The Bewitching Hour by Diana Douglas Page A

misjudged him. “I would ask you for a favor, my lord.”
      “I would do most anything for you, Miss Hawthorn.
      She almost believed him. “If there’s any chance you do possess those letters, or that you might run across them, would you let me have them? I could send them to my cousin and I believe that would take care of the problem.”
      He carefully led her around a small pile of debris on the walkway. “As I told you before, I don’t have them. But even if I did, I don’t believe I would give them to you.”
      A sound of exasperation escaped her chest and she came to a stop. “For heaven's sake, why not?”
      “Once you have the letters, I might never see you again and that would make me very sad.” He gave her a mournful look. “It’s quite possible I would fall into a decline.”
      A smile tugged at her lips as she visualized him reclining on a chaise lounge with a cool compress on his forehead and a bottle of foul-tasting tonic at his side. “Good.”
      “Why, Miss Hawthorne, I’m devastated. One would think you didn’t care for me.”
      “I don’t.”
      “I hope to change that.” They walked in silence a few moments. “Do you really believe I would use these letters to ruin your cousin?”
      She shook her head slowly. “I suppose not.”
      He patted her hand. “I truly don’t remember receiving any letters from Miss Dearborn. I’ll sort through the correspondence in my files, but that’s the most I can do.”
      “I suppose I’ll have to be happy with that.”
      “Will I see you at the Danfield’s ball?”
       Drat . Of course, he would be there. She hadn't thought that far ahead. “It might be best if I didn’t attend.”
      “And why is that?”
      She glanced down before meeting his eyes. “It isn’t wise.”
      “But I so wanted to share a dance with you.”
      “That’s why it isn’t wise.”
      He grinned. “Ah, I see. Then by all means, you must attend.”
      "Perhaps." They had reached a fashionable, well kept, red brick townhouse set back a few feet from the walkway. It was four stories high and quite regal with ivory shutters and a large paneled front door with a brass knocker set in the center. She turned to him and said politely, “Thank you for escorting me home, my lord.”
      “It was my pleasure.”
      The front door opened and a black-garbed little man hovered protectively in the doorway. He looked directly at Stratton and said, “Do you need assistance with your purchases, Miss Priscilla?”
      “No, thank you, Beldon. Sally has my packages.” She looked over her shoulder. Her maid was still trailing a good distance behind them. “She’ll be here in a moment.” She lowered her voice and said to Stratton, “If I didn’t know different, I would think you had bribed her to keep so far behind us.”
      He raised his brows in mock surprise. “Miss Hawthorn! What an unjust remark to make. I’m entirely innocent of that particular misdeed.”
      “But guilty of a good many others, I’m sure,” she commented.
      “I fear you are correct in that observation. But a man can always change.” He bowed over her hand, bringing it almost to his lips.
      “One can hope,” she murmured. “Though, in this particular case, I have my doubts.”
      When he lifted his head, he was laughing. “Good day, Miss Hawthorn. I look forward to our next meeting.”
      “Good day, Lord Stratton.”
      She watched as he turned and headed cheerfully back down the street. Sally came up and stood beside her. “Sally,” she said. “There was no reason for you to lag so far behind. You might as well have not even been there.”
      Sally curtsied. “Yes, miss.”
      “Don’t let it happen again.”
      The maid grinned happily. “Yes,