“Beg pardon, ladies,” the man said with a tip of his hat.He whistled and patted his thigh, and the dogs trotted after him, continuing their trek along the beach.
“Lady Lyttleton’s estate must have hired new staff,” Theo said, staring after the man and two dogs.“I’ve never seen that man walking her dogs before.”
For a moment Sophia watched the progress of the fluffy tan-and-brown dogs, half the size of Henry the terrier.“Lady Lyttleton named her tiny dogs after gods of war?”
Theo chuckled.“She had quite the tongue-in-cheek sense of humor.”
Realizing that Mrs.Digby would be expecting her in the library soon, Sophia steered the discussion back to Mildred’s dilemma.They decided to meet each afternoon to bring her food and updates on their research.With not having to pay for lodging, she could take meals in town as the widow Mrs.Smythe, but she wanted to hold on to her coins for as long as possible.And the fewer people she saw, the less she risked being discovered.
“We’ll have to hope that the society columns mention the current Lord Wingfield,” Sophia said.“Mrs.Digby subscribes to theLondon Timesand the local newspaper.I will search the new editions as they come in.”
“I will see if I can find any newspapers that have not yet been used to start fires, and try to drop Wingfield’s name into conversation with my parents,” Theo said.“See if they have heard anything about the man.”
Mildred squeezed each of their hands in gratitude.
Chapter 5
“Where the devil did they move the bootjack?”
The aggrieved voice Sophia heard was so deep it was more of a growl than speech.While she pondered why an unknown man had entered her dreams, the mattress dipped, rolling her over onto her back.
A curse, but in a foreign language.Italian?Something thumped on the floor.Sophia’s eyes flew open.
Not dreaming.
Sitting on the edge of her bed, his white shirtsleeves and dangling ends of a cravat luminous in the midnight gloom, a man she’d never before seen raised his right foot, trying to pull off his boot.
How had she been so careless as to forget to wedge the chair under the doorknob?
She grabbed the candelabra from under her pillow as she sat up and held it with both hands like a cricket bat.“Get out.”Not wanting to draw attention to her predicament from other members of the household unless it became necessary, she kept her voice quiet and confident, proud it didn’t quaver despite her pounding heart.
The man’s booted foot thumped to the floor as he stared at her, his face in shadow, his voice low.“What are you doing in my room?”
His speech wasn’t slurred, and she didn’t smell any alcohol emanating from him.Just horse and leather and fresh sea air.
Two years ago, one of the uncles dropping off a student at the academy had to stay the night when the roads became impassable following a torrential rainstorm.After drinking more wine at dinner than all the staff combined, he had entered Sophia’s room after midnight, claiming he had mistaken it for his own.
“I’ve been staying in this room for nearly a fortnight, by Mrs.Digby’s assignment.”Sophia tightened her grip on the candlestick to keep her hands from trembling.“Get out.Now.Or you won’t be the first unconscious man I’ve removed from my bedchamber.”
He uttered a low sound, one that could have been a chuckle.Abruptly he walked unerringly, albeit unevenly—one boot on, one boot off—to grab a candle from the writing desk, lit it from the coals in the fireplace, then lit another candle on the mantel.
He turned to stare at her, arms folded in front of his broad chest, feet planted wide and confident.His gaze traveled from the top of her hair in twin braids, down her face, over her flannel night rail, and to her legs under the blanket, which she’d crossed tailor-style in preparation for leaping at her attacker.
“Tiny thing like you?You wouldn’t be able to budge me.”Not only was he more than a foot taller than her, he had to outweigh her by at least six stone.He seemed amused, and spoke as though they were bantering in a crowded ballroom.
Two other teachers had helped her drag the unconscious uncle by his ankles to his room, but she was confident she could complete the task tonight on her own if necessary.“I might drop you on the floor a time or two.You’ll have bruises as well as a bump on your head.”
He made another rumbling sound that might be a chuckle.
In one fluid movement, she stood up, candelabra at her shoulder as though ready to swing a bat, just as the groundskeeper at the academy had taught her.She drew breath to threaten the intruder again.
“Why do you sleep with a candlestick under your pillow?”He tilted his head as he blatantly looked her up and down, his long hair brushing one shoulder.
“Takes up less space than a cricket bat.”She returned his stare just as boldly.How rarely had she seen a man undressed to his shirtsleeves, his cravat untied and shirt unbuttoned, exposing a vee of naked skin at the base of his throat?No grey strands marred his black hair, worn roguishly long and loose.He was too far away and the shadows too deep to see if his face had wrinkles.His smooth voice held a flirtatious tone, rather than malice.But she had been fooled before.
“Of course.How silly of me.”
She adjusted her stance, debating.Should she get down from the wobbly mattress, or stay where she had the advantage of the high ground?
