CHAPTER 6: SLIPPERY SLOPES

Lord Leo’s POV

If I had to sit through one more minute of my father discussing trade tariffs and eastern grain quotas, I was going to throw myself out the grand library window.

Lucian, of course, sat at the mahogany table looking like a statue carved from stone—attentive, serious, and utterly immune to boredom. But I was built for sunshine, cello strings, late-night tavern music, and soft laughter. Formal state meetings were a slow form of torture.

Taking advantage of the Duke leaning over a map of the capital, I silently slid back from the table, ducked behind the heavy velvet drapes, and slipped out the side door into the quiet corridor.

Free at last.

I stretched my arms over my head with a long, satisfying breath, pulling my linen shirt collar open. I had roughly twenty minutes before Lucian realized I was gone and sent a guard to fetch me.

As I turned the corner into the high marble gallery, a strange sight caught my eye.

Near the massive grandfather clock sat a brass bucket, overflowing with soap suds. Balanced on the very top rung of a rickety wooden stool was a small maid in grey linen. She was reaching up on her tip-toes, trying to dust the delicate brass hands at the top of the clock face.

She wasn't just reaching; she was practically performing a circus act. The wooden stool wobbled dangerously beneath her worn leather shoes, its left leg creaking under her weight.

Does this girl have a death wish? I thought, amused despite myself.

"Hey," I called out, taking a large, casual step forward to warn her before she snapped her neck. "You might want to step down from—"

My boot hit the marble floor—and completely lost all traction.

The floor wasn't just clean; it was coated in a thick, wet layer of liquid wax and soap suds. And the little maid hadn't bothered to set out a single wooden warning sign.

"Whoa—whoa!"

My legs flew out from under me like a drunken sailor's on a storm-tossed deck. I flailed my arms wildly in the air, trying to catch the stone wall, but my leather soles spun across the slick floorboards. I skidded five feet down the hallway, completely out of control, sliding straight toward the base of the clock.

The loud splash and my panicked yelp made the maid gasp.

She snapped her head around, her dark eyes wide with shock. "Oh, my goodness!"

In her sudden panic to get down, her shoe slipped on the wet top rung of the stool. The wooden legs kicked out from under her, and with a short, breathless squeak, she plunged straight off the ladder—falling directly toward the floor.

"I got you!" I yelled, desperately scrambling across the soapy marble to catch her.

Oof.

She landed square on my chest.

The impact knocked the breath straight out of my lungs with a sharp gasp. We skidded another two feet across the soapy floor together before finally coming to a halt near the wall, a tangled mess of grey linen petticoats, wet sleeves, and stray suds.

For a second, all I could hear was the frantic, hammering beat of her heart against my ribs.

She pushed herself up on her hands, her face inches from mine, trembling violently.

Under the dim morning light, she was striking. She had rich, dark brown curls escaping her white maid's cap, framing a sharp, delicate jawline. Long, dark lashes shadowed a pair of bright, striking brown eyes that looked down at me in absolute, wide-eyed terror.

"I am so, so sorry, My Lord!" she stammered, her breath hitting my neck in quick, panicked bursts. "I... I did not know anyone was in the corridor! I am so sorry!"

I lay flat on my back, groaning as I rubbed the back of my head, looking up at her wobbly cap.

"Do you not know you are supposed to put out a warning sign when you wax the marble?" I asked, a grin fighting its way onto my face despite the ache in my elbows. "You've turned the gallery into an ice rink."

"Pardon me, My Lord!" she gasped, her pale cheeks flushing a deep, sudden red. "I... I am new. I didn't think..."

I couldn't hold it back any longer. A rich, booming laugh erupted from my chest, echoing off the high ceiling.

"I was actually coming over to warn you about falling," I wheezed, wiping a bubble of foam off my sleeve. "Only to end up breaking your fall with my own ribs. Masterful timing on my part."

"My Lord, please forgive me," she whimpered, scrambling to get off me, her hands slipping uselessly against the wet floor.

"Hold on, let me help you," I said, pushing myself up to my knees. "Up we go—"

My left boot hit another patch of liquid wax.

With a loud yelp, my feet shot out again. I went down hard on my hip, my arm catching the edge of her wooden scrub bucket on the way down.

The heavy bucket tipped over. A massive wave of cold, soapy water poured straight over my chest, soaking my fine white shirt and drenching my hair.

I sat there in the middle of the puddle, water dripping from the tip of my nose, looking like a drowned river rat.

A tiny, choked sound came from beside me.

I wiped the water from my eyes and looked up. The little maid was kneeling in the puddle, pressing both hands over her mouth, her shoulders shaking violently as she tried to stifle a laugh.

I narrowed my eyes playfully, raising a brow. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No, My Lord!" she squeaked, though a breathless, musical giggle escaped her fingers anyway—a sound so bright and genuine it made my chest feel strangely light. "No, of course not!"

"You definitely are," I said, a mischievous spark lighting up inside me. "Allow me to assist you, then."

"My Lord, no—"

I reached out, grabbed her forearm, and gave a gentle tug.

She lost her balance instantly, sliding straight back down into the puddle beside me. A fresh splash of soapy water flew up, soaking the front of her grey apron and drenching her white sleeves.

Now we were both sitting in three inches of lukewarm water, completely ruined.

"Who is laughing now?" I declared triumphantly, throwing my head back as I laughed at the absolute absurdity of the sight.

She looked down at her dripping apron, then up at my drenched shirt, and finally gave up the fight. A bright, ringing laugh burst from her lips, filling the silent gallery with pure, infectious delight. For a moment, she wasn't a stiff, terrified servant bowing her head in fear. She was just a girl laughing in the morning light.

I offered her my hand again—properly this time—and helped her stand up, making sure both our feet were planted firmly on a dry patch of rug.

"Forgive me again, My Lord," she said, wringing out the hem of her wet apron, though a small smile still danced on her lips. "I have ruined your clothes."

"Nonsense," I replied cheerfully, wringing out my sleeve onto the floor. "I would gladly take a bath in soapy floor water if it gets me out of my father's trade lectures. You've done me a massive favor."

I leaned my shoulder against the grandfather clock, looking down at her with genuine amusement. Her dark eyes were sparkling, and despite the wet cap, she carried herself with a quiet, intriguing poise.

"You said you're new," I noted smoothly. "What is your name?"

She dipped her head, dipping into a small, graceful curtsy.

"Eva, My Lord."

"Eva," I repeated, testing the sound of it, a genuine, warm smile spreading across my face. "Well, Eva... it is a pleasure to make your chaotic acquaintance. I am Lord Leo."

I gave her a playful, dramatic bow—completely unbothered by the water dripping from my hair onto the floorboards—thoroughly captivated by the most entertaining maid Valenridge Manor had ever seen.