pocket and set it down on his desk next to the burning candle.
Elizabeth had undeniable backbone. Ian shook his head as he
remembered the spirited sprite barging in with a poker. Even in the shadows, he
could make out dozens of dark patches adorning her face. He wished the clouds
and trees hadn’t obstructed the moonlight so Elizabeth would have been
illuminated.
Obviously, she was a poor
relation dropping in for a visit, an aunt or cousin from somewhere else. Ian
had never heard of her joining Miss Kinsey about town. Who knew what her true
features were – or what the hell she’d been doing awake.
Ian leaned across the immaculate
desk and peered into the mirror. Steady pressure had carved an indentation on
his skin in the shape of the mask. Thank God he’d been wearing it.
She was a refreshing departure
from his jaded expectations of London women. He had assumed all tonnish women were hard, self-serving, and shallow – much like her cynical cousin or
niece, Alicia Kinsey. Perhaps being poor kept her from the ballrooms, safe from
the influence of the ton . Perhaps she preferred the country, as did he.
With effort, Ian tugged off his
right boot and placed it against the wall.
Asking to see her again had been
a stroke of genius. The query lent a level of credibility to his claims of
selfless desperation. If she was as idealistic a romantic as she appeared,
perhaps she’d keep the truth of his unexpected visit to herself. In that case,
he could return another night and search the house at his leisure.
After another struggle, he pried
off his left boot and stood it next to its mate.
On the other hand, perhaps only a
fool would have suggested a future midnight rendezvous. Thank God she’d said
no. A lonely young woman might have nothing better to do than haunt the halls
and wait for him, making further reconnaissance all the more risky.
Ian stretched his long legs and
flexed his tired feet.
The first rays of sun slanted
through the crack between his window curtains. Tiny specks of dust danced in
the band of light. Ian stood and lifted the pane. The earthy scent of
rain-soaked soil permeated the air from the gardens, as did the less pleasant
smell of horse manure in the street. A carriage rumbled past on the road below.
The world was waking, but he needed sleep. He had to stay at top form to be
successful with the investigation.
* * *
Groggily, Alicia opened her eyes.
Sunlight barreled through the opened curtains, momentarily blinding her. She’d
missed breakfast. If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss luncheon as well. Alicia
threw off her covers. She swung her feet to the cold floor and rang for her
maid.
Last night seemed like a dream, a wild, bizarre
dream. She could barely believe she’d rushed in rather than raise the hue and
cry, although she was glad she’d stayed calm. After all, no harm had been done.
She nodded sharply, feeling vindicated. Nothing would come of it.
Mentioning the intrusion would
certainly be a self-defeating action. No sense spiting herself. Despite
wrecking her plans, she’d mark herself ruined if she were discovered cavorting
unchaperoned with an unidentified man. She needed an eligible gentleman, not a
masked robber.
“M’lady?” came the voice of
Jenny, her maid.
She turned to see the girl
shifting her weight in the doorway. “Yes?”
“I’ve brought some hot water up.
I’ll be back with more in a moment.”
“Thank you.”
Alicia closed her eyes and
visualized the captivating image cut by the mysterious visitor. Rogue. He was
charming. Dashing. Impossible. Alicia sighed. It wouldn’t do to harbor
impractical dreams about someone so unsuitable. So debonair. So fascinating.
Gooseflesh raced up her bare
arms. If someone had to thwart her plans, at least it was a someone like him.
She’d never before been the recipient of such honest interest. Well, perhaps
from Ian Morrissey. But Mr. Morrissey, although himself handsome,
Elizabeth had undeniable backbone. Ian shook his head as he
remembered the spirited sprite barging in with a poker. Even in the shadows, he
could make out dozens of dark patches adorning her face. He wished the clouds
and trees hadn’t obstructed the moonlight so Elizabeth would have been
illuminated.
Obviously, she was a poor
relation dropping in for a visit, an aunt or cousin from somewhere else. Ian
had never heard of her joining Miss Kinsey about town. Who knew what her true
features were – or what the hell she’d been doing awake.
Ian leaned across the immaculate
desk and peered into the mirror. Steady pressure had carved an indentation on
his skin in the shape of the mask. Thank God he’d been wearing it.
She was a refreshing departure
from his jaded expectations of London women. He had assumed all tonnish women were hard, self-serving, and shallow – much like her cynical cousin or
niece, Alicia Kinsey. Perhaps being poor kept her from the ballrooms, safe from
the influence of the ton . Perhaps she preferred the country, as did he.
With effort, Ian tugged off his
right boot and placed it against the wall.
Asking to see her again had been
a stroke of genius. The query lent a level of credibility to his claims of
selfless desperation. If she was as idealistic a romantic as she appeared,
perhaps she’d keep the truth of his unexpected visit to herself. In that case,
he could return another night and search the house at his leisure.
After another struggle, he pried
off his left boot and stood it next to its mate.
On the other hand, perhaps only a
fool would have suggested a future midnight rendezvous. Thank God she’d said
no. A lonely young woman might have nothing better to do than haunt the halls
and wait for him, making further reconnaissance all the more risky.
Ian stretched his long legs and
flexed his tired feet.
The first rays of sun slanted
through the crack between his window curtains. Tiny specks of dust danced in
the band of light. Ian stood and lifted the pane. The earthy scent of
rain-soaked soil permeated the air from the gardens, as did the less pleasant
smell of horse manure in the street. A carriage rumbled past on the road below.
The world was waking, but he needed sleep. He had to stay at top form to be
successful with the investigation.
* * *
Groggily, Alicia opened her eyes.
Sunlight barreled through the opened curtains, momentarily blinding her. She’d
missed breakfast. If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss luncheon as well. Alicia
threw off her covers. She swung her feet to the cold floor and rang for her
maid.
Last night seemed like a dream, a wild, bizarre
dream. She could barely believe she’d rushed in rather than raise the hue and
cry, although she was glad she’d stayed calm. After all, no harm had been done.
She nodded sharply, feeling vindicated. Nothing would come of it.
Mentioning the intrusion would
certainly be a self-defeating action. No sense spiting herself. Despite
wrecking her plans, she’d mark herself ruined if she were discovered cavorting
unchaperoned with an unidentified man. She needed an eligible gentleman, not a
masked robber.
“M’lady?” came the voice of
Jenny, her maid.
She turned to see the girl
shifting her weight in the doorway. “Yes?”
“I’ve brought some hot water up.
I’ll be back with more in a moment.”
“Thank you.”
Alicia closed her eyes and
visualized the captivating image cut by the mysterious visitor. Rogue. He was
charming. Dashing. Impossible. Alicia sighed. It wouldn’t do to harbor
impractical dreams about someone so unsuitable. So debonair. So fascinating.
Gooseflesh raced up her bare
arms. If someone had to thwart her plans, at least it was a someone like him.
She’d never before been the recipient of such honest interest. Well, perhaps
from Ian Morrissey. But Mr. Morrissey, although himself handsome,
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