[Ah, she got him. Miles should be put out-- he's not altogether sure he's ready to come clean with who he really is, just yet; it seems premature if he needs a different cover identity later-- but really, he's delighted. He's always been weak to the sharp ones, and here she is, a loyal, reserved, sharp soldier. His favorite kind.

If this were home and five years ago, he'd have offered her a job in his mercenary fleet on the spot. Alas.]

Yes, [he breathes, in heartfelt understanding.] Well, not anything. There must be some limits, or what are you serving? An ideal that doesn't serve you? [Miles shakes his head briefly. It's a question he's obviously put considerable thought into before.]

But you must have the wrong kind of nobility. [Indeed, there's a fierce edge to his tone, slight but intentional. It's Vor tradition to sacrifice everything for Barrayar, and Miles is, despite subterfuge otherwise, intensely Vor.]