Chapter Thirteen
William strode up to the door of Lethbridge’s building, relying on the dark to obscure him from casual observation. He cast a look up and down the street, finding it empty. He would have preferred gaining entry via the window, clad as Lefthook, but when it came to the wealthier parts of town, future marquess was a better disguise than vigilante of the poor. If it came down to it, he could pretend inebriation to explain his presence where he didn’t belong. His title would take care of the rest.
Not that he was in any shape for climbing in windows, which had impeded evading the marquess’s surveillance. He’d done well enough for a man who’d hardly been able to climb the servants’ stairs the night before. In truth, the most difficult task of his day thus far had been convincing Cecilia he was fit enough to go out. If she had her way, he would have remained in bed
William would have given in to his stepmother’s coddling, but he needed to find out what was going on with the home for women. He knew, in view of his reputation, Lanora would think the worst about his absence at the theater. He wanted something to show for it before he saw her again, to make it up to her.
Assured the street was empty, William dug out a set of lock picks and let himself in. The door to Lethbridge’s office was a similarly surmountable barrier. He closed it softly behind him.
Once inside, William used memory to reach the fireplace, and stirred up the coals for light. He went from the reception room into Lethbridge’s office, finding that door open. Oddly, so was the narrow door at the back of the room, the one protecting Lethbridge’s records. In all his visits to the attorney’s office, he had never seen that door open. Intrigued, he checked that the curtains were closed and coaxed a larger flame from the grate. Assured the room was secure from escaping light, he pulled out several candle stubs and lit them.
Something slid softly across the floor in the reception room. There was a rustle of fabric. Quiet footsteps sounded. They seemed to be moving away from him, but it was hard to tell from the faint sounds. Hand on his pistol, William whirled.
“Lady Lanora?” he blurted, stunned.
She turned, appearing equally shocked. Her hair, showing lingering evidence of powder, was half down. Now that William thought to look for them, he noted several bent hairpins on the desk. She held a single page clutched in her hand. Her expression made a rapid switch from shock to cold anger.
“Lord William.” She strode toward him, shoulders back and chin up. “Perhaps you can explain this.” She slapped the page down on Lethbridge’s desk.
What in God’s name was Lady Lanora Hadler, dressed in her lowly widow’s costume and looking thoroughly disheveled, doing in Lethbridge’s office? Hot rage shot through William as he took in the details of her wrinkled gown and disarrayed tresses. He recalled her mention of hairpins.
“What are you doing here? What is the meaning of these?” He pointed to the hairpins.
She spared them a glance. “I was attempting to release the catch and let myself out.”
Let herself out? “Nothing more dire or…scandalous?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She sounded as angry as he was. “Now you tell me, what is this?” She tapped the page.
William dropped his gaze, trying to rein in his emotions. Shouting was unlikely the best course. She certainly appeared unharmed. She still tapped the page she’d slapped down on the desk. He focused on it. The marquess’s list of potential wives for William. With his signature at the bottom. She had the damn list.
Composing himself, he strove for something resembling his easy, usual manner. He leaned a hip against the desk, suppressing a wince of pain. The stitched-up hole in his side gave a bloody good impression of a knife stab. “That’s an interesting ensemble, my lady.”
“How I choose to dress is none of your concern, my lord. Nor will it ever be.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. It was a shame to abuse them so, denying their lushness. “Now explain yourself.”
William rubbed the back of his neck. Was there any way to distract her? “Explain myself? Does it occur to you that you’re in an attorney’s office, alone, in the dark?” He grinned and looked her up and down. “Well, not alone anymore.”
Her eyes grew as narrowed as her lips. She took up the page and shoved it in front of his face. “Explain this.”
No, there would be no distracting her. William grimaced. “It’s a list.” He plucked the page from her fingers and placed it behind him.
“I can see it’s a list. What is it a list of?” She put a hand to her head. “If you say names, I shall retrieve another pin and stab you.”
“The marquess has bid me marry. He had Lethbridge draw up a list of suitable candidates.”
She paled, hand dropping. “I see. So, all your talk of watching me from afar, that was a lie.”
“It most certainly was not. No man could help but admire your beauty.”
“And your talk of not truly being a rake, not carrying on with your mistress. Lies.” She’d gone so cold as to appear emotionless.
“Nothing I’ve said to you is a lie. I omitted my reason for pursuing you now, at this time. That doesn’t mean I don’t esteem you. The timing has nothing to do with my feelings for you.”
A thread of desperation snaked through him. Now that he knew her, Lady Lanora was the only possible choice. He couldn’t let her refuse him. Even his daydreams of Darington’s daughter waned in comparison to the reality of Lanora. He would not select another name. No other would ever do.
“Of all the names on that list, yours is the only one that ever interested me. I swear.”
She was so pale, even her lips lacked color. “And if my name did not appear on that list, would you have pursued me?”
