Page 23 of Love and the Shameless Lady

“You didn’t think to scream for help?”

“Who would have heard me? I chose this room because it’s quiet.”

He absorbed that. “What about your knife and gun? Are those just fairy tales?”

“No, they’re not tales. Someone took them. My knife was no longer by my bed, and my gun . . .” She turned in the direction of the table. The knife lay beside the lamp. She yanked open the drawer.

The gun was there, right where it belonged.

“My gun wasn’t here earlier. Nor was my knife. That’s why I took the penknife when I went onto the roof. I thought I could stab him if he tried to climb out, too.”

“Your gun and knife are here now,” Sir Julian said.

“But they were not here earlier.”

“Interesting,” he said.

“You don’t believe me. You think I’m a hysterical female, but I’m not!”

“I don’t know what I think, but whatever the truth of the matter, you wouldn’t have climbed onto the roof if you hadn’t felt endangered.” He found the key where it had fallen, and locked the door.

He picked up the gun and examined it. “It’s not loaded.”

“What do you mean, it’s not loaded? Of course it’s loaded.”

“Sorry, but it’s not. Give me your powder and shot. I’ll reload it.”

“I can do that myself.” She reached into the back of the drawer and remembered. “I don’t have any left.”

“Go back to sleep,” he said. “I’ll give you some powder and shot tomorrow. Meanwhile, I’ll stay here and guard you.”

“You can’t stay here,” she said.

“Without a loaded gun, you’re vulnerable. Knives aren’t much good unless one knows how to use them. I doubt your intruder will return, but how much sleep will you get if I leave?”

“How much will I get if you’re here?”

“For God’s sake, woman, I’m not expecting to bed you. Believe it or not, this is pure chivalry on my part.”

He’d been protective before. Twice. Maybe he was just that sort of man, but it was far too unlikely. “I don’t believe in pure anything.”

He threw himself onto the sofa. “Believe what you please. I’m not saying I don’t find you attractive, I do, but I’m a gentleman. And even if I weren’t, your ill temper renders you unappealing, no matter how lovely your legs.”

Infuriated, hurt, and relieved, she got back into bed. She turned down the lamp and pulled the bed curtains shut. For several minutes she lay there, unaccountably fuming. She should be glad. But she was bad-tempered on purpose. She chose to drive men away, and it worked.

Julian dozed for a while. When he woke, he listened carefully. Daisy Warren’s breathing was soft and slow. Dawn had broken, and the sun would soon rise.

He eased himself off the sofa, opened one of the window curtains just enough to let in some light, and took a good look around her room. A dressing table with a chair, a clothes press, a bookshelf with various romantic novels and a copy of Camden’s Britannia, which she’d mentioned on their ride together from Liverpool.

He seated himself at her desk. She did believe someone intended to kill her. She’d almost said so, then changed what she was going to say. He assumed it was the third reason on her list, the one she’d said didn’t matter.

Who would want to kill Daisy, and why? It might have something to do with his mission, and searching her room was the way to find out. Nevertheless, his motives were largely chivalrous. If she’d shown some sign of interest in him, he might have had an ulterior motive, but she treated him with much the same disdain as any other man. However, she needed protecting, and therefore it behooved him to protect her.

He hoped to God he wouldn’t be obliged to inform on her. As far as he could tell, she had no reason to be in league with spies, but one never knew, and spies often had good reason to commit murder.

As quietly as possible, he went through the drawers of her desk one by one. Several recipes for rock buns. Some notes in a crude shorthand which wouldn’t be hard to decipher, given a little time. He pocketed one of the pages, planning to return it later, hopefully unmissed.

About fifty pounds in banknotes. A large packet of correspondence, which appeared to be mostly gossip, from someone called Andrea. In a locked drawer, easily picked, several pages of copperplate about a smuggling run, in which a ginger-haired woman played a leading part. Another page, with a much untidier description of the experience of being shot at and controlling a panicked horse.