‘And strike here next time,’ he said quietly. ‘Done correctly, it would prove fatal.’
His warm body brushed against hers as he stood behind her, and she swallowed as a betraying flutter stirred in her stomach.
Charlotte stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.
Releasing her at last, Lord Stanley stepped back and folded his arms once more, every trace of disarray suddenly replaced by cool composure.
Entirely sober.
The poker slipped from her fingers and struck the floor with a loud clatter.
‘You,’ she said accusingly, ‘are not drunk.’
‘Correct.’
‘You have been pretending this entire time.’
‘Yes.’
‘But Holden—your drinks—’
‘Cold tea and grape juice.’ He grimaced faintly. ‘Vile stuff, but necessary for my charade.’
Charlotte stared at him in disbelief.
‘Cold tea,’ she echoed numbly. ‘I risked life and limb amongst degenerates while you have been sipping luncheon refreshments?’
To her fury, he had the audacity to look amused.
‘Now it is high time you explain yourself, Miss Walker.’
Charlotte gasped upon hearing her real name.
‘I am Anne—’
He cocked his head.
She faltered.
Her game was up.
‘We switched places,’ she admitted, heat creeping into her cheeks. ‘Anne was meant to come. I took her place. But how did you—?’
‘How did I know you were hiding under my nose?’ he finished smoothly. ‘Well, when I saw the lower half of your face in the schoolroom—remarkably similar to the young woman I had been searching for—I began to suspect.’
‘Oh.’
Striding to his desk, he opened a locked drawer and withdrew a letter. Charlotte recognised it immediately.
It was her own.
‘I was certain once I compared your handwriting to the invitations you penned.’
Charlotte rocked slightly on her feet, feeling thoroughly foolish.
Lord Stanley stepped closer, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, his jaw tight with restrained amusement.
‘Then I instructed my Bow Street Runners to track down one of Charlotte Walker’s acquaintances—namely Anne Lucas, who, when questioned, professed no knowledge whatsoever of your whereabouts.’
