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“You’re going to kill yourself,” he muttered, “and me,” before he tore the boy and the man apart. It only took a quick, hard punch to the man’s gut to send him on his way.
He twisted, grabbed the boy’s arm and jerked him a few steps away from the prone men. As he fought Blake’s hold, the hat spilled from the boy’s head and long strands of hair tumbled about his shoulders.Hisshoulders? Blake blinked a few times.
“You’re a woman.”
Her eyes widened and she tore herself from his grasp, then fled. Shaking his head, Blake bent to retrieve the knife and shoved it into his jacket pocket.
“A woman,” he murmured to himself. And a specific woman at that.
Chapter Four
Demeter gnawed on the end of her thumb and glanced at her aunt. Aunt Sarah occupied the chaise longue like a lady from a dramatic painting. Even her wrap mimicked the great swathes of fabric so often seen on the usually naked women. Thankfully Aunt Sarah’s naked days were long gone though, apparently in her youth there had been many a time her aunt had swam naked in the lakes at the country estate. She doubted those Greek goddesses spent time talking to their cat and brushing him to within an inch of their life, however.
She forced her attention back to the book in her hand but the words blurred into nothing. Surely given her aunt’s proclivity for bold actions, she would not be shocked if Demeter confessed all.
I practically stabbed a member of the ton, she would say. And he probably recognized me.
But maybe he did not. He’d been shocked to be certain to realize she was a woman but there was no evidence he knew who she was. It had been exactly four hundred and thirty-two days since they had last talked. She knew that because he’d murmured a greeting to her at the ball at Berrington House and that had been six days before her birthday. Maybe he’d forgotten what she looked like.
She flicked the edge of the page with a finger, over and over. He might have forgotten her face but surely if he saw her again, he’d figure out who she was.
It had been dark, though. And she’d hardly looked like a lady, even with her hair loose. If he said anything, she could simply declare innocence and act as though he were mad. After all, what sort of a duke’s daughter would dress up as a man to go and gamble with those sorts of people? She could just deny it all and he could hardly question the word of a lady now, could he?
“Is something the matter?” Aunt Sarah asked, mid-brush.
Simon the cat twisted, giving her a look that indicated he was annoyed about the interruption. The almost purely white cat spent practically every hour at her aunt’s side since it arrived on their doorstep years ago and her aunt had declared it must be her dead husband, come back as a cat to comfort her. That flea-ridden, half-starved creature was a far cry from the pampered kitty currently eyeing Demeter with what she could swear was annoyance.
Her aunt wouldn’t be shocked. It took a lot to shock her. Her admission about last Season, when she had taken the biggest risk to her reputation ever hadn’t even been enough to stagger her aunt. Even Demeter’s declaration that she was going to be bolder, more exciting and do daring things such as playrealcard games for proper stakes hadn’t surprised her.
In fact, her aunt had supported her. But she wasn’t certain she wanted to admit she had messed it all up already by letting her silly infatuation with Blake give herself away. If only she had not looked him in the eye. If only she had run the moment she’d escaped that man’s hold. But no. She wanted to check he was well, check she hadn’t done more damage to his handsome face than she’d feared.
“Aunt, I—”
The door to the drawing room burst open. A footman followed Eleanor in quickly, positioning himself by the door with the faintest look of irritation that he had not been able to do his job.
“They’re here,” Eleanor declared, lifting oil-stained fingers.
Despite her elegant lemon-yellow gown, her half-sister had the look of a worker having emerged from the mines with black streaks down her clothing and smeared across her nose. Her hair that she struggled so hard to tame into a chignon was wild—a halo of curls framing her face. Though Eleanor was a few years younger than Demeter and not as close to the dreaded twenty-seven—so, so close to official, real,verifiedspinsterhood—they both shared a similar outlook on life.
If they could avoid people, they would, though they had not chosen to be this way. Life had forced them down this path. Eleanor was distrusted on sight due to her mother being black and people treated Demeter as though she was simple thanks to her occasional stutter.
Naïvely, Demeter had not realized just how badly Eleanor would be treated until last year, however, when some dreadful rumors gave thetonpermission to reveal their previously hidden prejudices against her. Though their father had tried to protect her by claiming her as his own, thetonwould never fully accept her. Demeter had to be grateful that the worst people thought of her was that she was stupid.
Perhaps she was. If she was clever she would put an end to her infatuation with Blake and never disguise herself as a boy again. But, oh Lord, had she enjoyed it. Until it had all gone wrong. Having the freedoms of a man and setting her wits against men who were equally skilled at cards had provided a thrill that not even being part of an investigative club with her sisters provided.
Not to mention the pockets. Gosh, she missed those pockets. Why did women’s clothes have so few of them? She had the occasional gown with a cleverly disguised pocket or two but nothing like the vast quantity she had in the jacket she wore.
“Did you hear me?” Eleanor waved a hand in front of Demeter’s face. “Chastity and Cassie are here.” Her sister strode to the window and pressed her palms against the windowsill, leaving grimy smears upon the white paint. “Chastity looks huge!”
“Well, she is close to confinement.” Demeter rose to peer out of the window to see Chastity ambling down the pathway, her stomach pronounced in a dramatic deep purple gown. Her husband Valentine lingered at her side and she waved him away. Cassie and her husband followed behind, both looking ridiculously handsome in their travel clothes. At least with her sisters in town for the Season, things would be a little more exciting.
Perhaps she would cease dressing as a man. For a while at least.
***
Wonderful. Just what he needed. The very man he was trying to investigate.
Blake ran a finger along the inside of his collar, spared the quickest look at his reflection in the hallway mirror, then turned to face his cousin. Dressed in an excellently cut jacket and fitted breeches, he had to wonder where Foster had found a tailor willing to work so quickly.
