Aunt Ernesta circled around to it again. Personally she hoped to be long gone before then.
Out the tall, narrow windows, the moon was past full, but still bright and silver over the leaves in the pretty garden. At least Richard hadn’t seen fit to dig up the roses and replace them with something more to his taste—though she couldn’t imagine what that might be, as money trees were solely the stuff of myth. Heaven knew she could use one of those right now otherwise.
In the drawing room her aunt and cousin were playing whist and carrying on a criticism of everyone who wasn’t themselves. Sighing, Alyse slipped past the half-open door and down the stairs.
“It’s a bit late for a stroll, Miss Alyse,” Saunders commented, turning from putting out one of the pairs of candles lighting the hallway.
“Yes, but it’s also very nicely quiet out there,” she returned, lifting her shawl off a hook and wrapping it across her shoulders. “If my aunt should ask after me, would you mind telling her I’m looking for some thread to decorate her hat for the soiree on Thursday?”
He sketched a bow. “Don’t be too long, miss.”
“I shan’t.”
In her youth, in the days before the scandal had ruined everything, she’d loved the garden at Donnelly. Alyse smiled as she took a seat on the stone bench placed beneath the old crooked elm tree—the best climbing tree in England, according to Phin. Of course that had been well before he’d turned seventeen, before her father had asked her not to spend time alone with him any longer, before the rumors that he’d taken up with actresses and married ladies and begun drinking. And before he’d disappeared for ten years.
Movement beneath the study window caught her attention. Her heart jumped even as she told herself that it was a rabbit or a hedgehog. Except that the shadow was larger than that. A dog? A deer?
Her fingers tightened convulsively around the edges of her shawl. Oh, heavens. It was a man. A large one, despite the utter silence of his movements along the base of the wall.
Abruptly he froze. Slowly his shadowed face turned in her direction. Alyse shot to her feet, a scream rising in her throat. With a rush he was on her, pressing her back against the tree trunk, a gloved hand pressed over her mouth. “Shh,” he whispered softly, gentle despite the speed of his movement.
She couldn’t see his face. He wore a mask, she realized, beneath an old-fashioned tricorne hat and a greatcoat with the collar turned up and shadowing his mouth. For a brief, amazed second she thought he must be The Gentleman. That fellow would be beyond ancient by now, though.
“Je ne vous lésez pas ,” he murmured in a deep voice. “ Comprenez vous? ”
He said he wouldn’t hurt her. Frightened as she was, she believed him, not that she wished to argue the point. Slowly she nodded.
His hand left her mouth. He took her fingers in his and drew her back to the bench. She sat, grateful for its solid support. The dark shape retreated farther into the shadows, then reappeared, a red rose in his black-gloved hand. “ Merci, ma belle mademoiselle ,” he said quietly, and handed her the flower. He bowed with an old-fashioned flourish, then vanished into the night. A moment later she glimpsed him heading into the trees, a huge dark horse beneath him.
Alyse sat where she was for a long moment. Her hands shook, the spicy scent of the rose soft in the evening air. Who was this Frenchman? Had he come to burgle the house? Whoever he was, whatever he wanted, he’d gone out of his way to demonstrate that he had no intention of harming her.
Had this man followed Phin to East Sussex? After all, Phin had spent the last ten years fighting the French. If one of them had come to exact revenge on him, though, he’d ended at the wrong manor house.
No, something else was afoot. And even as she stood and returned to the house, the rose in her hand, she knew that she wouldn’t be informing Richard or
Out the tall, narrow windows, the moon was past full, but still bright and silver over the leaves in the pretty garden. At least Richard hadn’t seen fit to dig up the roses and replace them with something more to his taste—though she couldn’t imagine what that might be, as money trees were solely the stuff of myth. Heaven knew she could use one of those right now otherwise.
In the drawing room her aunt and cousin were playing whist and carrying on a criticism of everyone who wasn’t themselves. Sighing, Alyse slipped past the half-open door and down the stairs.
“It’s a bit late for a stroll, Miss Alyse,” Saunders commented, turning from putting out one of the pairs of candles lighting the hallway.
“Yes, but it’s also very nicely quiet out there,” she returned, lifting her shawl off a hook and wrapping it across her shoulders. “If my aunt should ask after me, would you mind telling her I’m looking for some thread to decorate her hat for the soiree on Thursday?”
He sketched a bow. “Don’t be too long, miss.”
“I shan’t.”
In her youth, in the days before the scandal had ruined everything, she’d loved the garden at Donnelly. Alyse smiled as she took a seat on the stone bench placed beneath the old crooked elm tree—the best climbing tree in England, according to Phin. Of course that had been well before he’d turned seventeen, before her father had asked her not to spend time alone with him any longer, before the rumors that he’d taken up with actresses and married ladies and begun drinking. And before he’d disappeared for ten years.
Movement beneath the study window caught her attention. Her heart jumped even as she told herself that it was a rabbit or a hedgehog. Except that the shadow was larger than that. A dog? A deer?
Her fingers tightened convulsively around the edges of her shawl. Oh, heavens. It was a man. A large one, despite the utter silence of his movements along the base of the wall.
Abruptly he froze. Slowly his shadowed face turned in her direction. Alyse shot to her feet, a scream rising in her throat. With a rush he was on her, pressing her back against the tree trunk, a gloved hand pressed over her mouth. “Shh,” he whispered softly, gentle despite the speed of his movement.
She couldn’t see his face. He wore a mask, she realized, beneath an old-fashioned tricorne hat and a greatcoat with the collar turned up and shadowing his mouth. For a brief, amazed second she thought he must be The Gentleman. That fellow would be beyond ancient by now, though.
“Je ne vous lésez pas ,” he murmured in a deep voice. “ Comprenez vous? ”
He said he wouldn’t hurt her. Frightened as she was, she believed him, not that she wished to argue the point. Slowly she nodded.
His hand left her mouth. He took her fingers in his and drew her back to the bench. She sat, grateful for its solid support. The dark shape retreated farther into the shadows, then reappeared, a red rose in his black-gloved hand. “ Merci, ma belle mademoiselle ,” he said quietly, and handed her the flower. He bowed with an old-fashioned flourish, then vanished into the night. A moment later she glimpsed him heading into the trees, a huge dark horse beneath him.
Alyse sat where she was for a long moment. Her hands shook, the spicy scent of the rose soft in the evening air. Who was this Frenchman? Had he come to burgle the house? Whoever he was, whatever he wanted, he’d gone out of his way to demonstrate that he had no intention of harming her.
Had this man followed Phin to East Sussex? After all, Phin had spent the last ten years fighting the French. If one of them had come to exact revenge on him, though, he’d ended at the wrong manor house.
No, something else was afoot. And even as she stood and returned to the house, the rose in her hand, she knew that she wouldn’t be informing Richard or
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