Page 2 of One Waltz with the Viscount

‘That isn’t very friendly.’

‘You’re hurting my wrists.’

‘Tell me who you are and I will consider letting you go.’

There was silence for a moment whilst she considered his offer.

‘Sarah,’ she said eventually.

‘Sarah. A pretty name, but not enough to win your freedom I am afraid.’ He saw the darting of her eyes to the left and quickly continued. ‘No lies please. I have a peculiar flair for being able to tell if someone is lying to me.’

‘Shepherd.’

‘Miss Sarah Shepherd?’

A single nod of her head as she strained again against him, despite them both knowing there was no way she could physically overpower him. She wasn’t short, but even so, the top of her head only came up to his chin, and her body was lithe and slender. Good for climbing up to first-floor balconies, but not so much for a contest of physical strength.

‘A pleasure to meet you Miss Shepherd,’ Henry said, wondering what was wrong with him that he was actually enjoying himself more now than he had been fifteen minutes ago, dancing with the debutantes in the ballroom. ‘I am going to let go of your hands, but if you make any sudden movements, you will find I am not as gentle the second time around. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

Slowly he released her hands, taking a step back so their bodies were not pressed together. He saw her exhale in relief.

‘Are you a thief, Miss Shepherd?’

She tensed again.

‘No,’ she answered quickly, a hint of outrage in her tone.

‘I am struggling to see what other reason there could be for you to climb all the way up here into Lord and Lady Shrewsbury’s house.’

Her eyes trailed over him, inspecting him. ‘I need to talk to someone in this house.’

‘Did you try knocking at the front door?’

‘I did that just this morning. I was turned away.’

‘So your response was to break in through an open window?’

‘This may be merely a matter of jest to you,’ Miss Shepherd tossed the loose strands of hair back over her shoulder, ‘but it is vitally important I speak to Agnes Pepper who works here as a maid.’

‘Could you not have sent her a note? Or waited for her to have her afternoon off?’

‘There is no time,’ Miss Shepherd said, the words bursting forth with such feeling that they made Henry pause.

‘I should alert Lord Shrewsbury of your presence,’ he murmured after a moment. ‘And perhaps the local constable.’

He watched as some of the fight left her, and he suddenly realised how young she was. Miss Shepherd could only be twenty-two or twenty-three. Her skin was smooth, her face unlined and her hair was thick and deep in colour. She spoke as if born into the middle or gentry classes. If she was telling the truth about needing to speak to one of the servants in the household, whatever motivated her must be of great importance. You did not often find gently born young ladies climbing trees and breaking into houses.

Miss Shepherd pressed her lips together before speaking again. ‘I implore you not to call the constable. Let me be on my way. No harm has come to anyone.’

Her tone was stiff and formal, and he got the impression it was hard for her to ask for his assistance.

‘I will make you a deal, Miss Shepherd. You have five minutes. Five minutes to tell me your story and convince me not to call the authorities. If I deem you are telling the truth, I will escort you from the house and let you go on your way. If not, I will ensure the full force of our justice system is used against you.’

Miss Shepherd regarded him for a full minute before answering, inspecting his face so thoroughly he felt like a racehorse being put up for auction.

‘Very well,’ she said, her shoulders sagging. ‘I came to London in search of my missing sister and, with every passing day, I become more and more convinced she is dead.’