Chapter 8

Despite Marcus's assurances, security was clearly lacking. Dressed in the same borrowed gown, this woman waltzed into his supposed armed fortress without any detection. Rolland checked the span of the hall and down the corridors—both were suspiciously empty—before charging toward the stairs himself. The staff might be overly focused on his father and the guests, but the entire house required surveillance.

He had made it only a few feet when something gold caught his eye by one of the potted orange plants flanking the front door. A coin? He swiped it up on his way to the staircase so he would remember to return it to whatever guest had misplaced it, and dropped it into his waistcoat pocket.

By the time he reached the stairs, the violinist had already reached the top and turned to the right. Shaking his head, he took the stairs two at a time to catch her. He slowed at the top when he caught sight of Mrs. Haversham and her daughter farther down the corridor on the left, their matching blonde hair side-by-side as they whispered together. The last thing he wanted was more forced conversation, so he hastened his steps toward the right in pursuit of the violinist.

Where had she disappeared to? The corridor this direction was vacant.

This was primarily the family wing, but he and his parents had rooms this way. Was it possible she had forgotten something in his bedchamber and had returned for it? The door before his caught his attention. It was slightly ajar. This room belonged to Simon, Marcus's brother, who had recently traveled to another of the family's holdings. From what Rolland had heard, Simon had been avoiding Society.

He used his first two fingers to push the door open another few inches. A resplendent painting of a sunset, resting on an easel, drew his attention. Simon's talent was unparalleled. A movement made his gaze drop to the floor. There she was, lifting the bed skirt and searching underneath the bed. If he'd so easily discovered her, who would find her next? Annoyance flooded him. He had wanted to take a nap, not throw out a persistent intruder for the second time in one day.

He slipped inside and loudly cleared his throat.

The violinist froze, her eyes slowly lifting to his. Did she make that face on purpose? When she batted those long lashes and pushed her lips into a smile, he almost wanted to get down on the floor and help her search for whatever blasted item had gone missing.

"How did you find me?" She climbed to her feet and dusted off her skirt. "I just got here. Wait. Are you following me?"

He glanced behind him, making sure his parents weren't popping their heads out of their bedroom. "I am not following you." Why would she even think that? "I just granted you your freedom not many hours ago. Why did you come back?"

"I had to take advantage of the perfect disguise you found me. This dress blends right into the dark corners. Can you not leave me be and go about your business? I promise not to bother anyone while I search."

He pinched his lips tight. "You're leaving, now." She should be more worried about her reputation than a material thing.

She balked, pushing back a stray strand of brown hair from her cheek. "But I haven't even finished searching one room."

"Even if the guests don't mind you and the family doesn't recognize you, the servants will know you do not work here." He was determined to speak with the footmen guarding the grounds when they were finished here. No one should be allowed to sneak around anywhere undetected.

"At least let me check this one closet." She crossed the room and opened the door.

Rolland groaned. Should he just walk away and pretend he didn't notice? After all, he did not know Simon well. The man might be Marcus's relation, but the two were very different, and Simon was unaware of their intelligence efforts. Regardless of his reservations, Rolland found himself monitoring the door and the corridor while the violinist uselessly searched the closet.

"It's not here." She chewed on her lip, her hand going to her hip.

"I could have told you as much. Simon Taylor is not part of the house party and is no thief. But besides the impudence of your behavior, there is another reason you must leave. It isn't safe here."

"Why not? Besides the obvious part about someone misconstruing my perfectly innocent actions to be something nefarious, I would think there wasn't a safer place in all the world than a duke's estate." She moved to the wash table and opened the small cupboard beneath it.

This woman was beyond the pale. He tapped the side of his leg, but in the end, he gave in to the vexing woman and closed the door. At least now he could speak to her without worrying about who might appear in the corridor. But in doing so, he found himself shut in a room with her yet again. How did this keep happening to him?

"Listen. I cannot go into details, but it is imperative you leave and not return. If you tell me what you are searching for, I will... well, I will search for it myself."

Her eyes widened, and she shut the cupboard with a loud clap. "Why did you not say so from the beginning? That would be far easier than me risking my neck."

He gave her a blank stare, wondering where the thoughts in her head came from. "I am already regretting my offer."

