She frowned, still keeping her eyes pinned to the gardens beyond. “Yes, but how did you know that? Oh, never mind.” She spun around. “You must hurry—Oh!” Gasping, she covered her eyes with one hand. “Put some clothes on. At the least, lock the blasted door. Celia and Irene are here and are liable to walk in as I did.” Oh, God. She’d walked in. Unannounced. On Lord Harlowe. She edged past the tub, keeping her eyes averted.
“Would you mind handing me my towel, my dear? Only so I don’t catch my death.”
The laughter in his voice tipped her temper. Why the devil shouldshebe embarrassed? She was a widow. She squared her shoulders, dropped her hand, and scanned the area. She located the scrap of linen on a chairnext to the tub, grabbed it, and threw it at him.
His stellar reflexes snatched it out of midair. He rose from the tub like Poseidon from the sea. “You know what I think?”
She was too stunned to move, shocked at his lack of modesty. “No,” she choked out. Could she not just sink through the floor? Could she not pull her eyes away from all his shameless beauty? The sculpted contours of his chest, the solid erected shaft jutting from the tufted hair between muscular thighs, stealing her ability to breathe. The cold air pouring in from the window did nothing to cool the fire raging over her too tight skin.
“I think you can’t resist me. I think you want to see me.”
“You-you went out last night. As Lorelei so succinctly put it, ‘you could have been set upon by cutthroats.’”
His demeanor instantly changed to something dangerous. “I needed air,” he bit out. “You are not my keeper.”
“Ah, but that is where you are wrong. I am in charge of your health and you put yourself at risk.” With the pragmatism she was known for, she considered him without blinking. “Allchildren need fresh air. I suppose that includes you.” She flung out a hand, masking her temper. “Never mind. What’s done is done. In any event, I wish to invite you to accompany us to the park.”
The danger in the room shifted to something deeper. He grinned, a wolfish flash that raised her flesh in goosebumps, her insult sailing over his head. Though he still had a ways to go, the gaunt, haunted look about him was lessening, his coloring had lost its chalkiness. And nothing, absolutely nothing looked unhealthy about the erection practically pointing at her.
“You’re referring to me as a… child?”
Among other things.“If you are so desperate for air, we leave at one o’clock,” she said, making her escape, unable to shut out the laughter following her trek back down the stairs.
Despite his midnight excursion, for the first time in months, Harlowe felt robust. A promising night’s rest and his head didn’t ache. He hadn’t suffered any nightmares or chills or cravings. Add the unexpected visit from one Maeve Pendleton, Lady Alymer, and a strange sort of exhilaration filled him.
Even the suggestion of an invasion of children didn’t deter such elation. In fact, he might just take her up on her invitation, if only to watch that color bloom in her cheeks that clashed horrendously with her ginger-colored hair. He tugged on his trousers, chuckling softly at the thought.
Rory strolled in, holding a tray of breakfast meats, strong coffee, and fresh bread. “Thought you might be ’ungry, milord.”
“I am a bit. Grab my dark green waistcoat, will you. I wish to speak with Kimpton before he is off for the day.” Rory set the tray aside and took up his coat. Harlowe shrugged into it. “I’ll hurry back.”
Harlowe reached the base of the stairs, stunned and inundated by the cloying scent of sweet apples. And no wonder, as a dire suspicion stole over him. He paused before the largest of three massive vases. He hesitated half a second, then poked about for a card. Deep within the forage, he located an impressive piece of vellum.
Lady Alymer,
Thank you for a lovely afternoon.
Yrs most sincerely, Oxford.
For an instant, Harlowe saw red to the pink and white apple blossoms filling the hall. He blinked several times to clear his vision. In an instant, the craving clawed at him—a stark harsh hunger—to sink within the depths of a draught of laudanum. Just a sip—no.This was the thinking that led to insanity. He squeezed his hand into a fist and breathed deep through his nose. He didn’t know how long he stood there—
“Harlowe, you looking for me?”
Kimpton’s voice startled him to the empty hall, the vases of flowers. “Yes. If you have a moment.” He pulled out his handkerchief and dabbed at the perspiration dotting his forehead and upper lip. He shoved the linen in his pocket before following Kimpton into his study.
Kimpton moved behind his desk and looked up. “I see you survived your late night ordeal.”
Harlowe cleared his throat. “I, uh, have some questions. Spoke to Welton last night. It jarred something in the chaos of my feeble brain,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Rowena Hollerfield.”
Kimpton groaned. “God, not her. That woman has been the bane of my existence.”
Not the reaction he’d been expecting. “What do you mean? Where is she?”
Kimpton hesitated, seeming to gauge Harlowe with some inner struggle. “Dead. Maudsley murdered her.”
Harlowe dropped into one of the Hepplewhites’ across from the desk. “You’d best start at the beginning. Just pretend I remember nothing.” Which wasn’t far from the truth.
“Rowena was a highly skilled, socially adept courtesan.” Kimpton glanced at the open door.
