“I’ll know her when I see her,” Sterling had assured him.
And then, following his death, he’d proceeded to hie off to Holy Island to rusticate like a hermit.
Now, he snorted. Annabelle called it “hiding.” In truth, he didn’t know what it was.
Yes, his return to London was long past due.
Already feeling the effects of the strong spirits—his cheeks felt numb to the cold—he corked the whiskey, tucked it into his coat pocket, and contemplated what was next for him.
Mayhap itwastime to take a wife. Mayhap it wouldn’t be so bad. Zeke, his oldest friend, had recently married, and he seemed happy with the arrangement. Certainly, Sterling’s parents would be pleased.
Yet the thought of weeding through the marriageable ladies of thetonmade his head ache.
He laughed. Mayhap he’d finally stumbled on the reason he’d dragged his feet about returning. If his vexing reaction to Annabelle told him anything, it was at least past time for him to see to his physical needs. Mayhap a mistress, then.
The creak of door hinges on the far side of the stair tower announced Cogsworth or Chip’s arrival.
Raising his voice to be heard above the ever-present winds off the mainland toward the sea, he shifted ‘round to face whichever of his servants appeared. “I told you to take yourselves off for the rest of the day. I am perfectly able to see the lamp doused and get myself to bed—or hasn’t Lady Montrose finished dining?”
A sharp gust of southwesterly wind hit him head on, carrying a scent that had his insides clenching before his brain had a chance to register his mistake. Not Chip. Not Cogsworth.
That scent. That fresh, feminine scent she had no business emitting after days spent wearing the same gown. Though she’d undoubtedly washed, he knew firsthand none of the soap the castle stocked bore that distinct, alluring bouquet. Yet, there it was, teasing his senses relentlessly.
With the bearing of a queen, Annabelle rounded the tower. Her gaze seemed to capture all of the muted light of the oil lamp to spark with icy censure.
Had the lady disliked being ignored? At the thought, a perverse sense of satisfaction lanced through him before a more likely reality presented itself: The woman detested him, plain and simple.
Now, if he could only recall the feeling was mutual. Especially as, after witnessing that scene with Babette this afternoon and after hearing the very real humility in her voice when it dawned on her he’d overheard her singing, he was having a hard time remembering that fact and everything for which she stood.
“Lady Annabelle, did you need something? You might’ve sent Cogsworth to do your bidding. It’s stopped snowing, but the temperatures are still below freezing.”
She lifted her chin and sauntered nearer.
Good God. Despite the whiskey and the frigid night air, his body reacted as if his long-lost lover had returned. Nothing his greatcoat wouldn’t conceal, thankfully.
“I most certainly do need something, sir.You.”
For the life of him, he could do nothing but attempt to swallow over a throat gone suddenly dry.
“Upon due consideration, our conversation earlier opened up a new line of inquiry for me in regard to my brother’s death.”
“Did it?”
“Indeed.”
“Well, then, madam, ask your question.” In truth, he was intrigued despite himself. What had set the wheels in motion in her sharp-as-a-tack mind this time?
“You more than implied you had inside knowledge of Gaston’s difficulty in gaining entrée into the esteemed halls of White’s.”
He folded his arms over his chest and felt the flask he’d so ill-advisedly tucked away. He should have drunk more.Much more.“What of it?”
She laughed, but the sound held no humor.
This was the lady he remembered. Haughty. Superior.
“A true friend would have taken his part.” She watched him through narrowed eyes.
“Is there a question coming?”
