The next morning, Rose awoke early and began to prepare for her first day of secretarial work. Although her intent may have been false as vows made in wine, she could still pride herself on punctuality. She donned the dress Teddy had helped her choose the previous evening and arranged her hair in a studious updo — the same style her childhood dance instructor had insisted upon.

The absence of her engagement ring weighed heavily on her mind. Her neck felt naked and vulnerable without the chain to which she'd grown so accustomed. But better it be locked in William's desk than sold at some tawdry pawn shop.

With a lengthy gaze into the vanity mirror, she squared her shoulders and recited, “I am Rose Appelbaum. I've recently relocated from London. I'm honored to work for Mr. Gallagher at his factory.”

Convinced that she ‘looked the part,’ she gave her reflection an encouraging smile and left her room. After a brief glance toward Teddy's door, which was predictably still closed, Rose went down the hall to William's bedroom. She needed to be dropped off in town, preferably near her cousin's flat to make the charade fully plausible.

“William?” she called softly through the door. She rapped lightly with one knuckle. “Are you awake? I wonder if I might borrow your driver.”

“'Morning, Rose,” William's muffled voice responded. It came not from his bedroom, but the en suite. “Come on in.”

At his affirmative response, Rose opened the door to his private quarters and strode through, passing into the adjoining en suite.

“Good morning,” she chirped. “I was hoping you could lend me your driver for my first—”

Her string of words cut off abruptly as she observed William's current state. She'd expected to find him shaving, or perhaps in the finishing stages of dressing. This, however, was not the case.

He was in the bath.

Arms resting on the porcelain sides of the tub, William lounged with his head back and his eyes closed. Through the steam rising from the water, everything was visible from his midsection up, including a very unique circular tattoo on his left pectoral muscle.

A fierce blush erupted on Rose's cheeks, and she spun around so that her back was to him.

“You—! You said I could come in!” she cried, her tone elevated and accusatory. “Why on earth would you tell me to come in if you're bathing?”

Behind her, she heard him loose a lazy chuckle. “Modest now, eh?”

“I'm always modest, thank you!” she spat, glaring at the door.

“Come now, Rose,” he said. She could hear the smirk in his voice and found it abhorrent. “You were engaged. Don't pretend ya never seen a naked man before.”

“Well, as we are not engaged, it's inappropriate for me to be present while you are so very...exposed,” Rose stated, indignant. “I certainly wouldn't allow you to see me in such a state unless it was for a reason of emergent importance!”

“You can do my back, if it'd make ya feel more ‘important’,” he suggested.

Rose risked a glance over her shoulder. Wearing a sly little smile, he held a sopping sponge out to her. The bastard.

“No, thank you,” she snipped, turning to face the door again.

“That's too bad,” he sighed. “It's hard for me to reach.”

“I'm sure you'll manage. Or shall I call Eleanor to assist you?”

He let out a low laugh at her retort. Rose then heard him shift in the water. Was he getting out of the tub? With her in the room?

She glimpsed over her shoulder again. The action felt completely involuntary on her part, yet she couldn't seem to help herself. 

No. No, he had not gotten out. He continued to soak in the steamy water, though in a slightly more upright position, smirking at her as he ran the sponge across the backs of his shoulders.

Rose quickly averted her gaze to the far wall. “Quite a unique tattoo you have there,” she remarked. “Is it meant to be the sun? Or perhaps the moon?” Immediately, she mentally berated herself. Now he knew that she'd noticed. Now he knew she'd gotten a good look at his chest.

The flush of her cheeks spread up to the tips of her ears and down the back of her neck. Quite a nice chest, it was. Firm. Powerful. Defined. Just like his arms as they moved the sponge back and forth across his very naked skin.

“This one?” William asked.

Rose gave him a brief sidelong glance. He brushed his fingers over the prominent tattoo on his chest, the damning little smirk still firmly in place. She turned away in haste.

“Um, yes. That one. I'm curious to know the origin,” she said, trying to keep her voice light and conversational. It sounded forced, even to her ears. She could feel him behind her, watching her, and she swallowed. The skirt of her dress suddenly felt much too snug around her hips and bum. “There must be a story of considerable intrigue.”

“And what's got ya so curious about some old ink, Rose?”

“Well…”

What could she say to that? I've now seen your nude chest, and I'd rather focus on your tattoo than the fact that I had a sudden unexplainable urge to run my hands down your bare skin?

No. No, no, no, she absolutely could not say that. To him, or her cousin, or the spirit of her deceased great-grandmother, or even aloud to herself. That salacious little tidbit of inner monologue would accompany her to the grave.

“I haven't known many people with tattoos,” she said, opting for a true statement that wouldn't get her into trouble. “As you might imagine, they're frowned upon in my family. Yours has an interesting shape. Like a circle, yet…more. I just thought it might represent something. Though, perhaps we could speak on it another time? When I'm not intruding?”

Goodness, it was hot in this room. The temperature was making her feverish. Did he really enjoy bathing in this heat? Wasn't there a window, or five, that could be opened?

And had it been this warm when she'd first come through the door?

“You're not intruding now,” William said. The inflection in his voice suggested he found the whole ordeal quite entertaining. “Though, you need to be off, don't ya?”

Ah, yes. The reason for her accidental peep show. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, realizing she'd nearly forgotten the motive behind her early morning visit.

