“I’m twenty-two, sir, and not on the shelf yet.”
Younger than he’d thought, given her poise. “You’re just old enough to know your own mind and clever enough to question the claims of shabbily dressed strangers who accost you on terraces.”
That made her laugh, thank God. “You were privy to those letters?”
“Of course. Douglas is my friend as well as compatriot. We often read our correspondence from home to each other. Surely you and Miss Nickman did the same. If I remember correctly, you live in the same household.”
“Yes, and we’re as close as sisters.”
“Well, Douglas and I are as close as brothers. Kitty’s letters and those of my own family were all that kept us sane during the long weeks between battles.”
With a secretive smile, she stared back into the emptying ballroom. “You enjoyed Kitty’s letters, did you?”
“Indeed we did. Sometimes laughter is difficult to come by in an armed camp.”
“I’m sure that’s true, Colonel,” she said in a melodious voice.
God help him. That voice would charm thieves.
Remember why you’re here.
Right. He should press her again on the subject of her cousin. “Now that we’ve dispensed with the formalities, would you be so kind as to introduce me to Douglas’s sister so that I may pass on her brother’s message in person?”
She blinked, as if startled out of some reverie. “Of course. If you’ll just follow me inside, we’ll go look for her.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Why?”
Because he didn’t want to encounter Malet before he could warn Miss Nickman of the man’s true intentions.
Not that he could tellMiss Islesthat. He wasn’t sure where her loyalties lay. “I’m in mourning.” For emphasis, he tugged on his black armband. “Joining the ball would be grossly inappropriate.”
“Do forgive me, sir. I forgot . . . That is, I temporarily didn’t remember. . .” She dragged in a steadying breath. “Please accept my condolences on the recent death of your father.”
“Thank you,” Heywood said, not sure what more to say. Though he hadn’t lived at home in years—hadn’t even been able to visit his family for more than brief stretches—he nonetheless felt the loss of his father like the ache of a phantom limb. The idea that Father was beyond his reach plagued him.
Still, he’d seen a great deal of death since Father had bought him a commission in the Hussars at sixteen, so he’d learned how to shove his pain inside his box of memories so he could continue his missions.
“In any case, if you wouldn’t mind finding your cousin—” he began.
She colored. “Of course. She can’t have gone far. Shall I fetch my aunt as well?”
“If you wish. But the message is primarily for your cousin.”
“I see. Well then, I’ll just bring Kitty.” She cast him a rueful smile. “Aunt Virginia doesn’t like being pulled away from the whist table. She gets to play in company so rarely.” Miss Isles opened the French doors. “I’ll return shortly.”
He peered inside, watching as the lady passed the massive hearth with its merrily burning Yule log and then disappeared through a door. Now he could only wait.
There were no stars, and the air felt thick with the promise of snow. He hoped it held off until he spoke with Kitty Nickman and possibly her mother. He very much feared that the women might already have fallen prey to Malet’s sly flatteries.
If that was the case, Heywood would lay out what he knew of the man and pray that they trusted his and Douglas’s judgment. He felt fairly certain he could at least convince Miss Isles. She seemed sensible enough to recognize, once the facts were presented to her, that Malet was the worst sort of scoundrel.
A murmur of voices below the terrace caught his attention. “When you bring my rig around,” a man said, “park it here, below the terrace. The moment I come down these steps with Miss Nickman, you must be ready to leave.”
Heywood scowled. Speak of the devil. That was Malet’s voice.
“Yes, Captain,” said his coachman. “What about her mother and Miss Isles?”
