Unveiled by Courtney Milan Page A

more alluring than any promise of wealth, more irresistible than any number of heated kisses pressed against her lips.
    In her life, she’d met indulgent men, autocratic men, absent-minded men who forgot her existence when she was not around. But a man like him… He stood so far outside her experience that she’d not been ableto recognize him. But there it was, the conclusion inescapable. He thought she was magnificent. And he meant it— really meant it—beyond all possibility of fabrication.
    Of all the recent disasters to befall her, this one—that this man, of all men, admired her—seemed the most devastating. Could he not have been someone— anyone —else? For a long while, Margaret stared at the cup in front of her, the steam curling upwards and away.
    She mattered. She was important. She clutched those thoughts to her heart, and they made her grief bearable. Slowly, she reached out and pulled the mug forwards.
    The contents were every bit as sweet as she’d imagined.

CHAPTER SIX
    A SH HAD INSTRUCTED Miss Lowell to sleep late, but he’d been up at first light himself. Work wouldn’t wait. And indeed, it did not. His morning messenger arrived just after the clock struck half-ten in the morning.
    The fellow was one of the new men Ash had hired just a few months before—what was his name again?— Isaac Strong; yes, that was it. The man walked stiffly, his legs no doubt learning to move properly once again after being cramped in a carriage all the long voyage from London. The whites of his eyes were shot through with red, and as he was conducted into the front sitting room of the suite Ash had taken, he rubbed the black skullcap on his head wearily. He didn’t see Ash sitting on a sofa near the window. He looked as tired as Ash felt.
    â€œMr. Strong. It’s your first visit out, yes?”
    As he addressed Strong, the man jerked to attention, all signs of his weariness evaporating in a flurry of consternation.
    Operating at a few days’ remove from London had numerous disadvantages. Most of them, Ash had been able to alleviate by dint of having well-trained, competent men in London. A smaller number of them were needed here, though, and so his men took turns traveling out to speak with him.
    Not so efficient as some of the alternatives. But then,the alternatives were rendered problematic by other considerations.
    â€œIt is Strong, isn’t it?”
    Strong nodded, puffing his chest out. “Sir,” he said tightly, as if he were some newly commissioned subaltern. And then, like that selfsame hapless officer, he fumbled with the brass buckles on the satchel slung about his shoulder. Before Ash had a chance to ask him whether he needed to rest or refresh himself, he pulled out a fat sheaf of papers and held it out, as if an entire war depended on whatever was in those pages.
    â€œSir,” Strong barked out, “your report, sir.”
    â€œMy report?” Ash felt a prickle of consternation along the skin of his thumbs. “That’s my report?”
    The words must have come out harsher than he’d intended, because Strong ducked his head farther. “The report you requested on the current inclinations of the members of the House of Lords regarding the proposed act. I—” he looked up into Ash’s face and must have read the distaste Ash felt curling his lips, because he swallowed, his throat bobbing “—I h-have a detailed listing, and that, along with the alphabetical appendix, should suffice to—”
    â€œAh,” said Ash, enlightenment dawning suddenly. “You made an alphabetical appendix, did you?”
    That explained the ink-stained forefinger, the thick sheaf of papers. It certainly explained the rumpled wild-eyed look that Mr. Strong was giving him. Ash suppressed a grin. “Did you include the Latin translation in triplicate?”
    â€œThe Latin translation? ” Strong’s