Amelia straightened, smoothed the sumptuous pillows, and after a last look at the genteel chamber, she headed for the door.
Listened.
All was hush. No footsteps. No voices. So she slipped out and softly drew it closed behind her.
Shuttering her lantern on three sides once more, she soundlessly made her way back down the stairs to her own bedchamber, relief rushing her as she closed the door and leaned back against it.
Shrouded in darkness,Hugh turned within the narrow gap between internal walls, pulled on a chord and pushed open the hidden door onto his bedchamber. With a wink to Great-Grandmother Agatha’s portrait, he pressed it closed once more, the decorative architrave covering any evidence of the concealed nook.
Well, well, well, his alluring minx of a governess was a curious woman, indeed.
But was she simply prying or…up to something more nefarious?
The hundred guinea question.
At the conclusion of their meeting, the Brotherhood of Ravens had dispersed well before midnight and Hugh had at first thought to follow Darnell or Cleavers, but…
He’d mounted his nag and headed home.
Why?
Because someone had watched from that window as he’d departed? Or because of the fragrance of gunpowder in his governess’ hair?
He knew not, just that he’d felt…ill at ease.
No point in announcing one’s return under such circumstances, however, so he’d stowed his nag at the ale-house stables on Shepherd Street and walked the rest of the way, letting himself in via the basement.
Encountering Cruik in the kitchens, he’d dismissed him for the night and then quietly made for his bedchamber, leaving the sconces lit as though he was still to return.
He’d then penned a coded message for the officer headed to Derbyshire. Cruik would ensure it was on the dawn mail coach north to await the man’s arrival at his lodgings, and as he’d pressed his gold seal into the melted wax, he’d shrugged off his ill-ease as concern over the Ravens.
When soft footfall had stalked his corridor, he’d thought it Phoebe seeking a shoulder after a nightmare, but as each door had been opened and closed, he’d realised his error. After all, Phoebe knew the clothes chamber held nothing but, well, clothes.
So he’d removed himself to his bedchamber nook and watched through the pug’s eyes as his governess, in naught but white night-rail and pale-pink robe, had glided in, her plentiful curves swaying, blond hair reaching her waist in shallow waves.
Such an invasion of his privacy ought to have felt like a heinous crime but…he’d heard a soft gasp as she’d entered, watched her nimble fingers as she’d smoothed his pillows, her eyes captivated by the skilful landscape of his Welsh family home, and for some reason, he’d not minded in the least.
Of course, he should boot her from his house as soon as dawn streaked the sky.
Yet Phoebe found her tolerable, which was praise indeed, and he’d forever believed in the old adage of keeping your friends close and your enemies even closer.
In fact, he’d keep her so close, she’d be breathing in his cologne, feeling the warmth of his skin.
If she was working for someone, it would benefit him to find out who. The Brotherhood of Ravens seemed improbable as she was too refined in manner. And surely he would have been gutted like a haddock if they’d known who he was.
Could it be someone who did not want him investigating Ross’ death? But he’d told not a soul.
Miss Jones would get nowhere questioning his servants as he purposely kept a bare minimum of trustworthy staff at a maximum wage. He’d never informed them of his profession but there were only so many times one could stagger through the door with a bullet wound.
Could a duplicitous governess be a threat to Phoebe?
He’d more worry for the governess as though Phoebe might be young and grieving, she was also no fool. But in addition, he’d brief Cruikshank to keep a vigilant eye.
Shrugging off his ragged waistcoat, the mirror reflected a ripple of lip – a ripple that few would recognise from him. For it was not the grin of a scandalous scoundrel or even the remorseless one of a spy. It was one he’d not seen for some while.
A carnal one.
He would discover every last secret his alluring governess kept hidden beneath that grey gown. He would rumple that inscrutable exterior and stir those still waters, as anyone who invaded his private quarters became fair game.
And games such as these were his favourite pastime.
