Page 31 of The Marquess’s Masked Archer

Taking a few minutes to clear his head and rest his now-stinging hand, Miles headed toward the lakeshore to check the bait traps the students had set out the night before. Gathering specimens was mindless work that would allow him to mull over his frustrations and release them before returning to the laboratory.

On his way, he noticed a man in a brown suit standing outside the laboratory. He stared up at the building for a moment before glancing down to scribble notes on a pad of paper. Visitors to Cedar Point had no reason to wander to the remote inlet surrounded by marshes, so it was probably wise to make certain the man wasn’t lost on his way to the resort.

Reluctant, Miles approached him, hoping to send him back on his way and return to his walk. “Good afternoon. May I help you with anything? Directions to the resort?”

The man glanced up from his writing and appraised Miles with a long look. Then he stepped forward while extending one hand. “Jeremy Howell of the Cleveland Press. I’m looking for Mr. Miles Wentworth.”

A tingle of alarm zipped up Miles’s spine. Why would a reporter be looking for him? He’d spent so many years avoiding them and refuting the lies they spewed. The threat of beginning the process again in America loomed over him, promising devastation. “I’m afraid he’s not here. And I can say with certainty that he wouldn’t wish to speak with you if he were.”

Miles strode away before the reporter could start prodding, as they tended to do. He didn’t slow down until he was well hidden by trees and undergrowth a distance down the shore. Only when he was sure he couldn’t be seen did he stop and run a shaking hand over his face.

He’d lived in desperate hope for the first few years in America that his troubles wouldn’t follow him. As time went on, he’d become more comfortable, lately even believing that those prayers had been answered affirmatively. He’d allowed himself to believe it was all in the past and would remain there.

How naïve.

It seemed one couldn’t be wrongly accused of murder and then go on with life as if it never happened. By whatever means, a reporter had gotten wind of Miles’s past and sought him out.

But he couldn’t allow the man to smear his reputation as so many others had. He didn’t believe for a moment that the reporter would let the story go. He would try again, so Miles would need a plan to evade him until he had to move on to something else.

For the next hour, Miles hid in the brush. He gathered a few specimens from the traps nearby. He sat and prayed for a time, recalling the Psalms which spoke of God as the shield and stronghold of believers. God had led Miles this far from the past. Surely, He didn’t intend to throw Miles to the wolves now.

As the day wore on, the rising temperature made remaining on the shore unbearable. Miles meandered back to the laboratory, mindful of anyone outside the building as he went. Instead of returning inside, he slid the corked specimen vials into his pocket and continued past the laboratory and toward the dock.

Relief hit with an almost visceral blow when he finally reached the safety of his room upstairs in the Loftons’ house. Miles sank into a plush chair and slumped there until the fear of being accused all over again dimmed a bit. He could breathe again—for the moment, anyway. The threat would return sooner or later.

Could Miles simply explain the entire situation had resulted from false accusations? No one in England had believed that at the time, so it was doubtful this reporter would either. Memories stirred, unbidden and unwanted. The shock of the moment he’d walked into the room he shared with Reginald Davies and found his friend prone on the floor with eyes staring, blank and unblinking, at Miles’s bed. The terror of being interrogated by constables for hours at only sixteen years of age. The unrelenting anger as everyone in the school and even his hometown turned against him, unwilling to believe the truth that he hadn’t had a thing to do with the tragic death.

A knock sounded at the door, and Alexander’s muffled voice called through it, “Miles? Are you going to the opera with us tonight?”

Miles wrenched out of the painful memories, confused by his surroundings until he noticed shadows stretching across the room. It had grown late, and he’d forgotten all about the evening’s plans. Previous to this summer, he would likely have taken advantage of the excuse of a bad day and remained at home. But the prospect of seeing Sylvie lifted his spirits before he even rose from his chair. “Ah, yes. I lost track of time, but I’ll dress immediately,” he called through the door while springing into action.

An hour later, he followed Alexander and Grace toward the opera house at Cedar Point. The new building, tucked between the massive Hotel Breakers and the Grand Pavilion, faced the broad expanse of beach where guests still sat and played in the sand, even as evening fell. Resort guests and opera goers crowded the wide boardwalk running in front of the Opera House.

In comparison with the hotel looming in the background and the beautiful covered porches of the Grand Pavilion, the Opera House wasn’t nearly as impressive on the outside. But the inside was a different story. It was as magnificent as any opera house Miles had been to in England or New York, with intricate murals on the walls and gilded details gracing the architectural elements. In the auditorium, plush seats provided a comfortable experience, and the electric lighting gave the perfect soft glow while still allowing people to see and be seen.

But Miles was only concerned with spotting a certain familiar face, the one that was becoming more precious by the day, despite his best efforts. He sat in a second-story box with Alexander and Grace and attempted to maintain a conversation with them while awaiting the performance, but all the while, he was searching for Sylvie. A moment with her would be just what he needed to clear his mind.

The skip in his heart and the hitch in his lungs when he finally saw her were undeniable signs he’d fallen harder than he’d intended. If he couldn’t convince her that his love was worth giving in to her mother, he was going to be in a mess.

She wore a white gown with a black lace overlay, beads sparkling across the entire thing. Her hair had been piled in a simple, loose style that brought attention to her face, with one black feather on a beaded headband as the only accent. She was stunning, and Miles couldn’t take his eyes off her.

A chuckle finally broke Miles out of his reverie. Alexander and Grace were both grinning at him, clearly having noticed the object of his interest. Alexander tipped his head in Sylvie’s direction. “There’s still time before the opera begins. You should go greet her.”

As if his body realized that he could when Alexander spoke the words, Miles found himself rising from his seat. “Yes, I believe I should.”

Inane, but he couldn’t seem to muster anything more sensible. It was no small feat to traverse the hallways, which were crowded with all the members of society Miles had been meeting through the summer. Unfortunately, that meant he was forced to stop and greet said acquaintances every few steps, slowing his progress.

By the time he reached the box where he’d glimpsed Sylvie, the orchestra was warming up, filling the air with stray notes and the occasional clunk of a music stand. Miles pushed aside the curtain and started in, only to pause when the other occupants came into view. Was that one of the gentlemen she’d been considering in her secret admirer investigation sitting next to her? Mr. Kinsey, if Miles remembered correctly.

As he watched from behind them, Mr. Kinsey leaned close to whisper something to Sylvie, who giggled in response. She…appeared to be enjoying herself. Miles swallowed hard. Had his plan to be her secret admirer gone so far awry that she’d decided another man was writing the letters and allowed him to court her?

CHAPTER 16

The performance at the opera that evening was quite funny, and Sylvie appreciated the talent displayed by the cast. She even enjoyed Mr. Kinsey’s company. He was considerate and amusing, a polite, respectful, and interesting companion.

But thoughts of Miles tormented her during the course of the evening. She glimpsed him in another box with the Loftons, but he never turned in her direction. Had he seen her there? Observed her talking with Mr. Kinsey? Would the idea of her being courted by another man upset Miles the way seeing Lucy throw herself in his direction upset Sylvie?

And that was how she realized that being friends with Miles would never work.