"Nonsense. You are a captain, remember. It is practically your duty to help me."

"It's my duty to help my country ."

"And I am your countryman. Mostly."

"‘Mostly'?" What did she mean by that? She couldn't be the spy they were searching for, surely.

"Never mind that. The real problem is how can you search if I do not tell you what I am missing?" Her musings were difficult to interpret. Would she truly not tell him what she was seeking?

He heard a laugh from the corridor and the murmur of voices outside the room. He held a finger to his lips.

"Are you shushing me?"

He waved his hand and shook his head.

"Then, you are dismissing me?"

He crossed the room to her and whispered, "Someone was passing in the corridor."

"Ah," she said, understanding brightening the blue in her eyes. "Your parents?"

"I cannot say, but I would prefer not to be caught in here with you."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I do not appreciate the emphasis on that last word. There is nothing wrong with me. If you had to get caught with someone, you should celebrate that it is me and not another."

"Why would I have to get caught with someone at all?" This woman came up with the most outlandish things. "Just tell me what to look for so you can leave."

"I am still deciding whether I trust you enough."

He sighed. "Then, you can think it over at home. When you decide whether I am trustworthy, you can send me a missive."

"A single woman does not correspond with a gentleman she is not engaged to."

"A comparatively lesser discretion than this, wouldn't you say? Pen your name as Mr. Sneak, and I will know exactly who it is from." The violinist snorted at this, but he ignored it. "Besides, there is a maid in this house who probably wants her dress back. Come. Let's get you out of here."

She squinted her eyes and assessed him. "Very well. I will think it over and do as you have said."

She marched to the door with her shoulders back and head held high. With such pomp, she'd not make it far. He hurried to stop her. "Wait."

Her nose wrinkled. "You aren't going to make me go through the window in full daylight, are you? My ankle is much improved, but it would not be very gentlemanly of you. And don't even think of suggesting one of us sleep in the closet. One night together was enough for me."

If she had to be stuck in a room with someone, she should be grateful it was him. Good grief. The words sounded as ridiculous in his head as they had when she had said them aloud. "I merely stopped you to say that if you intend to take on the role of a maid, you must act like one."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't smile—it's distracting. Keep your head down, and don't make eye contact with anyone. A dress cannot hide everything." She was far too confident to be a maid. The best help were subtle and discreet. There was nothing for it; she would stand out like a glaring lantern on a moonless night, distracting their guests and the male staff from their duties. "I won't suggest the servants' stairs because you might have higher chances of being caught in that direction." He reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. "Take this and pretend you are polishing the banister as you make your way down to the front door." He glanced around for anything else that could be of use, and his eyes went to the cold fireplace. "One last thing."

He strode to the hearth and dipped his finger into a pile of ash. His stomach pitched with a flash of memory from the night of the fire. His shoulder burned in response. He could've died that night. The folly of one careless sailor had led to a preventable yet horrific accident. His marred body now resembled the cinders of his war-ravaged heart.

Out of the corner of his eye, the woman shifted, and his dark thoughts dispersed. He straightened and moved toward her.

"What are you doing?" Theresia eyed the ash on his finger and took an involuntary step back.

"It will be harder for you to go unnoticed midmorning than when you left at dawn." He came closer. "Hold still." His finger met her smooth cheek and left behind a gray streak. She inhaled sharply, her expressive eyes wary. "I'm trying my best to protect you," he murmured, not sure how else to reassure her. He was used to giving commands, not coddling. He reached out again to smudge the streak and dirty up her too-perfect complexion, his finger lingering a mite longer than necessary. Even covered in ash, she would still catch the attention of any footman with eyes.

She scowled at him when he finished. "Have you impersonated a maid before?"

He frowned. "Certainly not."

"I do wonder. You seem to know the part well." She accepted his handkerchief and pulled the door open.

When she disappeared through it, he could finally fully exhale. He glanced at his hand, his fingertips tingling from touching her skin. Five minutes together, and his emotions had ranged from worried to confused to annoyed to effectively flustered. Dealing with this woman was completely beyond his expertise. How did any man have the energy for this?

And how was it that after such memorable encounters, he still did not know her name?

Sighing, he waited a full minute before following her into the corridor. He might not want her in his bedchamber, but he did want to make certain she escaped without being caught.