The desire to groan increased. Before she could overthink, she reached up and kissed him lightly, cupping his face in her hands and holding him still as she drew her teeth across his bottom lip. His breath caught.
“A promise,” she said, breaking away. “For later.” Then, before the blush on her face could reveal how awkward she felt, she fled into her dressing room and shut the door, leaning against it and closing her eyes as she remembered precisely how his mouth had felt against hers. The ghost of his hands as they had come to cup her elbows and draw her into him.
The night before his accident, he had looked at her as though she was the only thing in his world; as though the sun could have burnt and died and stopped shining, and he might never have noticed.
She wanted him to look at her like that again.
She changed quickly and reached the dining room before Nathanial. When he appeared, his movements were stiff, and she wished they had just taken a tray in her room. The journey had suppressed her appetite, and despite the feast before them—honey-roasted duck, vegetables smothered in butter, fish and parsley, sweet and savoury pies—nothing tempted her.
“Excuse me, Your Grace.” Jarvis approached her with a note on a silver tray. “This arrived just now. The boy insisted I deliver it immediately.”
Theo frowned as she plucked the single sheet from the tray. No one even knew she was back, but the implication was of urgency.
Was her family sick?
“Thank you, Jarvis,” she said, dismissing him with a smile she didn’t feel. Her fingers only marginally shaky, she ripped open the wafer and read the few lines written in elegant, faintly familiar script.
My dear Duchess,it read.
No doubt you must be understandably worried about your husband’s health in the light of recent events. Believe me when I say they are unconnected to your recent illness.
If you should like to know more, meet me at Victoria Gate tomorrow morning at eight, and I shall tell you everything I know. Come alone.
I remain your loyal servant,
A Friend.
Theo stared at it blankly, reading it again but more slowly. A friend? What friend did she have who would refuse to put their name?
And their claim to know something about Nathanial’s attempted murder . . . Could it be true? Did this person have the key to unlocking this entire mystery? Or was this merely a hoax, to either waste her time or put her in some danger? After all, shehadbeen poisoned.
But the streets would not be empty at eight o’clock, even in the morning. There would be witnesses, and Victoria Gate led into Hyde Park, which was hardly an inconspicuous location.
She would be foolish to even consider it. The note was almost certainly a trap.
“Theo?” Nathanial asked, a sharp note to his voice. She glanced up, noting as she did the paleness of his face and the strain in his eyes. This was probably not the first time he had said her name.
The choice whether to tell him or not was made before she’d even considered it. Nathanial could never know about this note. Not when telling him would result in him forbidding her to leave the house, most probably, and hurting himself to discover the letter-writer.
She hadn’t yet decided ifshewas going to obey the letter’s summons, but if she did, she would at least make that decision herself.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said airily, folding the letter again. Her voice didn’t quite obey her, and her fingers shook like autumn leaves in a wind, so she gave him a bland smile she hated. “Annabelle writes asking if I can visit her tomorrow.”
“How did she know you would be back?” The suspicion hadn’t lightened on his face.
“Oh, I wrote to her a few days ago suggesting we might set off soon. Perhaps she saw the carriage, or delivered the note here in hope.”
“Is there something wrong with your family? Your mother’s health, perhaps?”
Theo’s heart lurched uncomfortably against her chest. How many lies would she have to tell? She wasn’t even particularlygoodat lying. “My mother has a trifling cold and wishes to see me. This is the longest I’ve ever been away from home, you see.” She kept her voice light, and eventually Nathanial turned back to his plate, a frown pulling at his mouth.
As soon as this was over, she would tell him everything, and while he would probably be angry—well, there was no ‘probably’ about it; hewouldbe angry—she would have relieved her soul of its burdens and they would be free to live their lives without the threat of danger lurking overhead.
“You seem distracted,” Nathanial said as the meal finally ended. “Is your mother’s health worse than you’re letting on?”
“Unlikely.” Theo’s smile was lamentably fake. Why had she never learnt that young lady’s trick of lying through her teeth? “But Annabelle does love to worry.”
“And you?” he asked, his gaze piercing. “Do you love to worry?”
