Page 57 of Sinfully Daring

Fred felt an icy rush down his back.

“Keep your voice down, you blithering imbecile!” Price hissed, glancing around him as Fred ducked his head and pretended to concentrate on the cake he’d abandoned.

The girl had been there that night. Fred had never believed the story that Hargreaves had murdered his wife. Rosamund’s certainty aside, and in his cups or no, he was too good-hearted for that. Fred had met the fellow several times over the years, and he was a thoroughly decent fellow, the kind who never treated you like an annoying brat but had a proper conversation with you. If Fred could only talk to her, perhaps, if she had seen anything, he might convince her to speak up. And if he knew who she was, he could also make sure she and her babe were safe, perhaps force Price to marry the poor girl, though that was such a depressing fate for the unknown young woman that Fred felt quite ill.

He racked his brain, trying to figure out who would know all the latest gossip, before sitting back in his chair with a grin. Well, of course. The answer was obvious.

Aggie.

15thJuly 1842, The Phoenix Charitable School for Young Ladies, London

“Your father is going to have my guts for garters,” Granger muttered as Fred leapt down from the hackney coach.

“He won’t even know,” Fred scoffed, though a squirming sensation in his belly reminded him he’d better not dilly dally or they’d both be in the basket.

Granger shook his head, his expression tense. “His grace has a sixth sense, I’d like to remind you. He knows everything, I swear, though the Lord knows how. If I lose my position for letting you gallivant about visiting your girl, I’ll—”

“She’s not my girl!” Fred exclaimed, blushing to the tips of his ears. “She’s a friend, that’s all, and… and I need to speak to her about something urgent. I won’t let you get into trouble, I swear it.”

“Right you are, my lord,” Granger said dryly. “I’ll wait here. Only for fifteen minutes, mind. Hopefully you can’t get up to too much mischief in a girls’ school in that time,” he added with a low chuckle.

Fred returned a look of contempt he’d seen his big brother give people he deemed de trop and stalked off. Clearly he needed more practice, for Granger’s chuckle continued, following him all the way to the front gate.

Slipping through the entrance, Fred darted from the path into the garden that led around to the girls’ recreation area. Aggie had told him the older girls were allowed twenty-five minutes of fresh air in their own private part of the garden after lunch before returning to their lessons. If he had calculated right, that was about now.

Crouching down behind a hawthorn bush and feeling dreadfully shifty, Fred peered around at the girls. Hell’s bells, he’d be in so much trouble for this if he got caught.

Much to his relief, and not greatly to his surprise, he saw Aggie sitting on a bench by herself reading one of the books he’d sent her. He grinned as he noted the expression of rapt concentration on her face, and groped in the dirt beside him for a small pebble. Waiting to be certain no one else was looking, he chucked the stone, which hit her lightly on the shoulder.

Jumping a little, Aggie turned in surprise, her eyes widening as they fell upon Fred peering out from behind the bush. He gestured for her to hurry and ducked back out of sight to wait.

“What the devil are you playing at?” she demanded a moment later, once the two of them were out of sight.

“I need your help,” Fred whispered urgently, and told her everything he’d learned.

15th July 1842, Dern Palace, Sevenoaks, Kent, London.

Voices from outside the parlour had Rosamund leaping to her feet and rushing to the door. Sebastian could not help the smile that curved his lips as she turned back a moment later, despondent to discover it was not her father returning from town with their marriage licence. She wanted to marry him. The thought settled beneath his skin, warming him. He wanted very badly to kiss her again, to soften the pout of disappointment pursing her lips until he teased her into kissing him back, sliding her tongue against his like she had done earlier. Desire heated his blood in an instant, his body reacting to the idea like gunpowder touched with a flame. He shifted on the settee, uncomfortably aware of her mother sitting at the writing desk in the corner, the scratch of her pen the only sound at present.

Rosamund sighed and came to sit back beside him. He took her hand in his, taking pleasure in curling his fingers about hers, and from the shy smile she returned. Such a simple, foolish pleasure, and yet how many years had it been since anyone had touched him with affection? It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest they go for another walk in the hope he could be alone with her, when her mother got to her feet and gathered up her writing things.

“I just remembered I have something I need to do,” she said, giving them a bright smile. “I had quite forgotten I needed to do it, but now I’ve remembered. So I’d better… erm… get on and do it. Excuse me.”

She hurried out of the room, and either the thing she needed to do was so urgent she was distracted, or she was going to be the best kind of mother-in-law because she forgot to leave the door ajar, closing it firmly behind her.

Sebastian turned to Rosamund to find her blushing and staring at the carpet.

“Was that…?”

“On purpose, yes, of course it was,” she said, darting him a quick smile.

“Oh,” he said, feeling suddenly ten years younger. “She’s rather splendid, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Rosamund agreed.

“Your father is terrifying,” he added with a wry smile. “And that’s coming from someone who has considered him a friend for some years.”

“He’s a duke,” she replied, as if this answered the question admirably, which it did.