“Lydia, fetch my sewing basket.”
“Why—” Lydia started to argue, but Agnes held up her hand to stop Lydia.
“In case it might have escaped your attention, you shot him. And it appears as if the marquess has saved our lives tonight
from those three villains,” Agnes said. “Now go and get the basket.”
Lydia made no additional protests, but she glared at her sister. “I think we should kick you to the curb as we did the other
thieves,” she said to Max before she went to grab the basket. “Damned English,” she muttered as she traipsed down the hall.
Sabine stepped forward. “Agnes,” she said, placing a hand on her aunt’s shoulder, “I believe I can manage thesituation from
here. The three of you should return to bed.” She nodded firmly to show her resolve. “You need your rest.”
“Are you certain?” Agnes asked.
Sabine merely nodded. Though Sabine wasn’t the Healer, she had been trained as one. Her mother had died and the guardianship
had been passed to Agnes, not Sabine. It had taken her a couple of years to find confidence amid the doubtful gazes of the
villagers who sat waiting for her failure. She gave her aunt a reassuring smile. “I’ll patch him up and then the marquess
will be on his way, isn’t that right?” Sabine nudged his knee.
“Yes, of course,” he muttered.
“All will be well, I promise,” she said. Her three aunts stood huddled in the kitchen, merely staring at him.
“I’d thank you for the hospitality,” Max said, his deep voice rumbling through their small kitchen, “but I wouldn’t need such
ministrations if I hadn’t been shot. But a pleasure to meet all of you.” He then gave them a cocky grin.
Sabine could see humor etched around his eyes, and the knot in her stomach began to dissolve. His smiles seemed to simultaneously
calm and disarm her.
Once her aunts had finally left them alone in the kitchen, she busied herself with the task at hand, determined not to allow
it to bother her that she was alone with him. It was of no consequence. She’d been alone with plenty of men. True, none were
as handsome as the marquess.
She knotted the thread and sterilized the needle over the candle’s flame. Meanwhile, she tried to ignore Max’s muscular chest
and concentrate on the task at hand. Men without their shirts were not new to her. Back in Essex, men often worked in the
fields without shirts. The men in her village were strong and healthy, but they had darkercomplexions, with black hair covering
their stomachs. In contrast, Max was much fairer than the men in her culture, and his dark blond hair spread across his chest.
A lighter sprinkling down his torso narrowed to a tight line that disappeared into his waistband.
She knew how strong he was and how firm his muscles were. Earlier when she’d been pressed against him beneath the stairs,
it was the first thing she’d noticed. She’d felt his arm tighten and tense beneath her hand as she’d pinched him to end his
unwanted kiss. It mattered not that it had been a most pleasant kiss. More than pleasant, it had been world-tilting. Still
it was completely unwarranted and unwanted. She did not have time to dally with this handsome man nor any other. Her focus
was on assisting her aunts and especially keeping Agnes safe.
She didn’t dare admit that she had, just this evening, journeyed to his home to sneak inside. Sabine and her aunts had sat
in a carriage outside his townhome for nearly two hours waiting for the man to leave for the evening.
Lydia had fallen asleep due to boredom. Agnes had become rather cranky, and Calliope had wanted to go forward with the plan
and break in despite the marquess’s still being at home. But he’d never readied a carriage for himself, never called for a
horse or a rig. And the lights in that downstairs corner room had never dimmed, even after other rooms had gone dark. Had
that been his study? Perhaps where he kept the
“Why—” Lydia started to argue, but Agnes held up her hand to stop Lydia.
“In case it might have escaped your attention, you shot him. And it appears as if the marquess has saved our lives tonight
from those three villains,” Agnes said. “Now go and get the basket.”
Lydia made no additional protests, but she glared at her sister. “I think we should kick you to the curb as we did the other
thieves,” she said to Max before she went to grab the basket. “Damned English,” she muttered as she traipsed down the hall.
Sabine stepped forward. “Agnes,” she said, placing a hand on her aunt’s shoulder, “I believe I can manage thesituation from
here. The three of you should return to bed.” She nodded firmly to show her resolve. “You need your rest.”
“Are you certain?” Agnes asked.
Sabine merely nodded. Though Sabine wasn’t the Healer, she had been trained as one. Her mother had died and the guardianship
had been passed to Agnes, not Sabine. It had taken her a couple of years to find confidence amid the doubtful gazes of the
villagers who sat waiting for her failure. She gave her aunt a reassuring smile. “I’ll patch him up and then the marquess
will be on his way, isn’t that right?” Sabine nudged his knee.
“Yes, of course,” he muttered.
“All will be well, I promise,” she said. Her three aunts stood huddled in the kitchen, merely staring at him.
“I’d thank you for the hospitality,” Max said, his deep voice rumbling through their small kitchen, “but I wouldn’t need such
ministrations if I hadn’t been shot. But a pleasure to meet all of you.” He then gave them a cocky grin.
Sabine could see humor etched around his eyes, and the knot in her stomach began to dissolve. His smiles seemed to simultaneously
calm and disarm her.
Once her aunts had finally left them alone in the kitchen, she busied herself with the task at hand, determined not to allow
it to bother her that she was alone with him. It was of no consequence. She’d been alone with plenty of men. True, none were
as handsome as the marquess.
She knotted the thread and sterilized the needle over the candle’s flame. Meanwhile, she tried to ignore Max’s muscular chest
and concentrate on the task at hand. Men without their shirts were not new to her. Back in Essex, men often worked in the
fields without shirts. The men in her village were strong and healthy, but they had darkercomplexions, with black hair covering
their stomachs. In contrast, Max was much fairer than the men in her culture, and his dark blond hair spread across his chest.
A lighter sprinkling down his torso narrowed to a tight line that disappeared into his waistband.
She knew how strong he was and how firm his muscles were. Earlier when she’d been pressed against him beneath the stairs,
it was the first thing she’d noticed. She’d felt his arm tighten and tense beneath her hand as she’d pinched him to end his
unwanted kiss. It mattered not that it had been a most pleasant kiss. More than pleasant, it had been world-tilting. Still
it was completely unwarranted and unwanted. She did not have time to dally with this handsome man nor any other. Her focus
was on assisting her aunts and especially keeping Agnes safe.
She didn’t dare admit that she had, just this evening, journeyed to his home to sneak inside. Sabine and her aunts had sat
in a carriage outside his townhome for nearly two hours waiting for the man to leave for the evening.
Lydia had fallen asleep due to boredom. Agnes had become rather cranky, and Calliope had wanted to go forward with the plan
and break in despite the marquess’s still being at home. But he’d never readied a carriage for himself, never called for a
horse or a rig. And the lights in that downstairs corner room had never dimmed, even after other rooms had gone dark. Had
that been his study? Perhaps where he kept the
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