Fabrizio didn’t quite blanch, but he swallowed a bit too audibly.
And given the crimes she had witnessed Fabrizio commit in the past without so much as a flinch, the fact that Kendall inspired such fear was . . . well . . .
To be expected from a Duke of Kendall, she supposed.
Her brother had certainly become a cold beast of a man.
With a terse nod, Fabrizio slipped down the path and out the garden gate.
The garden gate that some kind servant had unlocked for him.
The same garden gate that now stood ajar.
Mmm . . . perhaps she wouldn’t require Fabrizio’s assistance to escape after all.
Allie glanced back toward Aunt Whipple, still snoring contentedly in her plump armchair.
Well, this might prove a bit too easy.
With a shrug, Allie lifted her skirts and walked briskly toward the open gate.
She had one foot in the alleyway when a Scottish voice stopped her:
“Och, making a dash for it again, are ye, lass?”
Allie barely stifled a screech.
She spun around, hand on her bosom, heart a stampeding bull in her chest.
Searching the dim shadows, she tried not to contemplate why she instantly recognized the man’s voice.
“Really, Mr. Penn-Leith, I’m starting to think you have a rather unhealthy relationship with secretive behavior. First Lord Aberdeen’s dark hallways and now my brother’s garden?”
A lovely low rumbling chuckle was the only reply she received. The sound brushed her skin like a lover’s caress, coaxing every fine hair to stand at attention.
He stepped from the shadows, his broad shoulders emerging like a thick tree branch and blocking the sun just as effectively. Even dressed simply in black trousers and a green coat, he exuded a sort of elemental charisma. As if an Olympian god had somehow made his way to Earth. Apollo, perhaps, as the god of poetry.
Allie stopped her rambling thoughts right there.
Was she . . .
Was she . . .flustered?
Oh, gracious.
She was.
Ethan Penn-Leithflusteredher.
Lady Allegra Gilbert could genuinely not remember the last time an attractive man had so thoroughly scattered her wits.
Which could be the only explanation for the sharp tone of her reply:
“What do you wish, Mr. Penn-Leith?”
If he found her words curt, he didn’t show it.
Instead, he smiled, the wretch.
