Authors: Janet Kent
“Not that window,” he amended.
“I suppose you can go out the
same way, then.”
“I shall.”
She tore her gaze from the storm
outside and studied him again.
“I’m sorry I can’t let you steal
from my family,” she said, and nibbled at her lower lip.
No doubt she was an aunt or
cousin or somesuch, there for a Town visit. That explained the family
resemblance. Now he needed to get out of there before more relatives started
popping up. He just had to disarm her somehow.
“I understand,” he said, with a
self-deprecating grin. “I am only sorry that I will never see you again. You
are captivating.”
* * *
Alicia blinked. He thought
she
was captivating? He looked debonair, worldly, mysterious. His very presence
exemplified the heroes of her favorite romantic novels come to life. And she
planned to shoo him away? Alicia gripped the painting even tighter.
“Wait,” she said haltingly. “What do you mean, never
see me again?”
The masked man turned to look out
the window. “Since I cannot pawn your uncle’s paintings for my sister’s health,
I have no reason to return.” He turned to face her. “Unless I may come to see
you?”
Alicia’s heart hiccupped in her
chest. Oh lord, the romantic in her yearned to have a forbidden hero, prowling
through the shadows, just for a glimpse of her. Alicia bit her lip. No. Bad
idea. She required an eligible suitor – this charming rogue was even less
suitable than Louis.
She shook her head vigorously.
He looked away. “Of course not.
What was I thinking? I can’t have made a good impression. And, of course, I am
poor. There’s nothing I can offer you.”
“I value love more than money,”
Alicia said without thinking. “Kindness costs nothing.”
His eyes met hers again.
“Someday, perhaps I can bring you some.”
Alicia clutched the canvas to her
chest and tried to breathe normally. He was not a romantic hero. He was just a
man.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I can’t tell you my
name. What would you like to call me?”
“You are a rogue.”
“Then you may call me Rogue,” he
answered with an impish grin. “What is your name?”
“Ali…zabeth,” Alicia caught
herself. “My name is Elizabeth.”
“I am pleased to meet you,
Elizabeth, unexpectedly though it may be.”
She curtsied as best she could
with a painting in her arms. “Likewise.”
The humor of the situation hit
them at the same time and they grinned at each other. He picked up the poker
from against the wall and crossed the room. Alicia turned to watch him. He
returned the fire iron to the rack and gave her a last little bow.
“Until next time, my lady,” he
said with a smile, and then disappeared down the hallway.
Alicia stood in the middle of the room for a few
minutes more. Slowly, she became aware the rain had stopped, and the first
vestiges of sunlight crept up from the horizon. The house was beginning to
creak. By the time she restored the painting to its rightful spot in the
library, the staff would be waking. She’d have to hurry to return to her
bedroom undetected. She clasped the painting in one hand, her skirts in the
other, and sprinted down the hall.
The door to his townhouse clicked
shut behind him as Ian crossed the foyer to the staircase. He climbed the steps
two at a time and strode down the short corridor.
What an unmitigated disaster. He
stepped into his bedroom, shut the door behind him, and sagged against the
wall. As his heart rate slowed, Ian pushed himself from the wall and crossed
the room to his writing desk. He sank into the wooden chair.
Caspian needed to deliver a
culprit in less than four weeks.
Tonight’s infiltration had
failed, but he couldn’t give up. If he could prevent an innocent man from being
punished and possibly killed, honor and duty required all attempts be made. Ian
opened a drawer and groped for a candle, scraping the back of his hand on a
jagged section of wood. Damn.
Normally, Cobb would be hovering
about with lit candles. The loyal manservant had put in plenty of late-night
hours over the years, assembling and disassembling disguises and attending
Ian’s wounds if a mission turned violent. But of late, Cobb’s hobbled gait
showed his age. The old man needed sleep.
Ian set the candle in its stand
and leaned sideways to light the wick in the fire before glancing about. Bed,
desk, chair. The spartan room seemed lonelier than ever. The barest necessities
dotted each chamber, done in blues and grays. The meager furniture scattered
around the townhouse only reminded Ian more that London was temporary. His
personal items were still at home, and as soon as he could prove Chadwick’s
innocence, he could return to Heatherley.
Ian’s nose itched. He jerked his
mask from his pocket and set it down on his desk next to the burning candle.
Elizabeth
had undeniable backbone. Ian shook his head as he
remembered the spirited sprite barging in with a poker. Even in the shadows, he
could make out dozens of dark patches adorning her face. He wished the clouds
and trees hadn’t obstructed the moonlight so Elizabeth would have been
illuminated.
Obviously, she was a poor
relation dropping in for a visit, an aunt or cousin from somewhere else. Ian
had never heard of her joining Miss Kinsey about town. Who knew what her true
features were – or what the hell she’d been doing awake.
Ian leaned across the immaculate
desk and peered into the mirror. Steady pressure had carved an indentation on
his skin in the shape of the mask. Thank God he’d been wearing it.
She was a refreshing departure
from his jaded expectations of London women. He had assumed all
tonnish
women were hard, self-serving, and shallow – much like her cynical cousin or
niece, Alicia Kinsey. Perhaps being poor kept her from the ballrooms, safe from
the influence of the
ton
. Perhaps she preferred the country, as did he.
With effort, Ian tugged off his
right boot and placed it against the wall.
Asking to see her again had been
a stroke of genius. The query lent a level of credibility to his claims of
selfless desperation. If she was as idealistic a romantic as she appeared,
perhaps she’d keep the truth of his unexpected visit to herself. In that case,
he could return another night and search the house at his leisure.
After another struggle, he pried
off his left boot and stood it next to its mate.
