Page 28 of The Redemption of the Shrew

“But what if she loves you?” Sophie said.

She knows nothing of love, he wished to say, but it seemed he knew nothing of her. Who was the true Gloriana—the woman who had founded a school for orphaned boys, or the termagant who had insulted him for years? He wanted to know, to understand, wanted it with a painful, grinding insistence in his heart and his gut, but he did not intend to ask. It would only lead to more heartbreak. He tore off another piece of baguette and took up the butter knife.

Sophie pouted. “Why did you not kiss her today? You quieted her. You had her in your arms. You could have kissed her and made all well.”

He frowned, brandishing the knife. “Do you know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you should find yourself a husband,” he said. “One who will keep you happily occupied in bed, so you will mind your own business.” He spread butter and confiture de fraises, and smiled across the table at her. “You have been too long without a man.”

She flushed, turning a pettish shoulder. “I cannot marry, and you know very well why.”

“There we disagree, ma chère. You worry about nothing. If you marry, I shall ensure that all will be well.”

She didn’t answer, for on this subject, they disagreed. She was far too law-abiding. They had no proof that Jean-Esprit, her cur of a husband, was dead, and now Philippe’s troubles made it well-nigh impossible to pursue inquiries in France. In his opinion, she should consign legality to the devil and marry whenever she wished. He would get rid of Jean-Esprit if and when it became necessary.

Why that blush, though? Mordieu, had his sister fallen in love? No, it was impossible. She went nowhere and met no one.

As for himself . . . he had gone too long without a woman, which made dealings with Gloriana doubly difficult. He didn’t want to employ a new mistress. Last night, he had seriously considered giving in to the advances of one of the lusty widows of his acquaintance.

Unfortunately, he didn’t want the widow. He wanted Gloriana. As long as he kept on encountering her here, there, and everywhere, he couldn’t help but want her.

He finished breakfast and left. He had a plan, and he intended to put it into effect forthwith. When the Book of Hours was once again in Gloriana’s hands, he would find a way to be free of her once again.

~ ~ ~

Gloriana sat before her dressing table the next morning, worrying. Philippe had ignored her pleas to forget the Book of Hours. The more she thought about it, the more she feared he would try to steal it from Lord Hythwick’s mansion. He was experienced at theft. He probably knew how to pick locks, climb in windows, or whatever else burglars did to gain access.

What if he were caught in the act? She would never forgive herself. She considered approaching him again, begging him to forget the Book of Hours, but she knew he wouldn’t agree.

Besides, he didn’t want to see her. He wanted her to stay away, so she would do exactly that.

She considered her options. She could write to him, saying the book had been found at home in Lancashire.

But that would be a lie. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d had enough of lying to Philippe. And apart from that, it wouldn’t help to get the book back.

Or she could gain access to Hythwick’s house by social means. She was acquainted with his sister, Lady Marianne Delfin. In fact, for the few brief seconds when she’d actually considered marrying him, Marianne had been the one and only factor on the positive side of the scale. She could further her acquaintance with Lady Marianne and hope that invitations would be forthcoming. But that would take a while, and in the meantime, Philippe might put himself in danger.

Not only that, Hythwick might forbid his sister to associate with Gloriana. He treated her civilly enough in company, as expected, for if the story of the assault leaked out, it would tarnish his reputation as well as hers. Still, he might pronounce to Marianne, in his haughty way, that the Warrens were too scandalous and must be avoided.

Had she looked as stupidly haughty to Philippe—and others, notably her brother and cousins—as Hythwick did to her? Quite possibly. She felt herself reddening with shame. What a pity one couldn’t change the past.

Onward to the present. Forget Philippe and concentrate on recovering the Book of Hours.

Another option would be to hire a burglar of her own, but she hadn’t the slightest notion how one went about finding one. That was one of the drawbacks of being wealthy and well-born—one had almost no contact with the criminal classes. In Lancashire, she could have spoken to Daisy’s smuggler friends. Daisy was even acquainted with a highwayman! She didn’t know any burglars, as far as Gloriana knew, but surely the criminal sorts knew one another and could supply a recommendation.

But she wasn’t in Lancashire, so that wouldn’t work . . .

Ha! Maybe she did know how to find a burglar after all.

She dressed, ordered her coach, and soon was on the way to Islington. After arriving at the school, she hurried up the stairs, tapped on the door of Mr. Alexander’s office, and walked in.

To find a flushed Sophie Brun turning swiftly toward her, while Mr. Alexander tidied some papers on his desk.

“Miss Glow! I didn’t expect to see you today,” he said. “Madame Brun, I’m sure we can manage it. Just let me know.”

“Thank you, Mr. Alexander.” Sophie’s blush drained away, and she smiled at Gloriana. “Do come have coffee with me if you have time.”