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later Nathanial returned. “You should write your note, Miss Montini,” he said coolly.
She moved to the secretary‟s desk—Mr. Dennison‟s desk—sat down in the chair and opened the top drawer, knowing full well Nathanial watched her every move, and ignoring a distinct twinge of embarrassment. After all, she wouldn‟t know where the paper and pens were if she hadn‟t broken into the desk.
She would write two notes. One to Xerxes and Miriam assuring them that all was well, and
another to Florence. She‟d put both notes in the same envelope. Xerxes was no doubt watching
the house, and he would certainly intercept her notes and make certain Florence saw only what she should.
She would tell Florence the truth: she had been invited to stay with an old friend of her mother‟s.
It struck her that, at this point, her lies might well be at an end. Aside from the true state of her finances, and that nonsense about a second brother, there was little left to lie about.
She scribbled a quick message to Xerxes, then took a fresh sheet of paper and started the note to Florence.
“You‟re writing rather a lot, aren‟t you?”
She resisted the urge to look at him. “I have rather a lot to say. I don‟t want her to worry.”
“Then I imagine you‟re not telling her you broke into my house.”
“No,” she said sharply. It was remarkably difficult to concentrate on her writing, knowing his unflinching gaze was fixed on her. “Are you going to keep staring at me?”
“I assure you, Miss Montini,” he said smoothly, “I don‟t intend to let you out of my sight.”
Four
Excellent,” Miss Montini murmured, her gaze still on the papers before her. “That will save me the effort of keeping you in my sight.”
It was obvious, even from where Nate stood, that she was writing more than one note. He could question her about that, again, but she would no doubt evade his question. Again. “I do not appreciate being lied to.”
She folded her notes, slid them into an envelope and sealed it. “I would imagine few people do.”
Still, her dishonesty made her no less attractive, and somewhat more intriguing. Odd, as he had always thought he valued honestly above all else. Apparently not as much as he valued deep blue eyes and a nicely curved figure.
“We have never met before, have we?” It was a statement more than a question.
She addressed the envelope. “I never said we did. You said I looked familiar and asked if we had met. I asked if you remembered, and you did not.”
“I didn‟t remember because there was nothing to remember.” Hah. He had her there.
“Regardless.” She finished writing the address with a refined flourish, set the pen down and looked up at him. “You didn‟t realize that. You thought you had kissed me and couldn‟t recall it.
It was most insulting.”
“How could it possibly be insulting?” He stared. “I couldn‟t remember because it didn‟t happen.”
“If it had and you couldn‟t remember, I would have been insulted.”
“If it had, I would have remembered!”
“No doubt,” she said in a tone that indicated she had a great many doubts about his ability to remember the women he‟d kissed. She didn‟t know anything about him but had made
assumptions based on nothing more than her own suspicious nature. Although admittedly the fact that her dead brother had named himself and Quint among those who might have stolen the find of a lifetime from him could have adversely influenced her opinion.
She held out the envelope. “Given the lateness of the hour, it would be best if this were delivered to Mr. Muldoon. He and his wife have been in my—in Miss Henry‟s—employ for years. He is
most discreet and trustworthy and will see that she receives it in the morning. I should hate to wake her up at this time of night, and I‟m certain Mr. Muldoon will be awake.”
Nate glanced at the address. It was in a respectable if not especially fashionable neighborhood.
She moved to the secretary‟s desk—Mr. Dennison‟s desk—sat down in the chair and opened the top drawer, knowing full well Nathanial watched her every move, and ignoring a distinct twinge of embarrassment. After all, she wouldn‟t know where the paper and pens were if she hadn‟t broken into the desk.
She would write two notes. One to Xerxes and Miriam assuring them that all was well, and
another to Florence. She‟d put both notes in the same envelope. Xerxes was no doubt watching
the house, and he would certainly intercept her notes and make certain Florence saw only what she should.
She would tell Florence the truth: she had been invited to stay with an old friend of her mother‟s.
It struck her that, at this point, her lies might well be at an end. Aside from the true state of her finances, and that nonsense about a second brother, there was little left to lie about.
She scribbled a quick message to Xerxes, then took a fresh sheet of paper and started the note to Florence.
“You‟re writing rather a lot, aren‟t you?”
She resisted the urge to look at him. “I have rather a lot to say. I don‟t want her to worry.”
“Then I imagine you‟re not telling her you broke into my house.”
“No,” she said sharply. It was remarkably difficult to concentrate on her writing, knowing his unflinching gaze was fixed on her. “Are you going to keep staring at me?”
“I assure you, Miss Montini,” he said smoothly, “I don‟t intend to let you out of my sight.”
Four
Excellent,” Miss Montini murmured, her gaze still on the papers before her. “That will save me the effort of keeping you in my sight.”
It was obvious, even from where Nate stood, that she was writing more than one note. He could question her about that, again, but she would no doubt evade his question. Again. “I do not appreciate being lied to.”
She folded her notes, slid them into an envelope and sealed it. “I would imagine few people do.”
Still, her dishonesty made her no less attractive, and somewhat more intriguing. Odd, as he had always thought he valued honestly above all else. Apparently not as much as he valued deep blue eyes and a nicely curved figure.
“We have never met before, have we?” It was a statement more than a question.
She addressed the envelope. “I never said we did. You said I looked familiar and asked if we had met. I asked if you remembered, and you did not.”
“I didn‟t remember because there was nothing to remember.” Hah. He had her there.
“Regardless.” She finished writing the address with a refined flourish, set the pen down and looked up at him. “You didn‟t realize that. You thought you had kissed me and couldn‟t recall it.
It was most insulting.”
“How could it possibly be insulting?” He stared. “I couldn‟t remember because it didn‟t happen.”
“If it had and you couldn‟t remember, I would have been insulted.”
“If it had, I would have remembered!”
“No doubt,” she said in a tone that indicated she had a great many doubts about his ability to remember the women he‟d kissed. She didn‟t know anything about him but had made
assumptions based on nothing more than her own suspicious nature. Although admittedly the fact that her dead brother had named himself and Quint among those who might have stolen the find of a lifetime from him could have adversely influenced her opinion.
She held out the envelope. “Given the lateness of the hour, it would be best if this were delivered to Mr. Muldoon. He and his wife have been in my—in Miss Henry‟s—employ for years. He is
most discreet and trustworthy and will see that she receives it in the morning. I should hate to wake her up at this time of night, and I‟m certain Mr. Muldoon will be awake.”
Nate glanced at the address. It was in a respectable if not especially fashionable neighborhood.
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