CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Danielle had paid Nigel, the footman, to ensure the back door near the servants’ staircase was left open. Having told Trevor he didn’t need to wait after assisting her with the soup, she’d spent the entire evening reading to her mother. Mama had enjoyed the soup. It made her feel better. Danielle had stayed longer, reading to her until after midnight.
Back at Lord Cavendish’s property, she flew across the alleyway like a wraith, up the back stoop, and slipped silently through the unlocked door. She was about to place her foot on the first step of the servants’ staircase when a deep voice sounded from the shadows.
“Late night, eh?”
Instinct took over. She whipped a knife from her walking boot, spun around, and braced her arm against the throat of the man standing in the darkness not a pace away from her.
“I can honestly say I’ve never in my life been more aroused than I am at this moment.”
Several seconds passed before Danielle managed to calm her pounding heart. Cade. Of course. Who else would it be?
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I’d like to ask you the same question. The other night you were merely getting a nightcap. Now you’re pulling knives? You’re an anxious one, aren’t you?” Cade drawled.
“Je suis desole.” She pulled her arm away from him, stepped back, and slipped the knife back into her boot.
“Don’t apologize. I thoroughly enjoyed it.”
“Did you?” She crossed her arms over her chest. She could see his smile in a beam of moonlight that shone through the window behind her.
“I don’t know many lady’s maids who are so—ahem—proficient with a knife. I clearly need to get out more.”
“How many lady’s maids do you know?”
“Enough.”
“Perhaps you don’t know themwellenough. A female has to be able to defend herself on the streets of London. Especially at night.”
“Which begs the next question. What were you doing out on the streets at this hour?”
Danielle sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time.” He pressed a shoulder against the wall and crossed his booted feet at the ankles.
She tilted her head. “What if I’d rather not tell it?”
“I’d respect that, but I’d ask if I could ask a different question.”
“Which is?” She pressed her hands behind her and leaned back against the door.
“Where did you learn to handle a knife like that?”
A half-smile touched her lips. “Seems we both have our secrets.”
“Secrets?”
“Where have you been tonight?” she asked.
“Ah, well, if you’re going to pry into my secrets, at least come to the library and have another drink.”
Ten minutes later, Danielle sat curled on the settee in the library across from Cade, who sat in a large leather chair. She swirled the liquid in the glass and stared into it.
“So,” he began. “How about if I promise to tell you where I was this evening if you tell me where you were?”
Did she dare tell him the truth? What if he asked questions about her mother? She’d never told anyone about her mother’s past. No one had ever asked. Cade was asking now. “Very well, you go first.”
