"Where are the servants?" he demanded.
"Asleep at this time of night," the man answered. Elyse remembered he'd been introduced as St. James’ uncle.
"Nothing is to be said of this to anyone! Is that clear?"
"Of course."
After giving more instructions, St. James turned toward the staircase. Any objections she might have voiced were quickly forgotten as Elyse struggled to keep her feet under her and navigate the stairs without falling.
As they reached the top landing, St. James paused, then pulled her along behind him, opened a door, and propelled her into a room. She immediately whirled around.
"What do you think you're doing?"
He turned up the gas lamp on the wall, that gray gaze locking with hers and then slowly lowering to take in slender bare legs before traveling back up to her face.
"You'll have to spend the night here," he informed her, as if it was nothing unusual for him to return home at the end of an evening with a woman and then drag her up to his bedroom.
His long slow perusal had done nothing to improve Elyse's humor. She squared her slender shoulders. "No. I won't," she responded with equal determination. "I appreciate your getting me out of there this evening, but I now insist upon returning home."
"Home?" Zach mused thoughtfully. "Dressed like that?" He gestured to her odd costume.
"I can't believe that you're concerned for my reputation."
"Not at all," he told her.
Elyse's eyes flashed with anger. "I want to go home. Now!"
"I assure you, I'd like nothing better. But under the present circumstances, it's impossible. Unless, of course," he added, with a maddeningly arrogant lift of his brow, "you've made other arrangements for the evening." Then added, "Just what were your plans for returning home this evening, Miss Winslow?"
She stiffened at the condescending tone in his voice. "Lucy and I were to return to her house," she informed him. "But that was before you intruded with that ridiculous scheme involving Fatima."
"And I suppose you hold me to blame for everything else that happened this evening?" St. James replied.
"If you hadn't interfered, I would have gotten out well ahead of the police."
Zach leaned back against the doorway. "Is that so?"
"Yes."
A maddening smile curved his handsome lips, and despite their tumbling about in the coach the eye-patch was still firmly in place and emphasized the impression of a pirate.
"That's where you're wrong, my dear," he informed her calmly. "When I arranged that little scene with Fatima, Maitland had already discovered his wife's part in this little game of yours."
Elyse swallowed. He had obviously overheard their exchange as Lucy and Andrew were leaving.
"He didn't seem amused by your little escapade. There's every possibility that you won't be a welcome guest in his home this evening."
He was right, of course. It would be weeks before Andrew spoke to her again. The evening was a complete fiasco. She'd have to make it up to Lucy. But not tonight. She had another problem, a very serious one.
"Then, you'll just have to take me home," she insisted, aggravated by his arrogant attitude and by the fact that he was absolutely right about the outcome of the evening.
"And return you to your grandmother's loving arms dressed like that?" He gestured to her bare legs and his once-immaculate evening jacket, now soiled from their crawling along hidden passages and running through dingy alleys.
"I hardly think so," St. James continued. "She'll take one look at you and Barrington will be over here with a pistol to defend your honor. No thank you. I have business with Barrington, and I'll not see it jeopardized simply because you haven't more sense than to go where you're not invited.”
He continued when she would have argued that point. "And furthermore, the streets of London are crawling with police. They're questioning everyone they see, trying to find the murderer. If I tried to get you home at this time of night, I guarantee we'd be stopped, and I don't want to have to explain your current state of undress to the authorities. So, you see, you have no choice but to remain here for the night." He turned in the doorway, one hand resting casually on the knob.
"I think you'll be comfortable, and we'll see what’s to be done about you in the morning."
