But no good would come from pursuing her. Ethan’s attentions would only upset his uncle, anger Kendall, and risk exposing Lady Allegra’s identity as the highwaywoman from “One Kiss Alone.”
If that happened, she would be ruined, shunned by Polite Society.
No. He would never forgive himself for harming her so.
And so, Ethan forcibly set Lady Allegra from his mind and went about his week.
Well, as much as was possible.
The report inThe London Revelerspread like wildfire. The crowd of reporters had grown from six to nine to twelve at last count and prevented Ethan from leaving the townhouse.
His celebrity was like a slowly expanding prison, restricting his movements one golden chain at a time. It felt almost blasphemous to bemoan his fate. After all, his fame fueled sales of his books which, in turn, lined his pockets. And yet, the lonely days spent in the silence of his uncle’s drawing-room—the mantle clock ticking away the hours—weighed upon him.
Finally three days after the report in the broadsheets, Ethan could suffer his isolation no longer. Aside from being desperate for fresh air and a change of scenery, he had meetings with his publisher and tailor that could not be postponed.
To that end, he slipped out the servant’s entrance of the townhouse at first light, a hat pulled low to hide his face.
Hours later, his tasks completed, Ethan walked back through Mayfair toward his uncle’s residence, head tucked down, every movement of his body saying,Ignore me. I am no one. The experience on Regent Street had been harrowing enough and that had occurred before this lateston dit.
All was going well until he crossed Grosvenor Square—the heart of Mayfair.
Here, the city mansions of the most powerful families in Britain stood at attention around a wide, fenced garden. Naturally, Gilbert House—the town residence of the Dukes of Kendall—occupied a prominent position with its impressive three-storied portico and imposing pediment.
Skirting along the edges of the large square, Ethan stared at Gilbert House, pondering against his better judgment what Lady Allegra might be doing today. Was she lonely, like him, in her marble cage?WasKendall keeping her prisoner?
And was she the informant behind the information leaked to the newspaper? Or was she, like Ethan, fearful that her identity would be uncovered?
As he stood staring at the edifice, a furtive movement to the right caught his eye.
A man with dark hair and a foreign air slipped into the narrow alleyway beside Gilbert House.
Ethan couldn’t say why the man’s actions struck him as sinister. The sun sat high in the sky, and maids and footmen in livery rushed to and fro on their employers’ business.
But the man’s manner and dress were decidedly not that of a servant, and, well . . . he slithered. There was no better word to describe the motion.
Squinting, Ethan watched for a long moment as the man crept forward,slitheringalong the wall of Gilbert House.
Was he . . .
Was the man familiar?
Ethan rather thought he was.
In fact, the man bore a strong resemblance to thebanditowho had slapped Ethan before galloping off with Lady Allegra that day in Italy.
What had been the man’s name? Fabrizio?
As Ethan watched, the man tentatively opened an iron gate that led to the back garden of Gilbert House, giving Ethan a clearer view of his face.
Yes. It had to be the same man—Fabrizio.
Frowning, Ethan hesitated.
He knew he should keep walking. Lady Allegra was none of his concern. The Italian had been her compatriot in the past and was perhaps intent on helping her escape Kendall’s opulent prison.
And yet . . .
Shouldn’t that garden gate have been locked? If Lady Allegra had the key to let the man in, she likely would have already used it to escape under the cover of darkness. So why was the Italian entering in broad daylight?
