“Och, insulting the Scot for his accent, are ye, lass?” Ethan deepened his brogue, leaning forward. “Say no more, my lady. I believe ye tae be English now. Though I’m well-puzzled as tae why ye were pretending tae be an Italian lady of dubious origins and accosting—”
“Would you be so kind?” She pulled a candle and candlestick from her skirts and extended them both to him.
He hefted the fine brass candlestick in his hand. “You hid this in such a lovely dress?”
“Of course.” She flashed him a grin so sunny it caused his breath to hitch. “It has pockets.”
With a flourish, she produced a box of lucifer matches, carefully extracting one.
“Why do ye need light?” Ethan asked, placing the candle into the holder. “I’m more than willing to describe my handsome face for ye.”
Though it was too dark to tell, he suspected she rolled her eyes.
“Your flirtation is relentless, Mr. Penn-Leith.”
“Thank ye.”
“But I can’t very well pick this lock in the dark now, can I?” She motioned to the delivery door at her back.
“Pardon? The key isn’t already in the lock?” Reaching around her, he inspected the bare lock and then tried the handle to no avail. “How odd. Why lock a servant’s door from the inside?”
“I assume because the Duke of Kendall ordered all the exterior doors locked or guarded tonight. This door should be one of the last areas he will search.”
She struck the match and, shielding the flame, lit the candle in Ethan’s hand.
He blinked, the sudden illumination bringing the planes of her face into focus. The candlelight loved her, lending her skin a soft pearlescence and catching in her silvery eyes.
Bloody hell, but she was bonnie.
It took him a moment to process what she had just said.
“Search? And did ye sayKendall?” Ethan squinted at her. “Why would the Duke of Kendall order Lord Aberdeen tae lock all his doors?”
Her fine eyebrows winged upward. “To prevent me from escaping, of course.”
“Pardon?”
“Tristan is a controlling arse at the best of times.” She twisted and began to rustle through another pocket.
“Tristan?” Ethan struggled to follow the thread of her conversation. “Who the devil is Tristan?”
She paused and then, rolling her free hand, continued on a sigh, “Tristan Gilbert. Duke of Kendall. The boorishly arrogant halfwit with whom I once, unfortunately, shared a womb. You know,thatTristan.”
She pulled a long pouch that clanked with tools from her pocket and, leaning into the light, began rifling through it.
Ethan stared at the crown of her lovely head for several seconds, his mouth slightly ajar.
He counted to six before his brain managed to fit all the puzzle pieces together.
“Ye be Kendall’s twin sister.” Ethan could hear the surprise in his voice. “Lady Allegra Gilbert.”
“In the flesh, unfortunately.” She turned to the locked door. “Give me five minutes, however, and I will be but another memory for a poem to make women swoon.” She tapped the door frame beside her head. “Would you be so kind as to hold the candle just here?”
Stepping into the fullness of her skirts, Ethan obliged. Her perfume intoxicated him, exotic jasmine and ambergris. No pedestrian rose water or lavender oil for hisladra. . . ehr, Lady Allegra.
His mind whirled, trying to merge the persona of his weeladrawith what he knew of Kendall’s twin sister. Uncle Leith had mentioned something last week about Lady Allegra having accompanied her brother to London. For years, she had been living with her mother’s relatives on the Continent, but that was all anyone knew. This was to be her first London Season.
For her part, Lady Allegra began expertly setting pins in the lock.
