Andrea Kane by Last Duke

extinguished her candle, raising the unlit taper in tribute. Then, satisfied that her avenging hero was righting the world’s wrongs in a way she could not, she climbed into bed and closed her eyes.
    Her final thought was of the beautiful doll she’d purchased before returning to Tragmore this morning—a doll that was now carefully concealed in her wardrobe. Somewhat appeased, Daphne drifted off to sleep, trying to visualize Prudence’s forthcoming joy.
    And fervently wishing she could make it last.
    The thin blade slipped between the window sashes, forcing back the catch. The jemmy followed, prying the decorative shutters open just enough to admit the hooded figure in black.
    Noiselessly, the bandit lowered himself onto the parlor floor, his eyes gleaming as he surveyed the dark, deserted room. As was his custom, he waited, although, in this case it was mere habit that compelled him to do so. No one was about, and no scrutiny was necessary. After numerous nocturnal visits to these grounds in particular, he knew Tragmore’s late-night routine like a well-read book. The servants, the family, and the marquis would all be abed by midnight.
    Ironic that he’d chosen this, of all homes, to invade, when everything in it already belonged to him.
    Ironic, but infinitely appealing—for many reasons.
    Slipping the jemmy and file into his coat pocket, the bandit swiftly removed his shoes. Then he lit a single taper and began his work.
    The drawing room yielded no surprises, the only worthwhile items being a few pieces of silver plate and a silver soup ladle. Pilfering those, he made his way to the library.
    The marquis’s desk offered not the slightest challenge. The expected cash box was there, although he hadn’t anticipated quite so much as he found: fifty pounds in silver and seventy-five pounds in gold. With a shrug, he reached to the back of the drawer, carefully feeling his way until he found the secret panel he sought. With a little help from his file, the panel came away, revealing a gold pocket watch, two antique rings, a dozen five-pound notes and twenty ten-pound notes.
    For a destitute man, Tragmore was doing quite well.
    Not for long, the bandit thought with a smile.
    Deftly he stashed his booty in a sack he kept tucked inside the lining of his coat. Then he eased open the doorway and slipped into the hall. The corridors were dark. He crept to the foot of the stairs. Silently, he ascended, treading only on the inside edge of each step so as not to evoke even the slightest creak.
    He reached the second-floor landing.
    As always, he headed first for the mistress’s bedchamber.
    The marchioness was deeply asleep, her door unlocked. The bandit worked swiftly, taking only the dressing case of jewels and the gold locket that lay beside it.
    Closing the door behind him, he moved across the hall to the marquis’s room.
    Gloved fingers on the door handle, the bandit paused, gazing down the corridor to the bedroom he knew to be hers. In his recurrent nightly scrutiny, he’d seen her light extinguished time and again. Hers was always the last room at Tragmore to lapse into darkness.
    What was it that kept her awake? Was it a book? A worry? Thoughts of a man?
    The questions erupted in his mind, along with another, more compelling one.
    How would she look in slumber? Would she sleep curled on her side, her hair primly braided, her body ensconced in a chaste white nightgown buttoned to the neck? Or would she be unreserved, her hair unbound, her nightgown sheer and deeply cut?
    After yesterday, he had to know.
    Before he could rethink the foolhardiness of his actions, the bandit veered away from his original mark, and headed toward her chamber. There was no excuse for his behavior, and he knew it. He should be rifling the marquis’s chambers, leaving his symbolic gem, and taking his leave. To divert from his customary methods was risky, insane. Unprecedented.
    Until now.
    Finding the door unlocked, the bandit eased inside,