On the other hand, perhaps only a
fool would have suggested a future midnight rendezvous. Thank God she’d said
no. A lonely young woman might have nothing better to do than haunt the halls
and wait for him, making further reconnaissance all the more risky.
Ian stretched his long legs and
flexed his tired feet.
The first rays of sun slanted
through the crack between his window curtains. Tiny specks of dust danced in
the band of light. Ian stood and lifted the pane. The earthy scent of
rain-soaked soil permeated the air from the gardens, as did the less pleasant
smell of horse manure in the street. A carriage rumbled past on the road below.
The world was waking, but he needed sleep. He had to stay at top form to be
successful with the investigation.
* * *
Groggily, Alicia opened her eyes.
Sunlight barreled through the opened curtains, momentarily blinding her. She’d
missed breakfast. If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss luncheon as well. Alicia
threw off her covers. She swung her feet to the cold floor and rang for her
maid.
Last night seemed like a dream, a wild, bizarre
dream. She could barely believe she’d rushed in rather than raise the hue and
cry, although she was glad she’d stayed calm. After all, no harm had been done.
She nodded sharply, feeling vindicated. Nothing would come of it.
Mentioning the intrusion would
certainly be a self-defeating action. No sense spiting herself. Despite
wrecking her plans, she’d mark herself ruined if she were discovered cavorting
unchaperoned with an unidentified man. She needed an eligible gentleman, not a
masked robber.
“M’lady?” came the voice of
Jenny, her maid.
She turned to see the girl
shifting her weight in the doorway. “Yes?”
“I’ve brought some hot water up.
I’ll be back with more in a moment.”
“Thank you.”
Alicia closed her eyes and
visualized the captivating image cut by the mysterious visitor. Rogue. He was
charming. Dashing. Impossible. Alicia sighed. It wouldn’t do to harbor
impractical dreams about someone so unsuitable. So debonair. So fascinating.
Gooseflesh raced up her bare
arms. If someone had to thwart her plans, at least it was a someone like him.
She’d never before been the recipient of such honest interest. Well, perhaps
from Ian Morrissey. But Mr. Morrissey, although himself handsome, couldn’t hold
a candle to the magnetic force of her masked man’s gaze.
Alicia shifted her legs to raise
her toes from the cold floor and tucked her feet back under the blanket.
It was already Monday. The
Westaway family awaited Alicia at their ball tonight, and Louis would be there
with her. Thirteen days remained until Louis expected to apply for a license.
She planned to convince him of the inadvisability of their match … but how?
In case she couldn’t devise an
alternate solution to Papa’s plans in time, she needed to convince her cousin
to search for someone else. A love interest for Louis could free her to find her
own marriageable suitor, and she’d have no further cause to search her father’s
office to figure out his sudden urge to be rid of her. She needed to seek her
own true love, whoever he turned out to be.
Her mother once extracted a
promise from Alicia that affairs of the heart mattered more than any sense of
duty. She inspired Alicia’s romantic nature and made up silly stories of
knights and princes who rescued fair maidens. As a result, Alicia fell in love
with the idea of a hero, and refused to settle for less. Louis, unarguably, was
less.
Alicia rose to her feet and
walked toward the vivid sunlight slanting through the window.
Rogue’s heart-stopping smile and
smoothly executed disappearance only added to his impudent charm. Alicia
grinned. He arrived just when she’d lost her faith in romance and had almost
convinced herself that she was destined to a life of Louis and unhappiness.
Jenny returned with the last of
the pails and helped her undress. Alicia sank into the steaming water. She
cupped her hands and splashed her face. Jenny scrubbed her hair. The soothing
aroma of rose-scented soap greeted her senses and the warm suds slid down the
back of her neck. The heat relaxed her muscles and filled her with a sense of
lethargy. Even Jenny yawned and lifted an arm to rub at her eyes.
Alicia wondered if there were
some way she could help Rogue’s sister. She couldn’t imagine how. She barely
helped herself at times, but all that was changing.
The trick, it seemed, was to
repulse Louis without disgracing herself or inviting infamy. Acting improper in
any way risked her reputation far more than Louis’. She needed to present
herself well within the constraints of propriety, but well unsuited to Louis.
Heaven knew many of the young women parading themselves about were less than
desirable to most unmarried men.
Her arms wrapped around her legs
as her knees poked through the sudsy water. Jenny struggled to hide another
yawn as she squeezed the moisture from Alicia’s waterlogged hair.
Alicia snapped to attention.
Jenny was an inspiration! Perhaps she could be relentlessly boring whenever
Louis hovered nearby. If she became yawn-evoking, or better yet,
sleep-inducing, he’d imagine her a horrible hostess and therefore an
undesirable bride. Brilliant.
Perhaps she could handle men much
better than she gave herself credit for. After all, she’d even had the presence
of mind to tell Rogue he couldn’t possibly return.
* * *
One trick frame, one
hollow-centered book, one vase with hidden items inside, and one false-backed
desk drawer contained evidence of guilt. Proof positive of Chadwick’s
involvement – or so the note claimed. Its reverse displayed a crudely drawn map
of the ground floor.
Ian straightened the anonymous
missive on the powder blue tablecloth. He smoothed the creases and bowed his
head in thought. He stood, hunched over the words, arms locked, hands splayed
on either side of the paper.
A figure drifted past the open
window, casting a shadow across the page. Ian turned his head. A footman spread
a cold collation on the sideboard before shuffling down the hall. His footsteps
faded.
The aroma of sliced meat reached
Ian’s nose and his stomach growled in response. He pushed himself from the
table. He crossed to the sideboard and piled a plate with food before returning
to the table. He set the plate to the left of the note and dropped into his
chair.