‘I am not in your bed,’ I retorted hotly. ‘I am on it. And pray, what are you doing with the missing book?’ I attempted to brandish the tome at him, but it was too heavy. I had to content myself with waggling the hard cover in a way I intended to be forceful and menacing. It was not entirely successful. ‘Leave my chambers at once!’ ‘It is hardly “chambers”. There is only one room!’ Mr Bertram walked across to the bed. ‘There is an en-suite,’ he said icily. ‘One I assume you were sent to clean rather than riffling through my possessions.’ ‘I am not riffling!’ I protested. I scrambled to the edge of the bed. Mr Bertram was very close, but at least I was no longer among the sheets. ‘Do not change the subject. You should not have this.’ ‘How dare you tell me what I can or cannot do, wench!’ ‘I am not a wench,’ I screeched. ‘If you do not immediately tell me why this book is hidden in your room I shall scream the place down.’ ‘Euphemia, that is enough.’ ‘I will.’ We stood facing each other, eyes locked.
