And yet there he was, gazing up at the massive town house, counting the windows until he found the right one. He crouched behind a budded hedge and patted around for an item to throw. A rock was too heavy, and even pebbles a bit dubious. He could not afford a new window nor repair one himself—scrub one, yes; fix one, no. But a twig wouldn’t have the right impact.
So a pebble it had to be. He rolled one in his palm as he stood, then cranked back his shoulder and took aim.
Thump.
Nothing happened.
She was home, right?
A single, soft candle glowed in the assigned window. He might not have been the most diligent student, but he could read and write and do maths well enough to count to the correct room.
All right. Again. He grabbed a second pebble and repeated the action, followed by a third try. He was winding up for a fourth when the yipping started. And yapping, which quickly became full barks as a black ball of hair threw itself at the glass windowpane.
A dog. She had adog. And him throwing rocks at her window was her plan? She was going to wake the entire house and get them caught.
Correction. Get him caught and in trouble and—
The window flew open with a thud.
“Baron.” A loud whisper echoed in the night as a white figure entered his view, just inside the room. “Hush.”
But the creature continued its barking. Only muffled now, as if she was snuggling it, not muzzling it like she should. Gauzy fabric billowed, obscuring his view.
“Now, Baron . . .” He heard the pout in her voice and rolled his eyes. Not quite the commanding master, was she? Perhaps he should rethink her potential as a crime lord. “Baron, stop. Come. Let’s—”
The yipping only increased.
“Darling, come. Shh.” She was near begging as the curtains parted and the light grew brighter. “What do you want? What can I give you to make you quiet?”
Oy. She really believed she could make a wealthy, spoiled husband bow to her will?
“How about a little liver? Hmm . . .” Her voice had taken on a rather nauseating high pitch for the creature. “There we go, darling. Lick that.”
Aaron wrinkled his nose. Good thing they hadn’t actually shaken hands. Though she’d probably think the same of him if she knew of his friendship with the mice. And the birds. And the few cats he’d enticed with bits of his own food to stay away from both.
“Yes. Perfect,” she continued cooing as the thing finally stopped its noise. After a few more rustles and a creak, she pushed the shutters farther apart and stuck half her body out into the night air. Her hair had been tied back into a long braid. She brushed it over one shoulder before cupping her hands over her mouth.
“Hello!” she half yelled, half whispered.
It really was a wonder all manner of people hadn’t arisen from the house, brandishing weapons at him. Perhaps her grandmother was a sound sleeper. Or hard of hearing.
He stepped forward into the beam of light emanating from her window. “Since your hair is too short to climb, do you want me to stand here and holler at you?”
“If you’d like,” she returned, resting her elbows on the sill. “Or you can use your stomach muscles to project your natural voice better and save your throat. One or the other.”
His lip twitched. “Aren’t you concerned I’m going to wake the household and all your schemes will be foiled?”
She leaned a bit farther over the edge, so the wind billowed at her garments. “My grandmother is visiting a friend, and the staff is used to Baron yapping at everything from tree branches to mice to too-loud clock chimes.” She dropped her voice to that half yell, half whisper. “Oh, and I also might have persuaded our cook to slip the tiniest bit of laudanum into the stew. Not enough to hurt anyone, just enough to assure everyone has a full sleep.”
Which explained quite a bit. So she still was no fool—but definitely a touch evil. “Your dog is called Baron?” he asked instead of pressing her on the rest of his questions.
“My father named him. Said one of us should have a title and we aren’t the type to wait for the crown to bestow one.” Her lip twisted into a cross between a smile and a grimace as the creature’s head popped up. She scratched his ears, and he nuzzled against her side.
Apparently, her late father had a rather realistic view of his own position in society as well. Not a surprise, as this woman was quite keen on—what was the word she used?—“insuring” herself against her husband’s vulnerabilities.
“And here I thought your family’s promotion was all but guaranteed, provided the bill passes,” he teased.
“My family adores the Duke of Sussex. He’s coming to the festivals.” She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “And we welcome advancement. After all, we’ve been very keen on expanding our business’s reach to more gentiles.”
