read her mind and knew she wasn’t being entirely straight with him. Not straight at all, in fact. “I should go find Olivia.”
“She said you’d be working here some of the time.”
“That’s right. Do you like herbs, Noah? I’m thinking about trying some new recipes.”
His gaze, already steady, leveled on her. “Just be sure no slugs end up in the pot with them. I met your sister earlier. She’d been on slug patrol.”
“My sister? I have three sisters—”
“Phoebe.”
He gave no hint of recognition but he struck Maggie as a man of supreme self-control. She tried not to choke. “Phoebe loves to dig in the dirt. When she’s not reading a book in the shade, that is. I’ll…um…” She cleared her throat, wondering if she was purple from not breathing properly. “I’ll watch for slugs. See you soon.”
She welcomed the cooler air inside the house and ran through the living room to the stairs that led to the second floor. She paused to catch her breath and look where she was going. She tripped up Olivia’s narrow, steep stairs half the time, even on a good day.
Did Phoebe have any idea that it was Noah last night? Noah clearly had no idea it had been her. Maggie got that. Phoebe in shorts and a T-shirt, poking around for slugs. Not exactly the image she’d presented at the masquerade. He’d be hoping for…well, not for Phoebe O’Dunn. Maggie felt a surge of resentment that anyone could reject her older sister, but she also had to admit that Phoebe at home in Knights Bridge wasn’t at all like the woman in the Edwardian gown last night.
Brandon Sloan as a pirate, however—that matched who he really was.
Maggie mounted the stairs carefully, using the handrail. She’d gotten caught up in the fantasy of the charity ball herself. She’d danced with Brandon, pretended that all the frustration and pain of the past year didn’t exist. It was a moment, no more real and lasting than what Phoebe had experienced.
She found Olivia zipping up her suitcase in her bedroom at the front of the house. “We have to talk,” Maggie said in a low voice.
Olivia stood, pushing her fair hair out of her face. Maggie shut the door behind her. “It was Phoebe last night,” she said without further preamble.
“In the Edwardian dress?”
“The woman who danced with Noah Kendrick, Olivia. It was Phoebe.”
Olivia sank onto the edge of her bed. “I was afraid of that.”
“We can’t tell anyone. I’m only telling you because Phoebe doesn’t know it was Noah and Noah doesn’t know it was Phoebe, and I’m not going to be the one to spill the beans, accidentally or on purpose. So you have to give Noah the note.”
“What note?”
Leave it to Olivia to cut through everything else and focus on the crux of the matter at hand. Maggie pulled the note out of her dress pocket and handed it over. “You can read it but I wouldn’t if I were you. It’s the transcript of one end of a phone call of some guy talking about Noah.”
Olivia winced. “Middle-aged? No costume?”
“Yeah. He had on an expensive suit. Why?”
“Noah spotted him a few times in San Diego and now he seems to have followed him east. Maggie, he and Dylan will want to know who wrote this note.”
Maggie stiffened. “I don’t know who wrote it.”
“You do, too,” Olivia said, as if they were seven again. “It was Phoebe, wasn’t it?”
“I didn’t say that. I just said it’s a transcript.” Maggie waved a hand. “Tell Noah and Dylan I found the note on the ballroom floor, or someone tucked it in my pocket while I was sipping champagne. I don’t care. Just don’t mention Phoebe.”
“But, Maggie—”
“Olivia. I mean it. You have to promise. I talked to Phoebe. She doesn’t know anything.”
Olivia sighed, clearly pained. “I can’t keep things from Dylan.”
“You’re not keeping anything from Dylan. I’m telling you right now that I don’t know who wrote that note.” Unlike her eldest sister, Maggie had
“She said you’d be working here some of the time.”
“That’s right. Do you like herbs, Noah? I’m thinking about trying some new recipes.”
His gaze, already steady, leveled on her. “Just be sure no slugs end up in the pot with them. I met your sister earlier. She’d been on slug patrol.”
“My sister? I have three sisters—”
“Phoebe.”
He gave no hint of recognition but he struck Maggie as a man of supreme self-control. She tried not to choke. “Phoebe loves to dig in the dirt. When she’s not reading a book in the shade, that is. I’ll…um…” She cleared her throat, wondering if she was purple from not breathing properly. “I’ll watch for slugs. See you soon.”
She welcomed the cooler air inside the house and ran through the living room to the stairs that led to the second floor. She paused to catch her breath and look where she was going. She tripped up Olivia’s narrow, steep stairs half the time, even on a good day.
Did Phoebe have any idea that it was Noah last night? Noah clearly had no idea it had been her. Maggie got that. Phoebe in shorts and a T-shirt, poking around for slugs. Not exactly the image she’d presented at the masquerade. He’d be hoping for…well, not for Phoebe O’Dunn. Maggie felt a surge of resentment that anyone could reject her older sister, but she also had to admit that Phoebe at home in Knights Bridge wasn’t at all like the woman in the Edwardian gown last night.
Brandon Sloan as a pirate, however—that matched who he really was.
Maggie mounted the stairs carefully, using the handrail. She’d gotten caught up in the fantasy of the charity ball herself. She’d danced with Brandon, pretended that all the frustration and pain of the past year didn’t exist. It was a moment, no more real and lasting than what Phoebe had experienced.
She found Olivia zipping up her suitcase in her bedroom at the front of the house. “We have to talk,” Maggie said in a low voice.
Olivia stood, pushing her fair hair out of her face. Maggie shut the door behind her. “It was Phoebe last night,” she said without further preamble.
“In the Edwardian dress?”
“The woman who danced with Noah Kendrick, Olivia. It was Phoebe.”
Olivia sank onto the edge of her bed. “I was afraid of that.”
“We can’t tell anyone. I’m only telling you because Phoebe doesn’t know it was Noah and Noah doesn’t know it was Phoebe, and I’m not going to be the one to spill the beans, accidentally or on purpose. So you have to give Noah the note.”
“What note?”
Leave it to Olivia to cut through everything else and focus on the crux of the matter at hand. Maggie pulled the note out of her dress pocket and handed it over. “You can read it but I wouldn’t if I were you. It’s the transcript of one end of a phone call of some guy talking about Noah.”
Olivia winced. “Middle-aged? No costume?”
“Yeah. He had on an expensive suit. Why?”
“Noah spotted him a few times in San Diego and now he seems to have followed him east. Maggie, he and Dylan will want to know who wrote this note.”
Maggie stiffened. “I don’t know who wrote it.”
“You do, too,” Olivia said, as if they were seven again. “It was Phoebe, wasn’t it?”
“I didn’t say that. I just said it’s a transcript.” Maggie waved a hand. “Tell Noah and Dylan I found the note on the ballroom floor, or someone tucked it in my pocket while I was sipping champagne. I don’t care. Just don’t mention Phoebe.”
“But, Maggie—”
“Olivia. I mean it. You have to promise. I talked to Phoebe. She doesn’t know anything.”
Olivia sighed, clearly pained. “I can’t keep things from Dylan.”
“You’re not keeping anything from Dylan. I’m telling you right now that I don’t know who wrote that note.” Unlike her eldest sister, Maggie had
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