit from one secret boyfriend to the next.

It never bothered me that she was sneaking around with secret boyfriends. Part of me admired her for it and was in awe of the fun she was having, going out on secret rendezvous. As far as I was concerned, Dolcie could do what she liked, see whom she liked. But now she found herself in an unfortunate position: pregnant, with the baby's father refusing to step up and stand by her.

My gaze slid back to Tomas when he grouched, "I hate the expectations of my family." He toed a clump of frosted grass with his sneaker. "Always wanting to match me up with some dowdy girl from whatever family just because of their social standing. Right now, they're talking about arranging a marriage between me and Nila."

"Nila?" I didn't know who she was.

"Nila's a mechanic for House Reska. My parents are obsessed with a union between me and someone from an Upper House."

"And you don't like Nila?"

His lean shoulders shuddered as his pouty lips twisted in revulsion. "Nila chews her food with her mouth open like it's cow cud. It's loud and it's gross. There's no way in Nine Hells I want to sit down for dinner to that for the rest of my life. And she's handsy. Every time we've met she uses some lame excuse to get super close and squeeze my ass."

His voice became laced with such utter despondency I felt a pang in my heart. "I just wanted to have some fun before I'm tied down for good." He suddenly brightened and held up a hand, crossing two fingers. "Hopefully not to Nila."

A group of teenage boys and girls, a few of them holding soccer balls, ran past, laughing and goading one another on. They gathered near the tall, thick hedge, spread out and started kicking the balls to one another.

"Anyway, I asked Dolcie out a while back. I figured we'd make an attractive couple. She's sweet and just as good-looking as I am," he said sincerely, stroking a hand down the front of his denim jacket, puffing his chest out a little.

I slowly blinked, squinting at him, wondering if I had heard him correctly.

Obviously, I had.

I mentally shook my head at myself, at the silly infatuation I'd had with Tomas for so long.

He was ridiculous.

Tomas took a step closer and said earnestly, "Like, Tabitha, a couple of weeks back, I set up this super romantic date for Dolcie. I bought tickets for the cinema for us to see Diehard 2 and then afterward we'd have dinner at Applebee's."

My eyebrows rose—Diehard 2 and a burger?

"I'd even brought my guitar and I was going to sing a few songs I'd written just for her."

I pressed a mitten hand to my mouth, desperately trying to hold back the laughter that threatened to burst from my throat.

Maybe that was the reason Dolcie didn't show up to their date.

Tomas liked to think he was a bit of a rockstar, but his singing voice was watery and his lyrics were really basic.

"Here's the thing. I stood outside the cinema and she didn't show up. Every time I set up a date, she never met me there or bothered to get hold of me beforehand to let me know she couldn't make it. So I stood outside the cinema like an idiot waiting for her, until I gave up and went home, once again." His long, dark-blond eyelashes flared wide as one side of his mouth curled downward. "I started getting a complex. No one's stood me up before. Like, what is wrong with me, Tabitha? I'm a good-looking guy," he said, flinging his arms wide and gesturing to himself.

He looked so perplexed by it all that I stared back blankly for a moment.

When he kept staring at me, expectantly, I realized he was waiting for me to answer.

"Um...yes, you're extremely good-looking. Very handsome."

White teeth flashed as he beamed broadly.

"After the last no-show at the cinema, I called on Dolcie to find out why she didn't meet me for our date and she said she hadn't been able to because something came up with her parents." He rolled his eyes at what he presumed to be a weak excuse.

"They are old. She does have to take care of them."

His eyebrows slanted forward as his bottom lip jutted out a fraction. "I know. But I got fed up with it all and started asking around. I knew some other guys who'd dated Dolcie before." And he made air quotes around dated. "And it seems this is Dolcie's thing. Sure, she's all about getting to know you better, going out for dinner or a movie or a stroll through the forest, but she never shows up."

I frowned. "Never showed up for any of them?"

"Not once."