Jo Beverley - [Malloren] by Secrets of the Night Page A

up with, “What if we passed on a street one day, or met at an assembly? I’d rather you not be able to recognize me.” Thinking of a phrase Diana sometimes used, she added, “It’s a foible, sir. Humor me.”
    And it worked. Shrugging, he said, “I owe you my life, so I will certainly humor you.” He glanced up. “In all ways.”
    Even though this was what she wanted, Rosamunde almost squeaked like a cornered mouse.
    She watched as he ate, until he pushed away the tray. “That does seem to be staying inside, but I’m afraid I still don’t feel I can do you credit. Is there any chance of the toothbrush?” He rubbed his hand along his jaw. “And a razor would be a blessing.”
    At these prosaic requests, Rosamunde wanted to burst into tears. Next he’d be making an appointment for, say, half-past-one in the afternoon!
    After a moment she managed, “Of course. You can borrow my toothbrush and powder, and I’ll have warm water brought for washing. I’m not sure about the razor.”
    “Doesn’t your husband shave?”
    Oh, Lud. How to answer that? “Of course. But he’s away. He’s doubtless taken all his razors with him. But I’ll check!”
    She escaped then, locking the door as if he might come after her. No chance of that! He was doubtless delaying in the hope that she’d change her mind.
    And he’d guessed about the wrong name. Butterflies and billhooks! Whatever he was, he was no fool. She leaned back against the paneled wall, hand to chest. Diana had been right. The masquerade would have been
much
simpler.
    She didn’t, however, regret this course.
    That searing vision of his almost-naked form made her not regret it at all. Her feelings were truly wicked, but if she had to do this thing, she wanted to do it with her handsome wastrel.
    She took off her mask and stuffed it in her pocket, then rubbed her face in the hope of clearing up any marks. After a check in a mirror, she hurried down to the kitchen to order Millie to take him the toothbrush, tooth powder, and warm water for washing. “Oh, and he managed to knock a glass on the floor in the night, so clean it up carefully. Don’t leave any bits.” She turned to the housekeeper. “Mrs. Yockenthwait, can we find a razor for him?”
    “Are you sure you want to give a man like that a blade, milady?”
    “He’s harmless.” Even as she said it, Rosamunde knew it wasn’t true. He wouldn’t take the razor on a murderous rampage, but something dangerous wove about this Mr. Malloren. Drawn though she was, like a fly to a spider’s web, she’d feel safer once he’d done the necessary and disappeared from her life.
    Safer, but not necessarily happier.
    Mrs. Yockenthwait provided her husband’s razor, and Rosamunde quietly reminded Millie of the deception before sending her upstairs with the water and blade. She wanted to go herself, but it would look peculiar. Meanwhile, she searched for a way to keep the housekeeper from paying him a visit.
    She’d still not found a plausible excuse when a plump young woman burst into the kitchen, red-faced and panting. “Auntie Hester! Auntie Hester! Carrie’s having the baby!”
    Then the lass saw Rosamunde. “Milady!” She bobbed a curtsy.
    “My niece Dilly Beckworth,” said Mrs. Yockenthwait, frowning. “Well, and this has come at an awkward time. I said I’d go and help, but …”
    “But you must!” Rosamunde insisted, trying not to sound as relieved as she felt. “Jessie can take care of things here, with Millie to help. Quite likely I’ll be on my way later today, anyway.”
    After a moment, Mrs. Yockenthwait nodded. “Right you are then. And you can always send up to the big house if you need aught. I’ll just get some things.”
    She marched off, and her niece fidgeted around the kitchen.
    “Is Carrie your sister, Dilly?” Rosamunde asked to put her at ease, and to cover a whole new set of alarming thoughts.
    The girl curtsied. “Yes, milady. And it’s her first.”
    “I hope all