Page 17 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“He had an excuse. He told me I was ‘in danger,’ that I should go to Bath with Grandmother,” Annabeth scoffed. “He said some person could hurt me to get at him. That is nonsense. We haven’t been anything to each other for over a decade.”

“Who is trying to get to ’im?”

“I don’t know. Someone who wants to ‘take over the docks.’ I don’t even know what that means. It sounded criminal. Everyone says Sloane’s still a smuggler and engaged in all sorts of wicked activities, but I thought that now that he had money, he would have stopped doing illegal things.” She grimaced. “Foolish of me, I know. Obviously I never saw him as he really was.”

Judy paused and looked at Annabeth in the mirror. “Maybe ’e’s right, miss. Yuh know, there was that break-in at that other ’ouse of yours the other day.”

Two days earlier, when Annabeth and her maid had arrived at the rental house where they were working, they had been shocked to find that the place had been ransacked.

“But that wasn’t dangerous. No one was hurt or threatened—the house was empty. It was a terrible mess, but that’s all.”

“Did yuh tell Mr. Rutherford about it?”

“No. He’s the last person I’d tell.” When Judy continued to look worried, Annabeth rose to her feet, alarmed. “You aren’t going to tell my grandmother, are you? They all worry so about me. Ever since Sloane left, everyone has been so...careful about me. They act as if I were fragile, as if I might fall apart at any moment. They do it out of love, I know, but sometimes I feel as though I can scarcely breathe. I cannot talk freely to anyone but Noelle because they will worry and fuss.”

“Yuh can talk to me, miss,” Judy assured her, and Annabeth smiled faintly.

“Yes, I know. It’s been nice going over to the rental house—being able to say what I want. Do what I like. If we tell my grandmother about the break-in, she’ll insist I stay home.”

“I’d not give yuh up to Lady Lockwood. I just thought, well, that Mr. Rutherford sounds like the kind of gent that could take care of that sort of thing.”

“No doubt he could.” Annabeth grimaced. “Maybe that’s the reason for his little scene on the terrace tonight. He thought he could use it to worm his way back into my life—though I can’t imagine why he would want to be in my life. But I won’t allow it. Sloane means nothing but trouble, and I’ve done fine by myself all these years. I don’t need him.”

“’Course not,” Judy said stoutly. “It’s just...well, maybe ’e isn’t scheming up something. Maybe ’e is worried about yuh. Maybe ’e still cares and is sorry.”

Annabeth snorted derisively. “Sloane is never sorry about anything. Least of all leaving me. He did exactly what he wanted to do.”

“Maybe ’e ’ad a reason, maybe—”

“Why, Judy.” A smile quirked up a corner of Annabeth’s mouth. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.”

“Ah, miss, now don’t go saying that.” Judy grinned back at her. “Yuh’ll spoil me reputation. It’s ’ard-’earted, I am.”

“Oh, yes, I can see that.”

The subject of Sloane and danger was dropped as Judy tidied up the room for the night and turned down the bed. But as she left the room, Judy turned. “I could sleep on a cot in here tonight, miss. Just in case ’e’s right.”

Annabeth smiled. “Thank you, Judy, but I’m sure that won’t be necessary. I’m perfectly safe.”

CHAPTER SIX

THE NEXT DAY Annabeth’s mind kept going back to Sloane and their conversation. She thought of all the things she should have said to him—the witty, acerbic comments that would have put him in his place, the angry words she should have told him when he left and which had, apparently, been stewing somewhere deep inside her all the years since. Despite her anger, she could not keep from also remembering their time together—the kisses and embraces, the thrill of seeing him, laughing with him, their dreams for the future, the certainty that their love would last a lifetime.

Finally, to stop her pointless, recirculating thoughts, she decided to take a book back to the circulating library and look for something new to read. She took her maid with her, as her grandmother insisted for propriety. Judy followed a few steps behind her, carrying the book.

Annabeth stopped and turned to her. “I hope you aren’t planning to walk behind me all the way like an exceptionally boring parade.”

“Ah, but it would be unseemly, miss, walking alongside yuh like a friend,” Judy said in a tone somewhere between bantering and bitter.

“But you are also my friend. Aren’t you?”

“’Course I am.” Judy smiled. “But this’ll please Lady Lockwood, and I’m in her black books right now.”

Annabeth started to ask why, but she was interrupted by an old, rather battered carriage rattling down the street and stopping behind them. Annabeth glanced over curiously to see which of her grandmother’s friends had come to call on her for gossip and tea. To her surprise, the door of the vehicle flew open, and two men erupted from it.

Judy jumped in front of Annabeth, shouting, “Back in the house!”

The maid flung the book she held at the larger man, hitting him in the groin. He let out a cry of pain, but before he’d even fallen to his knees, Judy had whipped out a knife from somewhere on her person. She faced the other man in a fighting stance. He pulled out a knife from beneath his jacket—did everyone besides Annabeth carry a knife while going about their daily business? The smaller man moved forward warily, keeping his eyes on Judy.