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Her direction turned back out the window, and she leaned closer to the glass. “No. Surely it is not . . .”
“Not who?”
She looked closer, resting her palm on the glass beside her. “It only looks like someone I once knew. But the glass is thick and difficult to see clearly.”
“You are safe, even if you do know this person, for you do not intend to leave the room—”
Thea spun and dropped to the floor, holding my gaze, her blue eyes round. “He saw me. I’m certain of it.”
“Who saw you?”
She swallowed. “Peter Seymour.”
Chapter8
THEA
“Who is Peter Seymour? And why does his name sound familiar?” Benedict asked, rising from the small, rickety chair and crossing toward the window. I put out my hands to stop him. The last thing we needed now was to draw further attention to our room.
“He’s the man who wrote me that letter.” My outstretched arms did not halt Benedict, so I reached up and tugged on his hand.
He looked at me. “What the devil are you doing?”
“Move away from the window!” I hissed, releasing his hand. It was rough, the skin calloused in a way I had not expected. Or perhaps that was my own rugged skin.
He scoffed. “It is impossible to see—”
I reached for him again, and he stepped back. “Thea, even if the man had seen you, he was unlikely to make out your identity through the dusk and this thick glass. He would not know it wasyou.”
“You cannot know that. He looked up and watched me for a few moments before I ducked away.”
Ben scrubbed a hand over his face. “Well, if he had not had any suspicionspriorto your questionable activity, he certainly has them now.”
I had not considered that point. Peter was like a scourge who returned with relentless enthusiasm and refused to depart. Our acquaintance began when Mother and I lived with the Richters for the duration of the year following my father’s death. Peter had begun a clandestine flirtation with me that ended promptly when my mother died and I returned to England. Two years later, when I left Chelton to attend school in York, Peter happened to be in town visiting his cousin and came to call on me at school a handful of times.
Benedict was correct, most likely. My sudden drop from the window proved my guilt to any onlookers outside. “I’ve given myself away,” I said. And to a man who, when one considered the contents of his letter, had been looking for me.
“More than likely. So long as your friend does not listen outside our door, however, he will not find a woman here.”
A slow grin spread over my lips, and I lifted my smile to Benedict. “Because I am aboy. Oh, blessed ruse.”
He looked warily at me and sat on the edge of the bed. “Is the man dangerous?”
“No. Only . . . persistent.” It could not be helped that I’d allowed him to kiss me in Mrs. Richter’s garden. I was barely fifteen then, so I could hardly be blamed for being young, naive, extremely bored from the limited social functions we could participate in while mourning my father, and wondering what all the fuss was about in regard to kissing.
I had to admit, I wasn’t impressed.
“He must be here to watch the fight,” I said. He’d mentioned in the letter that he was still living in London, and we were a far cry from Town now.
“Then we can content ourselves that he will not rise early and see us making our escape.”
I turned around and raised my head to peek over the edge of the glass. The group of men who had arrived with Peter were all gone now, likely drinking in the taproom below us, and I sank down onto the floor in relief. “It would be precisely my fortune to go to the trouble of such a disguise, only to be caught out by one of the few people in England who might recognize me.”
“Do you truly care if you are?” Benedict asked. He sounded interested in my answer, as though he believed I did not care for what Society thought of me. He was mistaken. I was no fool—which was why I was extremely cautious in the positions I had obtained for myself after leaving Mrs. Moulton’s school. My parents had done their share of the work in ruining whatever reputation our name carried with their infidelity and reckless behavior. I did not want to make the situation worse for myself.
“I care.”
“Yet it was you who disappeared from school and took on a servant’s position. If you were to see Mrs. Fuller in London, what would you do? It would be a scandal if the activities of the previous few months were widely known.”
