The bottoms of her feet began to itch, the brush of the fabric too much to bear. She would have to step onto the cold wood floor. It wasn’t as hard as stone, but it soothed her as she put her weight down. No skeletal remains could grab her here. She was on the second floor standing on wood. She was safe from the dead here.
Or so she told herself.
With nothing else to do, she wandered to the window. The window was shut, the curtains wispy things that did little to ease the draft. Fortunately, it was spring, and the night air would be welcome. Plus, she loved moonlight and she so rarely saw it in London. There were too many clouds here, too much smoke.
She pulled the curtains aside and swung open the window, then lifted her face to the moon. It was half-sized tonight, way up in the sky, and half gone. And yet looking up at it reminded her of her mother. Of reading books by moonlight and memorizing rhymes of healing or worship. Men called it spells and witchcraft, but she knew them to be prayers to the beauty of the land and the grace of being alive.
She recited one now about the black sky above and the green shoots below. Scotland would be coming alive now as spring took hold. She would smell life in the air and not the constant soot of London.
Seven verses tripped off her tongue. Seven blessings to keep away sorrow. And seven wishes to water her soul. And when she was done, she felt better. Not exactly strong, but more herself.
Only then did she look down and see the man in the shadows. She wouldn’t have known him except for the dark red burn of his cheroot. A cursed man’s eye, she thought, and she jumped back, her heart racing in terror. That one red burn brought back every horror of her nightmare.
She scrambled back onto her bed, her skin prickling with goosebumps. She wanted to hide but the touch of fabric brought back the grip of skeletons on her flesh. What was he doing staring up at her window? Why would anyone stand in the shadows and smoke?
It took several minutes before her terror eased. Several long moments before reason fought back her nightmare. But once logic replaced feeling, new fears surged in her mind. Was someone watching the house? Watching her? Or had she simply surprised someone poor laborer taking a rest in the dark?
It was long, long minutes before she realized she’d been standing there naked, silhouetted in moonlight. Whatever would she do if someone told? The countess would toss her out for sure. No pure woman stood naked in a window.
Where would she go if she couldn’t live here? How would she survive?
Was the man still there? Maybe she had imagined him. It could have been a trick of the light. It could have been a stranger taking advantage of an accidental moment and no one would be the wiser. Perhaps he was wondering if he had imagined her standing there.
She had to see if he was there. She had to know if it was someone who might tell.
She grabbed her night rail and pulled it on, though the fabric made her skin crawl. She pulled a wrapper on top of that, though the weight of it whispered of being dragged down into the dirt to die. She wrapped it around her tightly and kept hold of her sanity by force of will.
This was not a dream. This was reality and she would live in this moment. Once she was properly covered, she crept her way to the window and peeked out.
He was still there.
Worse, he had come out of the shadows to stand beneath the streetlight. She couldn’t read his expression from this distance. It could have been anything from reverent to mocking. But he held his hat in his hand now, rather than the cheroot. And he looked straight up at her.
Mr. Reuben Bates.
She didn’t know what to do. Did she hide and pretend he wasn’t there? Did she slam the shutters closed as if that would protect her from him?
Boldness was the only way through now. Hiding would accomplish nothing. She would know what he wanted, even if it was to torment her with the knowledge that he had seen more of her than any decent woman would expose.
She stepped to the window. Her hands were shaking as she appeared now, all but swaddled from head to toe. She heard his response. It was clear as day on this silent street. A whistle of appreciation as he lifted his hat to her. He was just beginning to bow when something else caught her attention.
Another shadow, another man. A big one who dislodged a stone as he moved. Good God, were the nighttime streets of London teeming with people?
Mr. Bates must have heard it, too. Halfway through his bow, he took off running. Not away from the shadow, but toward it as if to catch him. The big one ran fast as well. Down an alleyway and out of sight.
Damn it, who was it? Why was everyone sitting outside her house staring up at her? She pulled the window shut before dropping her head against the cool pane. Would she ever be free of people watching her? Would she ever be safe?
Chapter Four
Reuben’s cock wasthrobbing, and his mind overflowed with visions of Miss Iseabail Spalding naked in the moonlight. But he still heard the noise and reacted with the ease of long practice.
He ran straight at the interloper.
The man was too large for speed and no match for Reuben on a straightaway. But in the twisting alleyways of London, he could be evasive, especially if he was lucky.
The bastard led Reuben on a merry chase up and around for several streets while Reuben started categorizing what he knew about his prey. He was quick for a man his size, understood the London streets, and likely able to defend himself if it came to blows. But he obviously preferred anonymity over confrontation, which meant he was smart.
Fortunately, Reuben was smarter in that he knew how to stop and listen. A big man had to breathe hard after so much dashing around. Reuben found him with his hat over his mouth behind a pile of rubbish.
