on the Austen novels having pride of place on her mantel, and he’d stood looking at her bed for so long she’d broken her own determined silence.
“What are you doing, Mr. Hazlit? It’s only an old and very comfortable bed.”
“Counting pillows.”
Of course he was counting the pillows. She wanted to smack him with one, or several. “And this will assist you in finding my reticule?”
“The truth would assist me more.” He’d spoken quietly, but she heard him.
“What truth?”
He merely stared at her, as if counting unseen pillows in her head, or in her soul.
“Are you quite finished, Mr. Hazlit?”
“No, but I’ve seen enough for now. Have you plans for the evening?”
“Maybe I’ll embroider another pillowcase.”
The corners of his mouth flattened. “I’ll take you driving tomorrow afternoon, weather permitting.”
She folded her arms, not at all prepared to allow his high-handedness. “Perhaps I’m busy tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps I have plans, and perhaps a smitten suitor would patiently wait until his invitation fits in with his lady’s plans.”
“It wasn’t an invitation.”
“My point exactly.”
She turned on her heel, intent on making a dignified exit, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. When she turned back to him, he did not drop his hand, but rather, drew one finger along her jaw.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Windham. Does it suit your plans to join me for a drive tomorrow afternoon? I’d be ever so grateful for your company.”
There was no smile lurking around his mouth, no humor in his eyes, and Maggie’s insides started to flutter most inconveniently. He looked for all the world like a man whose every happiness depended on her answer.
Damn him.
“Gracious, Mr. Hazlit. When you ask so prettily, I can but consent.” He dropped his hand, which allowed her to start their progress toward the front door. “What did your search of my quarters reveal that could help you find my reticule?”
He blew out a breath and fell in step beside her. “It revealed that you are very careful, that prudence is second nature to you, though probably more a learned skill than a native aspect of your personality. It revealed that you purposely dress to hide your many assets, and you have a lively mind, though not a frivolous one. It revealed that your staff truly does take your welfare to heart.”
“You sound disappointed.” How had he learned all that by counting her pillows?
“A traitor from within is an easy answer, and for your sake, I was hoping for an easy answer.”
For her sake? Whatever did he mean by that?
“I’ll come by for you about three,” he said as Maggie’s head footman handed him gloves and hat then melted back down the hallway. Hazlit tapped the hat onto his head, regarding her out of dark eyes.
“You are not to worry, Miss Windham.”
It was the last thing she expected him to say, more insightful than all his previous pronouncements.
“I will worry until my belongings are again in my possession.”
“Which they will be shortly.” He picked up her hand and bowed very low over it, so low she felt the heat of his breath on her knuckles.
“Until tomorrow.”
And then he left, while all the worry Maggie had held at bay during his lengthy and troubling visit came crashing back to haunt her. The worry only coiled more tightly when Millie told her another note had been delivered to the kitchen during Mr. Hazlit’s visit.
***
“You were making morning calls?”
Archer yawned and scratched his chest as he spoke, but Hazlit wasn’t fooled. Despite a display of casual, bored behavior, Archer Portmaine’s mind was wide awake and taking in details.
“One morning call.” Hazlit rose from the tub and stood dripping until Archer tossed him a bath sheet. Only when he’d toweled off his chest and arms did he climb out to stand on his hearth rug.
Archer settled his long frame into the chair at the escritoire. “One morning call that
“What are you doing, Mr. Hazlit? It’s only an old and very comfortable bed.”
“Counting pillows.”
Of course he was counting the pillows. She wanted to smack him with one, or several. “And this will assist you in finding my reticule?”
“The truth would assist me more.” He’d spoken quietly, but she heard him.
“What truth?”
He merely stared at her, as if counting unseen pillows in her head, or in her soul.
“Are you quite finished, Mr. Hazlit?”
“No, but I’ve seen enough for now. Have you plans for the evening?”
“Maybe I’ll embroider another pillowcase.”
The corners of his mouth flattened. “I’ll take you driving tomorrow afternoon, weather permitting.”
She folded her arms, not at all prepared to allow his high-handedness. “Perhaps I’m busy tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps I have plans, and perhaps a smitten suitor would patiently wait until his invitation fits in with his lady’s plans.”
“It wasn’t an invitation.”
“My point exactly.”
She turned on her heel, intent on making a dignified exit, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. When she turned back to him, he did not drop his hand, but rather, drew one finger along her jaw.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Windham. Does it suit your plans to join me for a drive tomorrow afternoon? I’d be ever so grateful for your company.”
There was no smile lurking around his mouth, no humor in his eyes, and Maggie’s insides started to flutter most inconveniently. He looked for all the world like a man whose every happiness depended on her answer.
Damn him.
“Gracious, Mr. Hazlit. When you ask so prettily, I can but consent.” He dropped his hand, which allowed her to start their progress toward the front door. “What did your search of my quarters reveal that could help you find my reticule?”
He blew out a breath and fell in step beside her. “It revealed that you are very careful, that prudence is second nature to you, though probably more a learned skill than a native aspect of your personality. It revealed that you purposely dress to hide your many assets, and you have a lively mind, though not a frivolous one. It revealed that your staff truly does take your welfare to heart.”
“You sound disappointed.” How had he learned all that by counting her pillows?
“A traitor from within is an easy answer, and for your sake, I was hoping for an easy answer.”
For her sake? Whatever did he mean by that?
“I’ll come by for you about three,” he said as Maggie’s head footman handed him gloves and hat then melted back down the hallway. Hazlit tapped the hat onto his head, regarding her out of dark eyes.
“You are not to worry, Miss Windham.”
It was the last thing she expected him to say, more insightful than all his previous pronouncements.
“I will worry until my belongings are again in my possession.”
“Which they will be shortly.” He picked up her hand and bowed very low over it, so low she felt the heat of his breath on her knuckles.
“Until tomorrow.”
And then he left, while all the worry Maggie had held at bay during his lengthy and troubling visit came crashing back to haunt her. The worry only coiled more tightly when Millie told her another note had been delivered to the kitchen during Mr. Hazlit’s visit.
***
“You were making morning calls?”
Archer yawned and scratched his chest as he spoke, but Hazlit wasn’t fooled. Despite a display of casual, bored behavior, Archer Portmaine’s mind was wide awake and taking in details.
“One morning call.” Hazlit rose from the tub and stood dripping until Archer tossed him a bath sheet. Only when he’d toweled off his chest and arms did he climb out to stand on his hearth rug.
Archer settled his long frame into the chair at the escritoire. “One morning call that
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