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.
CHAPTER FOUR
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
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.
CHAPTER FOUR
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
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