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Lord Brooks spun around and marched out of the room.
Alice wanted to run after him, wanted to stop him before he left. But her feet refused to obey. Her entire being seemed frozen as though she’d been left out in the winter cold all night. Only after she heard the front door slam shut did she feel air enter her lungs once more.
He knew.
Heaven help her, Lord Brooks knew.
But how? What had finally given her away? Alice’s hand squeezed around the wet handkerchief in her hand. Tiny, cold rivulets of water flowed over her fingers. With brow creased, she hurried to the far side of the room and looked at herself in the mirror hanging on the wall.
Freckles.
Dozens of freckles stood out across her cheeks and nose. Alice shut her eyes and leaned her forehead against the icy glass. How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn’t she simply summoned a maid to stoke the fire?
It didn’t matter now.
Lord Brooks knew she’d been dressing up as Mr. Allen all along. What must he think of her? She’d so wanted him to hold her in high esteem—if not Lady Nightingale, at least Mr. Allen—and now...this. Alice shook her head while it was still pressed against the mirror. Everything she’d tried to do. Everything she’d tried tohide.
It was all over now.
