Page 22 of The Marquess’s Masked Archer

Sylvie smelled like lilacs in the spring.

Miles was used to paying attention to details, but not to being so wholly distracted by them. He could usually set aside anything else and focus on a task at hand with absolute clarity. But the sensations that assaulted him when Sylvie put her hand on his arm and stepped close enough for her dark skirt to crush up against his leg clouded his mind in an instant. Tendrils of her blond locks had come loose and formed a lovely crown around her head. His better judgment was clearly impaired because he found himself nodding quite by accident. “If it will keep you from lurking in the dark, I’ll help you.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Miles cringed. He was writing the letters. How could he pretend to help her without revealing himself before he was ready?

It was the infernal way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of the possibility of falling in love with the man who wrote those letters on her own terms. Miles wanted nothing more than to be that man. And he wanted to help her discover it was him, as convoluted as that might be.

As he tried to reconcile what he’d agreed to with what he wanted, Sylvie grinned, the sight of it charming him beyond his ability to resist. “Oh, thank you, Miles! It will be fun, you’ll see. We’ll be like Sherlock Holmes and Watson. You should consider getting a bowler to wear, and I’ll find an Inverness cape.”

Still distracted by the fact that if he swayed an inch to the side, Sylvie would be pressed up against him, Miles absently shook his head. “As long as you don’t take up a pipe. Your mother would never forgive me.”

Her laughter pealed through the stillness of the evening like a church bell tolling happy tidings. A wedding, perhaps. Or the birth of a new royal baby, causing celebration to arise throughout Great Britain. Miles was captivated by it. What could he do to make her laugh again?

But then he was once more flustered by her movements as she danced a bit in place, her fingers fluttering as if she itched to write down her schemes. “We’ll need to make a list of suspects. There are quite a few we can rule out from the start. Married men or engaged men, of course. If it’s one of them, I don’t want to know, anyway. I can list several with absolute certainty who haven’t the capacity to write such lovely words. They simply can’t be my admirer.”

Sylvie chewed on her lower lip while thinking. Then she perked up and looked straight at Miles again. “Oh! You ought to read the two letters I’ve received so far. So you’ll know what kind of man we’re looking for.”

“Ah…no, I don’t think that’s necessary.” Miles’s heart dropped like an anchor in the depths of the ocean. The last thing he wanted was to read his own heartfelt words in front of her. For a man who wouldn’t claim to be a talented actor, he’d gotten himself into too many situations that required playing make believe.

But Sylvie was not going to allow him to refuse. She dug in the small leather handbag hanging from her wrist by a strap and pulled out a folded stack of paper. Warmth spread through his chest. She carried his letters around with her? Did she enjoy them that much, or was it for reference as she sought the author?

Before he could attempt a reasonable argument against needing to see them, she thrust the papers at him. “Don’t be concerned about privacy or anything of that sort. Most ladies would share something like this with their female friends. But mine is too busy this summer to be much support. I’m glad you’re here to help me with this.”

The conflicting emotions her words dredged up hit Miles with the force of a train at full speed. He was thrilled to be her support, delighted she trusted him enough to turn to him. But at the same time, her nonchalance about handing over private letters revealed how deeply she considered him her friend, nothing more. Had he gotten himself in too tight a spot by agreeing to friendship while pursuing her in secret?

Unsure what other option he had, Miles took the letters from Sylvie’s outstretched hand and unfolded them. He skimmed the words he still remembered by heart, trying to give an appropriate impression of reading with interest. After an amount of time he hoped would be sufficient for a person to read that much material, Miles looked up and found Sylvie watching him with her lips parted and gaze intent. His heart thumped hard. If only she would watch him that way because she wanted to know him better, not to learn what he thought about a man she believed wasn’t him.

