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“I do,” she whispered. Her body reacted on pure instinct, swaying toward him as her eyes drifted closed and she arched her neck, raising her face to him. His lips brushed hers, lingering barely a moment.

“You’re wrong about one thing, though,” he whispered. “To you, I am worse than nothing.”

By the time she opened her eyes, he was gone.

Chapter Ten

The next morning Mariah saw her room and her life with new eyes. She lay awake for a long time, thinking all night about Harry and that girl. Whitechapel, she knew, was a very dangerous part of town, and Harry never said what he was doing there.

For the first time, a serious shadow of doubt clouded her mind: was she being led on by a villain? He certainly could have done any number of things to her—he’d slipped into her room without waking her, after all—but he hadn’t.

After some hesitation, she decided not. She trusted Harry, at least enough to keep enjoying his company. But other questions couldn’t so easily be put to rest.

Once again she needed to talk to Joan. She smiled ruefully to herself, realizing that her cousin was as inexperienced with gentlemen and their intrigues as she was. But the other young ladies in London had their eyes and minds filled with wealthy peers and scandalous rakes. There was no one she trusted to keep her secret other than Joan.

Her mother caught her as she was about to descend the stairs. “Mariah, come here. We would like a word with you.”

Mariah paused. “Yes, Mama?”

Her mother beckoned her to follow. “Not until we join your father. Come, dear.”

Mystified, she followed her mother. Was she in trouble? Mama looked more pleased than angry, which surely wouldn’t be the case if—Mariah suppressed a shudder—she or Papa had any suspicions about Harry. But then, Mama’s expression also seemed to rule out a scolding for her disinterest in her callers, which Mariah felt was far more likely to get her in trouble. What had she done?

Perhaps it wasn’t about her, she thought as they walked down the long hall to her father’s study. Perhaps Papa had some happy news he wished to share with her, or perhaps he and Mama had planned another trip, or a ball, or... or... The possibilities petered off in her mind. What on earth? When her mother had something to say, she usually just said it.

More and more curious, she followed Mama into the study. Her mother closed the door behind them, then crossed the room to stand beside the desk where Papa was waiting.

“Mariah, come in. Be seated.”

Obediently she sat, turning a questioning face to her parents.

Her father sat down as well, his handsome face relaxing in a fond smile. “Have you enjoyed your Season thus far?”

She blinked at his question. “Yes, Papa. Of course.”

“It has been entertaining to you?” She nodded, still utterly at sea. Surely this wasn’t what they wanted to discuss. “And you have met interesting people?” She nodded, as he seemed to be waiting for her reply after each query. “Interesting gentlemen?” Papa added with a significant look.

Ice-cold dread poured through Mariah. Petrified, she stared back, finally managing to jerk her head in a tiny nod. Dear God. They knew. Somehow they had found out about Harry. Joan! But Joan had sworn on her life not to tell a soul, and Mariah trusted her. Who, then? No one knew—no one.

Unless... Her breath caught in her throat. Had Harry himself approached her father? Had he asked permission to call on her? Were all her questions about her mystery suitor about to be answered? And her parents looked pleased! If Harry had called on Papa and asked to call on her, her father must have said yes. She would be able to see him again!

A wild wave of hope rose up in her breast, which she instantly quelled by reminding herself of the debacle with Mr. Crane in the park. She must go cautiously until she knew for certain. Still, her heart, which had almost stopped beating at Papa’s questions, began to pound painfully against her ribs. She clenched her hands in her lap to keep them still.

“Yes, Papa,” she said in as normal a voice as she could. “Some gentlemen have been... interesting.”

He smiled. “I am delighted to hear it.” He paused, leaning forward, his hands folded on his desk. “And is there any particular gentleman who’s caught your eye?”

Color flooded her face despite her best efforts. “Perhaps,” she murmured carefully.

His smile broadened. “Then I have happy news for you. Your mother and I have just entertained a gentleman who confesses himself quite dazzled by you. He sang your praises for quite some time, and even I, who knew every word he spoke to be true”—Papa winked, his eyes twinkling—”even I felt it was too much. The man is smitten, my dear, head over heels in love with you.”

It was all she could do to smile nervously. Something was telling her it could not be Harry her father spoke of. Sing her praises until even her father tired of hearing it? That did not sound at all like Harry, who was more likely to tease her than compliment her.

“He asked me for your hand in marriage, Mariah.” Papa sat back, smiling at her with pride and great satisfaction. “I presume he has informed you of his intentions?”

“Well...” She shifted in her seat and cleared her throat. “No, Papa. No, he hasn’t.” And that also made her believe it was not Harry they spoke of. Surely he would have said something to her directly, at least a hint. A man bold enough to climb into her bedroom window would surely be bold enough to tell her himself if he loved her.

“You must have guessed,” her mother chided gently. “I was not surprised at all.”