Mistletoe and Mischief by Patricia Wynn Page B

word to anyone about this--even to my sister. We must protect Lord Wroxton's reputation.”
    As the maid giggled, Charles swelled with suppressed indignation.
    “Yessir, your lordship. I'll not breathe a word,” she said, giving Charles a roguish look.
    After this, Charles escaped as soon as he could. He was relieved to be away from Ned and his mocking laughter.
    But on the way back to the inn, he reflected that the visit had not been so bad, after all. He chuckled a bit when he remembered that episode at school with the portrait. Funny that he had forgotten.
    The fire from Ned's cognac, and an occasional laugh over one of Ned's outrageous remarks, warmed him as he made his way back to The Crown and Pear.
     
    Chapter Four
     
    Louisa had every intention of staying out of mischief while Charles was gone.
    She knew how dreadfully she had imposed on his kindness, and she meant to see that his reputation came to no harm because of her. The truth was that the notion of forcing herself on a stranger was as distasteful to her as it was to Charles. But she was not one to shrink from what was necessary.
    When she had seen Charles standing alone in the falling snow, an impatient frown on his lean, sensitive face, she knew her chance had come. Then she overheard the ostlers talking behind her in the stables. It needed only for one to mention that Charles was a marquess for her to be certain she could do no better in her choice of saviour.
    And indeed, she thought as she sat in the Spadgers' parlour, she had done very well. Aside from his tendency to be a little stiff with her at first–for which she could not, in justice, blame him–Charles had proven to be all concern for her comfort. Just the thought of his riding out on this cold night to obtain a chaperone for her made her heart swell with gratitude. She was sorry he had to venture out in such dismal weather. But Louisa was not one to exaggerate the dangers of such a mission. She simply hoped his headache would not recur.
    In an endeavour not to be the cause of such an affliction, she determined she would sit quietly without entertainment, ready to order a punch for him on his return. She had no sewing to occupy her hands, and she preferred to wait to dine with Charles. The Spadgers, quite naturally, had nothing on hand for her to read.
    The clock outside in the hall ticked monotonously. After a good half hour of sitting with her hands in her lap, Louisa began to fidget. She decided it would do no harm for her to draw a chair up to the window. That way she could look out on the snow, if nothing else; she might even see Charles returning before the Spadgers did, so she could alert them to his arrival.
    She found she was most anxious for Charles's comfort. Even she, with her little knowledge of men, could tell how strained he had been when she first met him. She suspected he had a regrettable tendency to overwork.
    She crossed the room and pulled a different chair to a spot before the window. Heavy curtains shrouded the glass to block draughts. Louisa parted them just enough to peer out. The snow had started to fall again, but not so heavily that she had any fears for their departure on the morrow. By the light from the inn's lanterns, she could see that the coating on the ground was much too thin and the snow much too fine for there to be any danger of their bogging down on the road.
    Just then, a wrenching howl cut into the silence, followed by a canine whimper and a yip. Louisa jumped, then wiped the fog off the glass with her glove and strained to see farther into the yard.
    This corner of the parlour faced the road. Dim light shone from the Spadgers' lamp, casting a beam in the shape of a wedge out onto the pavement.
    At first, Louisa saw nothing. She was about to wipe the pane again when something in the shadows caught her eye. She pressed her face to the window just as another howl of pain echoed down the street. Some creature was evidently in torment.
    Louisa spat on her