Read Online Haunted Hearts by Teresa DesJardien - Free Book Online Page B

true, and it was morning--but her gown was not too daring. Phoebe lifted a brow, but she said nothing as Olivia retrieved a pair of walking boots. A quick application of a hairbrush and a twisted topknot was all Olivia was willing to do with her hair, but Phoebe must have found it acceptable, because she nodded.
    A pair of gloves, a parasol, a reticule, and a cream-colored pelisse finished the ensemble in under five minutes, and the sisters stepped forth, out into the busy morning streets of Mayfair, toward the even busier streets of the fashion district.
    Olivia knew exactly what she was going to do first: order another gown made. There were only three days left before she would need it, so she’d be paying a premium. On her tray this morning there’d been an invitation. It’d been from Lord Quinn, the sight of his distinctive spiky writing making her widen her eyes as she recalled all she’d done last night--too, it was odd to receive a second note from him, this man she scarcely knew. Was he a candidate for giving her a new kiss or two?
    She might have smiled, but another thought occurred. Could he have seen through her disguise and known it had been she last night…? Did it matter? But no, he’d not known her at the fortune-telling table, of that she was sure. She’d sliced the wax seal on the envelope quickly, and had seen it was an invitation to a gathering to “Celebrate the Downfall of the Guy Fawkes’ Gunpowder Plot of 1605, with Dancing.” The date, naturally, was set for the evening of November Fifth. Another unusual party then, commemorating an old thwarted conspiracy against Parliament and James I. Olivia had glanced again at the invitation, mildly disappointed to see it was not to be a costumed affair--and had resolved at once to go.
    So now she needed a new gown, something splendid, something to suit her true, unmasked return to society.
    “So how did you spend your evening last night?” Phoebe called after her as Olivia charged ahead.
    “Preparing for today,” Olivia answered, amused anew by Phoebe’s answering frown.
    ***
    Kellogg, Ian’s butler, rapped twice on his master’s bedchamber door, and a recently roused Ian mumbled for him to come in. A footman had preceded the butler, having brought the morning tray. It straddled Ian’s legs as he lay propped up in bed, its spread not yet touched.
    “My lord, there was a caller last night.”
    “Yes?” Ian said, reaching for a toast point. Who would know to call on him? Sir Terrence? “An older gentlemen with a mustache, was it?”
    Kellogg allowed a frown. “Younger, I would say. He was not of the sort to be admitted. He was in costume, his face covered. A foreign man. French, I think.”
    Ian rattled his tray and he almost dropped his toast, staring into the servant’s face. Kellogg had been hired two weeks ago, and Ian had only met him with the rest of the staff two days since. None of them had been trained to respond to the pressures, and secrets, of a house given over to duty to the Home Office. Nor would they have to learn, once this business with the French informant was over.
    “A French man ?” Ian emphasized.
    “Yes, my lord. He wished me to give you a message.”
    “Which is…?”
    “’The cat has come home.’”
    Ian made himself relax and settle back against his headboard. “I see,” he said, giving his tone a dismissive quality. A keen light in Kellogg’s eyes dimmed a bit at the master’s indifference. “If he comes again, please admit him to the front parlor. Give him tea and food. I will see him upon my return.”
    Kellogg’s interest sparked again. “If you are not to home, I should have him wait?”
    “Yes, if he wishes,” Ian said with the same unconcern. “But, yes, I would prefer it.”
    Kellogg nodded and bowed his way out.
    Ian sighed. Nosey servants were always a problem. At least this would be a short-lived one.
    Not that it mattered much, however. In fact, today was to be the beginning of his end