Page 54

“It’s far more likely to be a mouse,” Stella said reassuringly. “That is Lily screaming. She has a particular dislike of rodents.”

“There are no mice in my house,” Mrs. Thyme said, but without much conviction.

“With your permission, I shall accompany your niece upstairs,” Silvester said.

A flurry of emotion crossed Mrs. Thyme’s face as she weighed the possibility of a lustful intruder against that of a lustful duke. Stella practically saw her aunt conclude that the Duke of Huntington, who was in love with an exquisite Frenchwoman, had no interest in seducing her awkward, short niece.

“I trust you to remain in the hallway, Duke,” Mrs. Thyme conceded. “I expect it is some foolishness.” As another scream rang out, she collapsed back against the pillows. “Stella, your maid could show a modicum of concern for my frail state. People judge me able to surmount every challenge that life throws at me, but that is not the case.”

Stella dropped a kiss on her beleaguered aunt’s cheek and ventured up the stairs followed by Silvester. When a fourth scream emerged from her bedchamber, Stella pushed open the door and peered in. As she had guessed, no nefarious intruder had entered the window.

Silvester bumped into her from behind. “Forgive me,” he said, steadying himself by curling his hands around her waist.

Lily was sobbing gustily on the far side of the room.

“What is the matter, Lily?” Stella asked.

Silvester had apparently forgotten that he was holding her.

How could he forget? Their bodies were as close as in a waltz. She could feel the warmth of his large body just behind her. She couldn’t help wishing that she’d donned a longer corset, one that nipped in her waist.

“A gift for you, I presume?” he said in her ear.

“What?” Stella asked, twisting to look at him.

When their eyes met, his hands dropped as if scalded.

“You needn’t be so fearful,” she said, scowling at him. “I have no wish to compromise you.”

“As you have told me repeatedly,” Silvester said. Still, he fell back a step.

Stella poked him in the chest. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“Strong words!”

“You might as well have ‘Property of Yasmin’ etched on your forehead.” She turned around and walked into the room. “Lily, what—”

Her question broke off as she saw what had upset her maid.

Arranged in the center of her favorite lacy pillowcase was a fat, brown mouse. A very dead mouse, given its broken neck. Specs was seated upright next to the corpse, tail curled around her body, looking highly satisfied with herself.

Stella groaned. “Not on my pillow, Specs!”

“A gift of food,” Silvester commented, staying where he was, in the doorframe. “How kind.”

Stella walked over and handed her maid a handkerchief. “Lily, will you please fetch a groom from the mews to remove the mouse? I would be most grateful if you didn’t tell my aunt what happened.”

Lily nodded shakily and ran from the room, blotting her tears.

“You are remarkably tranquil,” Silvester said. “One would be able to hear my sisters screaming five streets away.”

“Alas, this is not Specs’s first victim,” Stella said. “When possible, I rescue the mice alive. She prefers cheese, so generally I can lure her away.”

“A sign of good taste,” Silvester remarked.

Stella bent down until she was on an eye level with Specs. “You mustn’t bring me mice,” she ordered. “Definitely do not leave them on my pillow. You are a bad kitty.”

Specs hopped off the bed and strolled out of the room, tail high in the air.