She seemed to hesitate. “His face was all blacked.”
“What else?”
“Nothing really. Just the way the light fell.”
“Spit it out, Al. What did you see?”
Al said uncomfortably, “I rather got the impression … you’ll think me mad, but I … I thought he was wearing a turban.”
Peter’s eyebrows shot up, mirroring Grace’s own expression.
Allegra opened her eyes wide and murmured, “Oh, Peter, why didn’t you ring?”
“I wasn’t home.”
“But I saw your lights on.”
“When?” Peter and Grace asked in unison. They briefly exchanged looks.
“Yesterday evening. Thursday.” She focused on Grace and said pettishly, “I suppose that was you?”
Grace’s reply was forestalled by Peter’s warning glance.
Al said, “I’ve been staying with Auntie Venetia while the chimneys at the Carriage House are being cleaned. But the place is like a tomb. Too dreary.” Her fingers crept up to play with Peter’s collar. “Do you suppose … Peter, if it’s not too terribly much trouble could you run me home? I don’t feel quite up to driving.” She fluttered her eyelashes.
Grace decided it would be ridiculous to be annoyed by the Hon. Al’s ploys; despite Peter’s deliberate attempt to make it look otherwise, Grace was not involved with him and had no intention of becoming involved with him. What sane woman would want to be involved with a man who clearly couldn’t commit to anything but a life of crime?
“You should have your head examined,” she heard herself say. Both Al and Peter looked her way. “First,” Grace amended hastily. “You should first have someone examine your … um … head.”
Al peered at her through pain-narrowed eyes, and then said to Peter, “Peter, how can you be giving Mimi Kenton-Kydd antique pendants one minute, and living with American girls the next?”
“Yes, I’m curious, too,” Grace remarked.
The look he shot her promised retaliation. To Al, Peter said, ruefully, “I’m rather afraid it’s going to be less of the former and more of the latter now that Grace is here to keep me in line.”
Al was still trying to do the math as Peter helped her to her feet once more.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Grace asked under her voice, holding the door for them.
Peter’s nod was curt. “Keep the doors locked. Don’t open for anyone but me.”
“I was thinking of you . Could he still be out there?”
She was rewarded by an unexpectedly engaging grin. “And I was beginning to think you didn’t care.”
Al stopped clinging long enough to scowl at Grace.
“I’ll wait up, shall I?” Grace added for Al’s benefit. She was instantly ashamed.
“Do.” To her openmouthed surprise, Peter kissed her.
The next moment he had vanished into the night with the Hon. Allegra Clairmont-Brougham in tow.
As a kiss it was too brief to analyze, but as Grace went slowly up the stairs to Peter’s flat, she had the funniest impression her lips were tingling.
Inside Peter’s quarters, Grace switched on the electric teakettle and cleared away the dinner dishes, putting the leftover food away. Finishing, she went into the living room and sat down to wait. Her eyes roved the room and settled on the curio table before her. She wondered if the items collected under glass were a clue to Peter Fox’s character. Among the odds and ends gathered were a child’s spyglass; a browned traveler’s diary with faded writing; another book, this one gilt-stamped and calf-bound; a silver compass; assorted shells and stones and antique coins; and a jade-handled knife. So much stuff .
She glanced across at the moon-faced grandfather clock and saw that it was nearly midnight. Grace decided that with a computer at her fingertips she could log in a little research time. Mr. Fox, Do You Yahoo? He had to have Internet access.
It was nearly dawn when Peter unlocked the door to his flat. He was vaguely surprised to find the lights still on. It had taken two hours and twenty minutes
“What else?”
“Nothing really. Just the way the light fell.”
“Spit it out, Al. What did you see?”
Al said uncomfortably, “I rather got the impression … you’ll think me mad, but I … I thought he was wearing a turban.”
Peter’s eyebrows shot up, mirroring Grace’s own expression.
Allegra opened her eyes wide and murmured, “Oh, Peter, why didn’t you ring?”
“I wasn’t home.”
“But I saw your lights on.”
“When?” Peter and Grace asked in unison. They briefly exchanged looks.
“Yesterday evening. Thursday.” She focused on Grace and said pettishly, “I suppose that was you?”
Grace’s reply was forestalled by Peter’s warning glance.
Al said, “I’ve been staying with Auntie Venetia while the chimneys at the Carriage House are being cleaned. But the place is like a tomb. Too dreary.” Her fingers crept up to play with Peter’s collar. “Do you suppose … Peter, if it’s not too terribly much trouble could you run me home? I don’t feel quite up to driving.” She fluttered her eyelashes.
Grace decided it would be ridiculous to be annoyed by the Hon. Al’s ploys; despite Peter’s deliberate attempt to make it look otherwise, Grace was not involved with him and had no intention of becoming involved with him. What sane woman would want to be involved with a man who clearly couldn’t commit to anything but a life of crime?
“You should have your head examined,” she heard herself say. Both Al and Peter looked her way. “First,” Grace amended hastily. “You should first have someone examine your … um … head.”
Al peered at her through pain-narrowed eyes, and then said to Peter, “Peter, how can you be giving Mimi Kenton-Kydd antique pendants one minute, and living with American girls the next?”
“Yes, I’m curious, too,” Grace remarked.
The look he shot her promised retaliation. To Al, Peter said, ruefully, “I’m rather afraid it’s going to be less of the former and more of the latter now that Grace is here to keep me in line.”
Al was still trying to do the math as Peter helped her to her feet once more.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Grace asked under her voice, holding the door for them.
Peter’s nod was curt. “Keep the doors locked. Don’t open for anyone but me.”
“I was thinking of you . Could he still be out there?”
She was rewarded by an unexpectedly engaging grin. “And I was beginning to think you didn’t care.”
Al stopped clinging long enough to scowl at Grace.
“I’ll wait up, shall I?” Grace added for Al’s benefit. She was instantly ashamed.
“Do.” To her openmouthed surprise, Peter kissed her.
The next moment he had vanished into the night with the Hon. Allegra Clairmont-Brougham in tow.
As a kiss it was too brief to analyze, but as Grace went slowly up the stairs to Peter’s flat, she had the funniest impression her lips were tingling.
Inside Peter’s quarters, Grace switched on the electric teakettle and cleared away the dinner dishes, putting the leftover food away. Finishing, she went into the living room and sat down to wait. Her eyes roved the room and settled on the curio table before her. She wondered if the items collected under glass were a clue to Peter Fox’s character. Among the odds and ends gathered were a child’s spyglass; a browned traveler’s diary with faded writing; another book, this one gilt-stamped and calf-bound; a silver compass; assorted shells and stones and antique coins; and a jade-handled knife. So much stuff .
She glanced across at the moon-faced grandfather clock and saw that it was nearly midnight. Grace decided that with a computer at her fingertips she could log in a little research time. Mr. Fox, Do You Yahoo? He had to have Internet access.
It was nearly dawn when Peter unlocked the door to his flat. He was vaguely surprised to find the lights still on. It had taken two hours and twenty minutes
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