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“Well. . . Yes.”

He grinned. They were more alike than expected. “Then we’re bound together in secrecy by our guilty consciences.”

A sheepish smiled tugged at her mouth. "I suppose we are."

Alec put back his head to look at the night sky—anything to keep from staring at her mouth. "What makes you dread the guests inside?" He could almost hear her stiffen. "I dislike being watched as if people expect a violent outburst at any moment. That’s unfair. It wasn’t murder they accused me of, after all.”

She made a tiny, shocked sound. Alec waited. It was a risky ploy, but then again, polite reserve got him nowhere with this woman. And he did want Miss Turner's cooperation. He wanted to be done with this assignment as soon as possible, and her assistance would make things much easier. And if she came to like him a little better. . . or perhaps much better. . .

But she didn't reply.

“I forgot how beautiful these gardens are at night," Alec murmured, giving up on his peaceful overture. “My mother always let it run wild, and as a boy I imagined it an enchanted forest." He turned to leave. "I shan't disturb your enjoyment of them."

"An enchanted forest?" she asked softly, stepping up beside him. "Enchanted by whom?"

He smiled ruefully. "An evil witch, I'm afraid. The vines there"—he gestured toward a towering wisteria, silver-spangled in the moonlight—"I imagined an angry monster, like a Hydra. The roses in the center were a Scylla, and in the pond lurked a Leviathan, ready to slither out and drag me down if I went too close. I, of course, was a valiant hero come to battle them all."

He stopped, remembering. Freddie had read those stories to him, from the Odyssey and the Bibliotheca, Freddie who could sit through the tutor’s lessons and actually learn from them. Freddie, who’d known everyone on this estate, and how to manage it, and how to keep peace within the family. Freddie, whom Julia wished had lived instead of Alec.

Miss Turner darted a guarded glance at him. "That was very brave of you, to protect the household from such dangers."

He forced a smile. “I always thought so. Once I went fishing for the Leviathan. I pictured myself hauling it into the house like a hunting trophy. But just as I lowered my line into the water, a frog jumped in, right where I had cast the hook and as I was leaning over to check my progress. I fell headfirst into the pond, then bolted into the house dripping wet and covered with moss."

This time she did laugh, though quietly. "The poor frog. How startled he must have been by you falling in on top of him.”

“No doubt. But those roses truly are a Scylla. I fell into their vicious grasp many times, and was thoroughly scratched."

She drew in a deep breath. "Rather like the guests inside."

"I suppose one could look at it that way," he replied in the same easy tone. "Though their scratches run somewhat deeper."

For another several minutes they stood in silence. "I hate that everyone knows we've fallen into debt," she finally said, very softly. "I hate being poor, and I hate everyone pitying us because Papa's disappeared. I know everyone think he's abandoned us."

Alec pictured the curate's wife, with her primly pursed mouth and sanctimonious eyes. "You don't believe he has."

She shook her head. "Whatever failings Papa has, he wouldn't do that, not like this.” She paused. "What do you think has happened to him?"

It was a thorny question. "I wasn’t told much," he replied. "Only what you wrote Pickering, in fact. I try not to form any ideas ahead of time which may prove wrong and lead me astray. I can only assure you that I have no other purpose than to discover where your father is, and I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I didn't fully intend to succeed."

She was watching him. Not with defiant challenge, or a skeptical skittishness, but with wary curiosity. “What do you plan to do? I cannot think how you’ll proceed when we, who know Papa and his habits, have been unable to locate any trace of him.”

He nodded thoughtfully. "So it is my abilities you doubt."

She blushed. “No! Not at all. I’m sure you’re very able, I just. . . That is. . . "

He cocked his head to one side, feeling a bolt of sympathy. He knew how it felt, being in desperate need of help but not knowing whom he could trust—if he could trust anyone at all. He’d been alone, but she had a sister and an elderly grandmother to protect as well. “Pickering must have thought me suited to the job."

Miss Turner looked at her feet. She was rolling that plump lower lip between her teeth again, as she did when thinking hard. He wished he knew what she was thinking about. Then she took a fortifying breath and put back her shoulders. "Thank you," she said, meeting his gaze, “for coming to our aid. We would be very grateful for your assistance."

He bowed his head to hide his rush of elation. "I shall do my best not to disappoint.”

She swallowed hard, knotting her fingers together. Her smile was genuine, if a bit hesitant, as if she didn’t quite trust what she’d done. "I shall do my best to help.”

Exactly what he’d hoped for. “I look forward to it. Shall we begin tomorrow?”

“Oh. . . ” She blinked. “Yes.”

He waited until she met his gaze. Her eyes were wide, still guarded but also, at last, a little hopeful. Alec repressed the thought of putting his arms around her and holding her close, whispering words of comfort and reassurance, telling her she didn’t have to bear it all alone. She was made of stern stuff, but tonight, as they hid from the judgmental guests out here in the moonlight, he saw the vulnerability beneath her defensive exterior. Her father had been gone for four months, and she was finally too worried—about her father, about their finances, about the gossips pitying her family—to refuse any offer of help, even one from him. I won’t let you down, he vowed silently. “Excellent. Until the morrow, Miss Turner.”