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He looked up, something about her tone catching his attention. “Why?”

She held out a note. “Even if you have no idea what to do, she has.”

Harry snatched it. “Did you read it? How do you know it’s from her?” His eyes raced over the writing on the outside, only his initials and direction. Mariah didn’t know any of that... did she?

Angelique made an indignant noise. “Did I read it. As if one cannot tell without reading. It is a woman’s hand. It smells very faintly of expensive perfume. It is addressed to this house, even though very few people would know to reach you here, one of whom resides in her home. And it was delivered by a well-to-do young man.”

“Young man?” He looked up as he broke the seal.

Angelique’s smile widened in triumph. “Oui. The sort of young man who would know an earl’s daughter.” She turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry read the brief message before the latch clicked. The usual place and time? Did he interpret that correctly? Something of greatest importance... What could it possibly be?

He yanked his watch from his pocket; barely half past four. He had never climbed through her window before midnight, which meant he had over eight hours until he found out. He put the note into his pocket and strode out of the house to take a long walk after all.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

If one could suffer a collapse from nervous anticipation, Mariah thought she might be on the brink of it.

It was impossible to sit still. She paced the suddenly small confines of her room, wringing her hands. Would he come? Had he got her message? Had someone else intercepted it and dragged Harry away for an interrogation? How would she know? Would she wait forever, wondering? She certainly couldn’t sleep.

With a thump, she sat on her dressing table chair, her fingers digging into the cushion. She’d be half mad by morning at this rate. Anxiously, she checked the clock again; it was most definitely past midnight, by a good two minutes or so. What if he didn’t want to come? What if all his attentions had been part of his masquerade? What if he didn’t realize she had sent the note? What if⁠—?

The soft sound of cloth against wood almost escaped her notice. For a moment she sat frozen in uncertainty, then whirled around to see the familiar figure unfolding in front of the window. Her lips parted—after longing so desperately for him to come, she seemed struck dumb now that he was here—and he stepped away from the window. “Mariah?”

She jumped at the sound of her name. “Oh! Oh, Harry, you came.” She surged out of her seat and halfway across the room toward him, then stopped, wringing her hands. “I didn’t know if you would.”

“Did you not?” She had left a single candle lit, and it picked out the highlights of his features. He wore plain dark clothes that rendered him almost part of the shadows, although the collar of a white shirt showed around his neck. His eyes, bright and sharp, were fixed on her.

“Well—well...” She cleared her throat. “I hoped you would.”

“Ah.” He looked away. “Why did you ask me to come?”

“Because...” All her courage and fortitude seemed to have fled. She could barely speak more than a word at a time. She wet her lips and raised her chin. “Because I must speak to you. And—and because I’ve missed you so!” The last burst forth before she could restrain herself, and it seemed to release the tension in the room. Harry’s face relaxed, and then Mariah was running the rest of the distance to him to be caught up in his arms and held against his heart.

“Having been unable to stay away thus far, why would I begin now?” His arms tightened around her. “Are you all right?”

She pushed back to see him. For a moment she just looked, feasting on the sight of him. In clothing that fit, no longer stooped and powdered, he might have been a completely new man—except for the familiar gleam in his hazel eyes. He seemed taller this close, more powerful, nothing at all like the hump-backed old man he had appeared to be, nor the quiet, almost invisible secretary.

“Are you all right?” he repeated with a small smile.

“Oh yes,” she said fervently. “Very much so, now that you are here.”

His smile deepened and he pulled her to him again. She closed her eyes as he held her. “God, how I’ve missed you.” Then his arms loosened. “But this can’t be why you sent for me.”

Feeling steadier now, Mariah shook her head. Her nerves had made her uncertain before, but the feel of Harry’s arms reassured her. This was no fancy or whim she would regret in the morning. This was what she wanted more than anything. “You can’t keep sneaking in to see me at nights.” Looking grim, he shook his head. “And you won’t be Lord Wroth anymore, will you, so you can’t even come to call in that way.” Again he shook his head. “Then there is only one thing we can do. We must run away together.”

He stared at her, then released her. “You don’t know what you’re suggesting.”

She put a finger on his lips. “Listen to me. My father likely won’t give his permission for you to call on me, but if we run away together, he’ll have no choice⁠—”

“Oh, he’ll have a choice.” Harry sighed. He took her hand and pressed her knuckles against his cheek. Mariah’s heart fluttered at the gentle affection in the gesture. “You think he’ll relent and forgive all if we run away and force his hand. Perhaps he will—but perhaps he won’t. He could disown you, cut you off and never see you again.”

She had considered that, but didn’t think it was possible. Her father adored her, and if he even considered disowning her, he’d have her mother to deal with. “No, he won’t.”

Harry dropped her hand and paced away from her. “He might. Believe me, he might.” He ran his hands over his face, looking weary. “My mother... My mother was from a good family, very well-born and proud. My father was no one. She ran off with him thirty years ago and hasn’t seen or heard from her family since. Believe me, Mariah, it could happen to you, no matter how much your father loves you. Men like him don’t like to be crossed.”

She thought about that for a moment. Would she regret it, if her parents refused to speak to her again? She would be sad, no question... but she would still have Harry. “Did your mother regret it?”