He put the silver pot down and looked into Montrag’s pale eyes. “One lump. Or two?”

“May I…may I get you something for that burn?”

He smiled, flashing his fangs at his host. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Montrag seemed offended that he couldn’t do anything, and turned his dissatisfaction on his servant. “You are a total disgrace. Leave us.”

Rehv glanced at the doggen. To him, her emotions were a three-dimensional grid of fear and shame and panic, the interlocking weave filling out the space around her as surely as her bones and muscles and skin did.

Be of ease, he thought at her. And know I’ll make this right.

Surprise flared in her face, but the tension left her shoulders and she turned away, looking much calmer.

When she was gone, Montrag cleared his throat and sat back down. “I don’t think she’s going to work out. She’s utterly incompetent.”

“Why don’t we start with one lump.” Rehv dropped a sugar cube into the tea. “And see if you want another.”

He held the cup out, but not too far out, so that Montrag was forced to get up again from his sofa and bend across the table.

“Thank you.”

Rehv didn’t let go of the saucer as he pushed a change of thought into his host’s brain. “I make females nervous. It wasn’t her fault.”

He released his hold abruptly and Montrag scrambled to keep hold of the Royal Doulton.

“Oops. Don’t spill.” Rehv settled back onto his sofa. “Shame to get a stain on this fine rug of yours. Aubusson, is it?”

“Ah…yes.” Montrag parked it again and frowned, like he had no idea why he felt differently about his maid. “Er…yes, it is. My father bought it many years ago. He had exquisite taste, didn’t he? We built this room for it because it is so very large, and the color of the walls was chosen specifically to bring out the peach tones.”

Montrag looked around the study and smiled to himself as he sipped, his pinkie out in the breeze like a flag.