“I do, yes. I was hoping your driver could drop me off near my cousin's flat,” she said. “I plan to give Mr. Gallagher Daphne's address, as I'm sure he will ask for my place of residence. If I start my journey from there, the ruse will be more believable as I walk to the factory. In case anyone working for Gallagher should see me.”

“That's good thinkin', Rose,” William said. “My driver and car are at your disposal.”

“Thank you,” she said. Giving up in her attempt not to look at him, she pivoted a bit so that he rested in her peripheral. “So, regarding my first day in Gallagher's employ: you're interested in his schedule, the people with whom he keeps company, and any information I can gather on his family. Any other points of focus?”

“Not as of yet,” William said. “I think that makes for a good foundation. We can't have you askin' too many questions, or drawin' too much attention to yo'self. Subtlety, like ya keep sayin'.”

“Of course,” Rose agreed.

“Be careful, Rose,” he instructed. “I mean it. Eh? I want ya back here. Unharmed. Teddy will never let me hear the end of it, else.”

Rose gave him a knowing smile. “Is that your opaque apathetic way of telling me you're growing fond of me?”

“Let ya see me naked, didn't I?”

“William,” Rose tsked.

He chuckled. “Yeah. I s'pose it is.”

“How quaint,” she said. “I daresay, I'm growing rather fond of you, as well. Although not so fond that I'd allow you to be present while I bathed.”

“So, you find me tolerable.”

“As you say.” She tipped her head to the side and gave him a cheeky smile. “Well, I'm off. See you soon, dear,” she teased. “I'll expect dinner to be ready when I get home from my long day at work. 'Ta!”

To disguise her discomfort, she blew him an exaggerated kiss and flounced out of the room before she could be tempted to have another look at him in the bath.

The sound of his low laughter followed her down the hall.

【♖】

Mr. Gallagher's office was overtly masculine to the point of seeming staged. Each line, plane, angle, color, and fixture was harsh and utilitarian, as though selected by hired designers for the set of a Jacobian theatrical performance about a tyrant dictator on the rise. The furniture had apparently been chosen for its lack of comfort. Even the artwork on the walls gave the impression of a transparent desire for intimidation.

Rose hadn't paid much notice to the decor during her visit the previous day, due to her nerves over meeting William's business rival. However, as Mr. Gallagher sat behind his heavy austere desk, scrutinizing the letters of recommendation she'd given him, she had plenty of time to allow her gaze to meander over every detail of the room. Upon consideration, she concluded that the office would never be welcoming, but could be much improved by a woman's touch.

The large painting situated on the wall behind Mr. Gallagher was especially menacing, and Rose's skin rippled as she studied the image. It featured a huge African tiger, fangs bared and hackles raised, staring down the barrel of a hunting rifle held by Gallagher himself. The miniature Gallagher in the still-life sported his signature glower as he faced off with the tiger. Rose found she had to credit the artist for the captured realism. Though whomever had hung the painting hadn't bothered to square it or secure it against the wall. Quite odd.

“Impressive... Most impressive…” Mr. Gallagher mused. He ran the side of his finger across his narrow jaw as he read over Rose's letters: the real, and the not-so-real.

“Thank you, sir,” Rose murmured in her most demure voice.

“This bloke here, Mister...erm...S. H. Peer, was especially thrilled with you,” Mr. Gallagher added, holding up the counterfeit letter William had penned the night before. “Must've cried a river o' tears when you left.”

Rose had to fight to keep the smirk off her face. “It's difficult to picture him crying, sir.”

“Well, the job is yours, Miss…” he glanced down at her information again, “...Appelbaum. Yes, Rose Appelbaum. Interestin' name, that. Haven't heard it before. But then again, you aren't from around here.”

Rose stiffened in her seat. Hearing this man's gruff voice speak the name that should have been hers caused a little pang of sadness in her heart. ‘Rose Appelbaum’ would have been a good wife. With a kind, doting husband. Not this pretender spying for William Mercer.

In the stead of her regretful thoughts, Rose said, “That's correct, sir.”

“You're all the better for it. Manchester is a sewer pit of a place in desperate need of new leadership,” Mr. Gallagher stated. With a decisive nod, he stood from his chair and handed the letters back to her. “Right, then. Follow me, Miss Appelbaum. I'll show you to your desk.”

“Thank you, sir,” Rose said, gathering the letters into a tidy pile. “I cannot tell you how glad I am for this opportunity.”

As she turned to follow him, her gaze passed over a newspaper at the edge of his desk. The condition and position of the periodical suggested it had been tossed there with some force.

It was the Post. Upside down to her, the leading headline read: William Mercer Fundraising Event Dazzles.

It was Daphne's article. Front page and above the fold.

Well done, Daph, Rose thought. Let's see Mr. Hughes try to keep you a junior editor now!

Wrestling with her facial features in an attempt to keep her expression neutral, Rose said, “Mr. Gallagher, may I look through that newspaper once you've finished? I like to check the bulletins.”

Her new employer scowled at the paper where it lay strewn across the desk. “You can take it now,” he huffed. “Nothing worth reading in that bloody thing.”

Smirking to herself at his unmasked anger, Rose folded the paper and tucked it under her arm. Apparently Mr. Gallagher's ‘gift’ and the subsequent scandal it was intended to cause had gone unmentioned. Pity.

【♜】【♞】【♟】

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