She failed utterly.
She'd never been so completely
She could hear him breathing. Slow, steady breaths that she knew raised and lowered his chest. She could smell the faint scent of starch that still somehow clung to his clothing. Could feel the warmth emanating from his body. The memory of the sensation of his body pressed to hers filled her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut to block it out.
When they arrived at the town house, she nearly jumped for joy. Until he announced his intention of carrying her inside.
'You'll do nothing of the sort,' she replied in her most prim tone. 'What on earth would Elizabeth 's staff think?'
'They're all sleeping. But even if they weren't, you're not wearing shoes.'
She opened her mouth to argue further, but he forestalled her by placing a single finger over her lips. 'It's four a.m. The servants haven't arisen yet, and the members of the
With that, he slipped his arms beneath her, removed her from the carriage, then, holding her close against his chest, strode up the walkway.
She held herself rigid in his arms, refusing to admit for even a second that his touch was comforting. Pleasing. Exciting.
No, it was unwanted. Embarrassing. And the instant he released her, she silently swore that she would never allow him to touch her again.
Opening the door, he strode with her into the foyer, closing the door with a bump of his hip. Then he climbed the stairs, strode down the corridor, finally placing her gently on her feet outside her bedchamber door.
'Shall I ring for a maid to help you undress?' he asked.
Heavens, the man wasn't even out of breath, while she, who had been carried the entire way, could barely catch hers. 'N-no. I can manage.'
'In that case, I shall leave you. I'll stop round in the morning after I've visited the magistrate to report this evening's events.' He looked down at her with a serious expression, and she instantly wished for him to smile or make a jest. His grin had made her heart flutter, but this unexpected, intense look nearly stuttered it to a halt.
Her mouth went dry. She tried to look away from his compelling stare, but could not.
'I'm glad you're all right,' he said in husky whisper.
She licked her dry lips. 'Yes. You, too.'
His gaze dropped to her mouth and her breath caught. For one insane, breathless second she thought he meant to kiss her. She stood still as a statue, terrified he would. Terrified he wouldn't.
But then a lopsided grin eased across his face, breaking the spell. 'Quite an adventure we shared. Most ladies I know prefer the opera or the shops. I must say, you proved to be most skilled with my knife.' He waggled his fingers in front of her. 'Not a single one missing.'
Something warm spread through her. Warm and entirely unwelcome. She tried to stop it, but it came just the same. 'I owe you my deepest gratitude.'
He swept downward in a deep bow. 'A pleasure, my lady.' He stood and gazed down at her, an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. 'This has undeniably been an evening I won't soon forget.' His amusement faded, replaced by another intense look that froze her in place. 'But you mustn't venture out again without an escort. There are dangerous men lurking all about.'
Dear God, didn't she know it. And the most dangerous one of all stood right before her.
'Good night, Mrs. Brown.'
'Good night.' She entered her bedchamber, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Then, leaning back against the wooden surface, her eyes slid closed and she drew in a much-needed breath. In fact, the first easy breath she'd drawn in hours. He was gone. She should have been elated. Relieved. Surely she shouldn't be feeling… bereft.
Bereft? Nonsense. She was simply tired. She needed sleep. To say that today had been trying was an understatement of gargantuan proportions.
Opening her eyes, she walked toward her bed, anxious to remove her dirty gown and crawl between the sheets. Halfway across the room, she froze.
The wardrobe door stood ajar. She hadn't left it so. Had she?
Slowly her gaze panned the room. Her bed was neatly turned down, but the pillows appeared mussed. And there, on the dresser… hadn't she set her bottle of scent in the
Crossing to the wardrobe, then the dresser, she searched through her things. Nothing was missing. Had one of the servants moved the bottle and left the wardrobe ajar? Most likely… when they'd turned down the bed. She pressed her fingers to her temples where the remnants of a headache still lingered. Or perhaps she herself had been careless. Given her distracted state of mind… yes, that was certainly possible.
Still, she couldn't shake the unnerving sensation that someone had searched through her belongings.
Chapter 6
Noon the next day found Allie finishing a late, informal breakfast of eggs, ham, and thinly sliced pheasant. The hearty meal, as well as the much-needed sleep and a hot bath upon rising, left her feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. Her wrists and feet were still tender, but so much improved that she pushed the mild discomfort away. Just as a footman was filling her china cup with a second serving of coffee, Carters entered the room bearing a silver salver.
'A message for you, Mrs. Brown,' he said in his sonorous voice, holding out the gleaming tray. 'The messenger indicated no reply was expected.'
Allie accepted the missive. Was it from Elizabeth? Turning over the ivory vellum, she broke the wax seal and read the contents.
Allie reread the letter, her heart speeding up with anticipation. This news brought her one crucial step closer to ending her quest. With any luck, she would soon return the last of David's pilfered goods to its rightful owner, thus ending this long, arduous, humiliating chapter of her life.
The earl of Shelbourne. All she needed to do now was locate this man and-
'Good morning, Mrs. Brown.'
She jerked her head up. Lord Robert stood in the doorway. Dressed in a dark brown cutaway jacket and buff- colored breeches, he looked every inch the English gentleman. And much too handsome by half.
'Good morning,' she echoed, slipping her missive into the pocket of her black bombazine gown.
He approached her slowly, stopping when he stood directly across the table from her. Cupping his chin in his hand, he made a great show of looking her over, inclining his head left, then right, like an art critic studying a
