With a flick of his wrist, Michael reached for the small bronze bell on his desk and gave it a sharp ring. The clear chime echoed through the quiet room.
He didn't have to wait long. Barely a few seconds later, the door creaked open and soft footsteps entered.
Michael looked up.
Surprisingly, it was the same maid who had once tried her luck with him—clumsy in her attempt to show her new lord the "wonders" of a woman's body, and failing rather pitifully at it.
Her face flushed slightly the moment their eyes met, though she did her best to hide it with a practiced bow.
"Lord Mic," she said softly, her voice steady despite the faint tension in her shoulders. "You rang?"
The maid kept her head bowed, but her thoughts wandered. Night made men careless, she had heard—and young lords most of all. Perhaps, if she moved closer… if she spoke softly… perhaps this time—
Michael's expression didn't shift.
