“In God’s name, what are you doing here?” Mrs Armstrong’s voice was merely a whisper, but contained enough fire to burn down the house.
Pearl straightened so fast a muscle in her back hurt.
“This is unacceptable.” Without waiting for an answer, Mrs Armstrong seized her arm and dragged her away from the door. The woman’s fingers dug like steel into Pearl’s flesh.
“Let me go,” she hissed, trying to shrug free, but Mrs Armstrong didn’t loosen her grip.
She opened Pearl’s door with a quick kick. Then she shoved her inside and shut them in. “How dare you spying on Lord Lyons, in his house, while he’s with a guest?”
Long story. Pearl wiped her clammy hands over her skirt. “I wasn’t spying.”
Merely eavesdropping, and they were talking about her. Surely, it didn’t count as spying if the subject of the conversation was the spy.
“I must confess I am utterly disappointed by your behaviour.” Mrs Armstrong cast a horrified glance at Pear’s discarded shoes. “The shoes here proved you left the room with the intention of spying on his lordship.”
Tarnation. “I was curious to see the prince.” Pearl folded her arms across her chest, trying to inject some confidence in her voice. The trembling of her legs was hard to hide, though. “The prince has been unavailable all day, and I wanted to meet him.”
An icy glint lit Mrs Armstrong’s black eyes. “And you thought that spying on him while he was having a private conversation with the lord who’s hosting you was a good way to being introduced to him?”
Once it was put this way, her idea did sound terrible.
Pearl jutted out her chin. “I’ll admit it was a poor choice.”
A curt, mirthless laugh rumbled from Mrs Armstrong. “I would use a different word.” Her cruel smile dropped. “I’m afraid I have to take measures to be sure that such an event would not occur again.”
A cold shiver ran down Pearl’s back. “It won’t happen again.”
No, because next time, she’d be more careful before eavesdropping on Christopher.
“Your word isn’t good enough. I heard such praises on you, I can hardly believe you’re the same Amelia I’ve heard of.”
Because she wasn’t. Pearl squirmed on the spot. “It was a moment of madness. I’ll behave from now on.”
In a swish of black skirts, Mrs Armstrong opened the door. “I’ll ask Lord Lyons to move me with you in this room, so I can keep an eye on what you do, and I’ll be sure to procure a lock to close your door at night. It’d help you restrain your urges to spy on respectable people.”
Pearl’s mouth hung open. “That won’t be necessary.”
The door was slammed in her face, like a slap.
Dash it. She clenched her fists, gritting her teeth. Things couldn’t have gone worse. Now the old harpy would breathe on her neck.
Her chest heaved with repressed anger. Perhaps tomorrow, she might talk with Mrs Armstrong again and find a way to convince her that—
Footsteps padded closer and stopped right at her door. There was a raspy noise, like a soft scratching.
Fury ignited her blood. If this was Mrs Armstrong putting in practise her threat and locking her in, she was going to tell her to bugger off.
Pearl yanked the door open. “I can’t believe—” The rest of the sentence died in her throat.
Half-crouched on the floor was Christopher. A book, the book she’d picked up in the library, rested in his hands. He glanced up and straightened to his full height, uncoiling his massive body.
“I’m sorry,” they chorused.
She chuckled. “It seems that I’ve made the same mistake you did in the garden this morning when I searched for you. I thought you were someone else.” A nervous laugh escaped her.
His dark brow arched. “May I ask whom you thought I was? This person must have upset you.”
Pear waved a dismissive hand. “I had an argument with Mrs Armstrong about what a proper lady is supposed to do with her free time.”