Miles cleared his throat and handed the letters back to her. “I believe you’re correct about the man being part of your usual circles. He sounds well-educated and familiar with high society. And his handwriting is impeccable.” Miles’s mother had seen to that, and it took some of the sting out of the moment to compliment himself a bit. “But he hasn’t given any clues as to his identity. How do you intend to investigate?”

“The only way to start is by narrowing down all the available gentlemen who could have sent them and try to see their handwriting. As you say, it is very fine, and not all men master it so well.” While she spoke, Sylvie glanced up and down the street, as if she didn’t want to be overheard even though they were deep in the church yard. It reminded Miles of how late the hour was and how dangerous it was for her to be there, especially alone with him. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel she had to marry him because her reputation was tarnished. There were a great many society men across the street who could leave the club at any moment and set off such a scandal.

Grasping her elbow, Miles tugged her toward the street. “We should get you home before anyone else sees you. There’s plenty of time to work on a plan for finding your gentleman.”

Back on the sidewalk, the glow from the electric streetlights illuminated her wide eyes as she looked up at him. For a moment, they arrested his every sense, enough to make him stumble over the curb and narrowly avoid falling headlong into the street.

Sylvie grasped his hand in response. “Miles, are you all right? What did you trip over?”

“Only my own feet.” His voice came out as a croak, sounding desperate even to his own ears. Her warm palm resting against his was a sensation Miles wished he could drink in like water. Of their own volition, his fingers twitched, curling around hers and squeezing while he watched her face. Her lips parted, and he was lost. How many of his plans would be ruined if he kissed her? And did it matter if they were? He couldn’t remember any solid reason not to lower his lips to hers.

Voices echoed from across the street as the door to the Masonic Temple opened. The reality of their situation broke the moment and spurred Miles into action. He whisked Sylvie around the corner and began a brisk walk with her in the opposite direction, keeping their backs to anyone approaching from the club. “I’ll see you to the dock. I trust you can get home safely from there, since you got yourself here in the first place.”

She didn’t speak, only nodded. Was there any possibility she was as shaken by the brief contact of their hands as he was? Could it be that she might have welcomed a kiss from him?

No. Miles locked such questions away in the back of his mind. Until he’d won her on his own merit and convinced her that picking her mother’s choice didn’t signal the failure of her quest for independence, he wouldn’t ask anything romantic of her. And he was far from reaching that goal, if her excitement over the search for her secret admirer was any indication. He would have to continue with the letters.

So Miles walked her to the dock, convincing himself all the way that she didn’t need him to escort her all the way home. He returned her surreptitious wave as she boarded the steamer waiting to take passengers back across to Put-In-Bay. As soon as she was on the boat, Miles retraced his steps to the club. Alexander was waiting outside for him.

“Ah, there you are, Miles. Where did you go? We’d better get to the dock before the last steamer of the evening leaves.”

“I needed some fresh air, so I went for a walk.” Running a hand through his hair, Miles tried not to look panicked that Sylvie was on that very ship. There was no choice but to board it. It was the only way to travel to the island at night.

They made their way along the same route Miles had walked moments before with Sylvie and boarded the still-waiting boat. Sylvie was nowhere in sight and didn’t reveal herself during the entire ride. That should have been a relief, but instead made Miles uneasy, a newfound worry for her safety almost overtaking his good sense.

After disembarking, Miles was certain he caught a glimpse of her golden hair amidst the other passengers, but it was gone when he looked again. While they walked back to Alexander’s house, Miles prayed for her to remain undetected and safe on her way home. For good measure, he threw in another request that the Lord would help him navigate the mess he seemed to have embroiled himself in, which grew more complicated by the minute.

CHAPTER 12

Monday morning dawned bright and hot, even though Sylvie left the house well before noon. This time, she was able to tell her mother honestly that she was going to Cedar Point. She had plans to meet Matilda and the Moreau sisters there to enjoy the amusements until Sylvie needed to slip away for her show. Of course, the sisters didn’t know about that part, but Matilda had agreed to help hide her afternoon plans.