Lady Caroline hastened inside, closing the door behind her. She sent them each a bland smile. “You don’t mind, do you? I could hear your voices all the way to the landing on the next floor down. I’d rather not continue to provide the servants fodder for gossip and scandal.”
Looking like a chastened schoolboy—a large one—Sterling linked his hands behind his back and gazed toward his stockinged toes. “No, no, that is probably…er…for the best.”
“As for my being here, it should come as no surprise. Lady Annabelle sent for me.”
Sterling’s thunderous gaze snapped to Annabelle. “You sent for her? When? Why?”
She saw no need to disclose “when,” but “why” was self-explanatory, surely?
“I told you, sir. I sent for the perfect chaperone. Don’t you see? One who solves both our problems.”
“No, I don’t see,” Sterling clipped out.
She shifted her focus to the pretty, dark-haired woman who’d joined them and found her staring back in clear bemusement, which seemed an improvement over the disapproval she’d worn seconds ago.
Annabelle started in her direction—which also happened to be the way out.
“Good morning, Lady Caroline.” She strove for a brisk tone. “May I say I am ever so gladdened by your arrival. Unlike your brother, I am certain you, upon reflection, will agree that no real harm has occurred.”
“I beg your pardon,” sister and brother said in unison.
Annabelle halted, steps from Caroline—and the door. She tightened her sash, mostly for something to do with her hands, and glanced between the two of them.
Sterling opened his mouth to speak, but Caroline sent him a quelling look.
“No real harm,” his sister echoed, tapping one finger to the very becoming cleft in her chin. “Hm. May I inquire as towhyyou are in need of a chaperone, dear? That is, how in the world did you find yourself a guest in my brother’s chateau without the benefit of one in the first place?”
Annabelle eyed Sterling, half-expecting him to answer for her.
He merely arched a dark brow.
“As to that, it’s rather a long and complicated story,” Annabelle began. “I traveled from London with one.”
“Afakeone,” Sterling interjected.
“A…fake one?” Caroline asked, her delicate but equally dark brows furrowing.
Annabelle flicked a brief, annoyed glance at Sterling. “I never intended my stay at Holy Island to last more than a day, you see. For expedience’s sake I took my maid, disguised as a chaperone.”
“Your…maid?”
“And now she’s dead.”
“Oh, dear,” Caroline murmured. “I begin to see what you mean about this being complicated. Perhaps I should simply ask how any of that explains why you sent for me.”
“Of course. I didn’t know she was dead when I sent the telegram. At that time, I assumed Lucy had ventured home without me as a result of the robbers who’d held me at gunpoint.”
Lady Caroline’s eyes bugged. “Robbers? Gunpoint?Sterling?” Her voice rose an octave with each word.
Sterling did not appear to hear her. His heated gaze was fixed on Annabelle. “You little baggage. You conniving little minx. You sent formysister, never once mentioning you’d done so, all the while presupposing she would not only see you safely home, but that she would not dream of holding my feet to the fire even after learning that you’d spent over a week under my roof without the benefit of a chaperone. Do I have that right?”
“Er…yes?”
Sterling did not look at all pleased. Indeed, he had never looked so forbidding.
“Your sister of all people would never compel you to marry against your will, just as she is the one person we can count on to believe us when we explain that nothing—well,nearlynothing—of a romantic nature happened between us.”
Sterling, cheeks flaming scarlet, jammed both hands into his hair at the precise moment that Caroline made a choking sound.
