Read Online Lady Maggie's Secret Scandal by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Grace Burrowes
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When I last saw it, who works for me, what was in it.”
“And then there’d be a written record, which could also be stolen, copied, distorted, or lost. We haven’t much time, Miss Windham. I suggest you answer the question.”
“I last recall having it when I returned from visiting with Anna out in Surrey. That would be four days ago.”
“What does it look like?”
“It’s beaded, white, brown, and turquoise.”
“What shape?”
“Bag-shaped.”
“Miss Windham.”
“Well, it is. It’s a drawstring design and about fifteen inches square.”
“Fringed?’
“Yes, fringed at the bottom.”
“What all was in it?”
Silence, and Hazlit let his fingers close around the lock of hair he’d been slipping over his knuckles in the dark. Her hair was so long, she hadn’t felt him toying with it.
Or she was that distracted by his interrogation.
“Miss Windham, perhaps you didn’t hear the question.”
“I’m thinking.” She was the peevish one now, but he didn’t mind if she wanted to keep them trotting around Mayfair all night. “I forget.”
“Perhaps you can recall this: You threatened to try me in the court of public opinion, Miss Windham. Did you think I’d find your purse through divination? You’re going to have to trust me a little, and if you can’t, then I’ll return your money to you, and we’ll forget this charming interlude over knives in the dark.”
“It was only one knife, and you started it.”
Did not. She’d started it when she’d come down the stairs to the ballroom looking… tumbled . Or worse, willing to be tumbled.
He was certainly willing to be tumbled, by her, anyway. The evidence of same was literally growing in his breeches, and that would never do.
“Do you want my help or not, Miss Windham?” The question cost him, for she’d be smart to cut him loose. He was enjoying their chat in the dark entirely too much.
He let her stew in silence while he offered his unruly parts a stern, silent lecture. He pictured his favorite vistas up at Blessings, recited the Lord’s Prayer in Latin, and—most productive of all—dropped the silky coil of hair he’d been tormenting himself with for the past five minutes.
“I can’t go to my brothers.”
It was an admission; he gathered that much and went carefully as a result. “Over a misplaced reticule?”
“There’s more to it,” she said, sighing in the dark. Hazlit wasn’t sure, but he thought perhaps she leaned a little on him. “I have a half-dozen reticules and could buy a dozen more tomorrow.”
“Are you concerned you left it in an incriminating location?”
“You’re back to my wicked love life.” She sounded amused. “Think what you will about me, Mr. Hazlit, but it will be a waste of time. I don’t go places I’m not supposed to be. I don’t dally with men who aren’t available, and I know better than to deal in the vices that condemn a lady beyond recall.”
“What vices would those be?”
“Gambling, opium, cockfights, university boys, the usual list. Given my antecedents, I cannot afford even a whiff of association with any of it.”
He sat beside her in the dark, breathing her scent and yet feeling a little ashamed of himself. Her voice rang with truth, underlain with sadness. She was either a consummate liar or she was confessing to a little loneliness.
Maybe a lot of loneliness.
“Would you want to make those associations, Miss Windham?”
It wasn’t a fair question, not within the realm of his investigation. It was just him, admitting to a little curiosity about the woman beside him.
“I would want the option to make them,” she said, the honesty of her answer surprising him. “The freedom. I have no desire to see two roosters reduce each other to masses of bloody feathers. I have no wish to lose money or even gain it on the turn of a card. I certainly have no wish to lose my wits to opium, but maybe I’d like to think I could if I felt like it.”
“You can, but
“And then there’d be a written record, which could also be stolen, copied, distorted, or lost. We haven’t much time, Miss Windham. I suggest you answer the question.”
“I last recall having it when I returned from visiting with Anna out in Surrey. That would be four days ago.”
“What does it look like?”
“It’s beaded, white, brown, and turquoise.”
“What shape?”
“Bag-shaped.”
“Miss Windham.”
“Well, it is. It’s a drawstring design and about fifteen inches square.”
“Fringed?’
“Yes, fringed at the bottom.”
“What all was in it?”
Silence, and Hazlit let his fingers close around the lock of hair he’d been slipping over his knuckles in the dark. Her hair was so long, she hadn’t felt him toying with it.
Or she was that distracted by his interrogation.
“Miss Windham, perhaps you didn’t hear the question.”
“I’m thinking.” She was the peevish one now, but he didn’t mind if she wanted to keep them trotting around Mayfair all night. “I forget.”
“Perhaps you can recall this: You threatened to try me in the court of public opinion, Miss Windham. Did you think I’d find your purse through divination? You’re going to have to trust me a little, and if you can’t, then I’ll return your money to you, and we’ll forget this charming interlude over knives in the dark.”
“It was only one knife, and you started it.”
Did not. She’d started it when she’d come down the stairs to the ballroom looking… tumbled . Or worse, willing to be tumbled.
He was certainly willing to be tumbled, by her, anyway. The evidence of same was literally growing in his breeches, and that would never do.
“Do you want my help or not, Miss Windham?” The question cost him, for she’d be smart to cut him loose. He was enjoying their chat in the dark entirely too much.
He let her stew in silence while he offered his unruly parts a stern, silent lecture. He pictured his favorite vistas up at Blessings, recited the Lord’s Prayer in Latin, and—most productive of all—dropped the silky coil of hair he’d been tormenting himself with for the past five minutes.
“I can’t go to my brothers.”
It was an admission; he gathered that much and went carefully as a result. “Over a misplaced reticule?”
“There’s more to it,” she said, sighing in the dark. Hazlit wasn’t sure, but he thought perhaps she leaned a little on him. “I have a half-dozen reticules and could buy a dozen more tomorrow.”
“Are you concerned you left it in an incriminating location?”
“You’re back to my wicked love life.” She sounded amused. “Think what you will about me, Mr. Hazlit, but it will be a waste of time. I don’t go places I’m not supposed to be. I don’t dally with men who aren’t available, and I know better than to deal in the vices that condemn a lady beyond recall.”
“What vices would those be?”
“Gambling, opium, cockfights, university boys, the usual list. Given my antecedents, I cannot afford even a whiff of association with any of it.”
He sat beside her in the dark, breathing her scent and yet feeling a little ashamed of himself. Her voice rang with truth, underlain with sadness. She was either a consummate liar or she was confessing to a little loneliness.
Maybe a lot of loneliness.
“Would you want to make those associations, Miss Windham?”
It wasn’t a fair question, not within the realm of his investigation. It was just him, admitting to a little curiosity about the woman beside him.
“I would want the option to make them,” she said, the honesty of her answer surprising him. “The freedom. I have no desire to see two roosters reduce each other to masses of bloody feathers. I have no wish to lose money or even gain it on the turn of a card. I certainly have no wish to lose my wits to opium, but maybe I’d like to think I could if I felt like it.”
“You can, but
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