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Samantha crept along the kitchen passageway to the back door. Tonight’s mission wasn’t especially risky, but her staff would vociferously object to her venturing out by herself. So, instead of facing a phalanx of over-protective servants, she’d claimed after dinner that a headache was coming on and retired early. Then she’d waited until the house had settled for the night before venturing forth for her rendezvous.
Lifting the skirts of her black wool gown, she hurried up the back stairs and through the kitchen garden, exiting through the gate to the laneway. Since the gate was well oiled, the only sound was the snick of the latch. Her security depended on the ability to come and go in secrecy, and every detail of her life now revolved around that.
At the moment, there were only a few people who could pose a threat to that security. John and Bathsheba would never betray her, but Braden Kendrick was another matter. Fortunately, by neither word nor deed had the doctor given any indication that he suspected Samantha’s role in his rescue, even after meeting Felicity. She could only conclude that the stygian darkness of Old Town had provided enough cover that night to hide the fact that she and Donny had communicated by signing.
She adjusted her short veil and shifted her walking stick to her right hand. Then she set off, heading down the silent laneway to the street on the typically damp and chilly November night. The weather meant that few residents of New Town would be out on foot, so she would be able to make it down to Old Town without—
“Out for a late-night stroll, my lady?” came a deep, brogue-laced voice from behind her.
Samantha whirled, instinctively pulling her blade even as she registered the identity of the man in the shadows.
Kendrick put up his hands. “No need to gut me, lass.”
She slammed her blade back into its sleeve. “If you don’t wish to be gutted, don’t sneak up on people.”
“I don’t think I was the one sneaking, actually.”
“No, you were lurking here like a footpad,” she snapped, more rattled than she cared to admit. “And you look like one, too, I might add.”
He stood in the shadow of a high brick wall, dressed in a black greatcoat and boots, a slouchy hat pulled low over his forehead. Blending into the darkness, he was a shadow within shadows.
Even though she couldn’t see his face, she felt the incredulity. It was coming off him in waves.
“Pot, meet kettle,” he said, gesturing to her coal-black garb.
Samantha repressed the desire to whack him with her walking stick. Instead, she took a deep breath to settle her racing heart before opening her mouth again. If there was ever a time she needed to keep her wits, it was now.
“Dr. Kendrick, what are you doing here?”
He propped a shoulder against the wall, as if settling in for a nice, long discussion. The thought flickered through her brain that the dratted man looked very attractive and more than a little intimidating dressed as a footpad.
Ninny.
She didn’t have time for this. She needed to get down to the Grassmarket before her source closed up for the night.
“I should think it obvious,” he said. “I was waiting for you.”
“Do you generally make it a habit to lie in wait for unsuspecting women, nearly giving them heart attacks?”
He let out a sardonic snort. “No, only for you. Most women I know have the sense not to sneak off to Old Town in the middle of the night.”
Absurdly, she felt defensive. What business was it of his? “It’s barely past ten. Hardly the middle of the night.”
“Really? That’s the tack you’re going with?”
“Look, why would you assume I’m sneaking off to Old Town? Perhaps I’m just out for a pleasant stroll before bedtime.”
“Because it’s bloody freezing out,” he said. “And it’ll be a miracle if we don’t get rained on, by the looks of the sky.”
She waved an airy hand. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed.”
“Good God,” he muttered.
The quarter hour chimed from the bell tower of a nearby church. Sheneededto be gone.
“This has been a most enlightening chat, but I must be on my way. Good night.”
