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But she was a mystery he desperately wanted to solve.
“Meet me in an hour,” he murmured. “In the library.”
She continued to keep her eyes trained on a spot just over his shoulder. “For what purpose?”
It was a fair question. Rafe didn’t have a clear answer. He simply wasn’t ready to part with her yet.
“I want your opinion on a novel.” Her lips quirked at the joke. “And this is hardly the place. I have something I need to attend to now, but I will go directly there afterward.”
She remained silent, and he could see the hesitation in her gray-eyed gaze. If only she could hear how loudly his heart pounded.
The waltz then came to an end without her answer, and Rafe brushed his lips to the back of her hand. “I hope this is not good night, Miss Sparrow.”
Chapter Nine
Sylvia crept down the darkened hallway toward the library. She had complained of a headache to Mrs. Crawford, who insisted she go to bedimmediatelylest it developed into something more serious. Now the music and laughter from the gathering slowly faded until only the swishing of her skirts, the tinkling of beads, and the rapid beating of her heart filled her ears. Sylvia paused to look over her shoulder. The hallway was completely empty. No one had followed her, and yet she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she was again being watched.
She picked up her skirts to move faster. It was only a bout of nerves, likely spurred by the sheer madness of what she was doing: meeting a man she hardly knew by herself––not to mention a man with his reputation. But it was hard to remember all her well-thought-out reservations when he was standing before her, staring as if she were the only woman in the world. Why, he had invoked the legendary ire of Lady Taylor-Smyth—a dangerous prospect, indeed—by askingherto dance. Sylvia should have said no. A lady’s companion wasn’t supposed to draw attention to herself. And waltzing with handsome men in the most expensive piece of clothing she had ever worn had the exact opposite effect. But the trouble was Mr. Davies didn’t feel like a stranger at all, and she had felt more like herself in his company these last few days than she had in years.
While they were dancing, he had held her a touch closer than appropriate in his powerful arms as the heat of his body and the scent of his bergamot shaving soap mingled together to create a rather potent narcotic. Even when he had been glowering down at her, Sylvia had felt safe, as if he would fight whole armies before letting any harm come her way. She wasn’t used to that. Normally, she shouldered her burdens alone and solved other peoples’ problems. But Mr. Davies seemed to want to solve hers instead, if she let him. Not that she ever would.
Good Lord, you don’t even know his firstname.
A minor detail that could be easily righted.
And if you are discovered together, you will be ruined. Again.
That was not so easily brushed aside.
Sylvia paused a few feet from the entrance to the library. She could still turn back. No one would have even noticed her absence yet. The part of her that had urged caution these last years, the part that burned with constant shame, with regret, the part of her that ached to go back in time and make different choices cried out in the low light of the hall.
You have not come this far to throw it all away on another man.
She most certainly had not. But then how many of those choices had been of her own making? And how much more had she been forced to sacrifice because of the choicesotherpeople had made? Even now she carried a burden foisted on her by someone else.
You’re a force of nature. When you allow yourself to be.
How she ached for Georgiana’s words to be true again. She was so tired of shrinking down to a more manageable version of herself. But whatever Mr. Davies wanted from her, whatever awaited on the other side of that door, would be her choice to make.
Sylvia straightened her shoulders and strode toward the library with renewed purpose. Excitement thrummed through her every muscle, every nerve, propelling her forward until she could barely breathe. She pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped into the silent room, greeted by the now familiar scent of aging books and wood polish. Her eyes darted around, searching for his tall form. But as she walked in a slow, wide circle, taking in every unoccupied chair and darkened corner, a dim realization took hold, snuffing out the faint hope that had just begun to take shape.
The room was empty.
He hadn’t come after all.
And she was an utter fool.
***
“Dammit, Davies, this is not what I wanted to hear.” Wardale punctuated his disappointment by pounding a fist against his desk.
Rafe couldn’t blame the man for his agitation, but that didn’t change the facts.
“I will continue to search the rooms of the remaining guests, with your approval, of course.”
“I want to know what you found.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened. “As I explained before, I did not find your missing letter, nor anything to suggest your guests are mixed up with Scottish separatists. They are as they appear.”
