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Chapter Eight

A nna sprang off the wall and crossed the hall, desperate to put space between herself and Caden. Keeping her wits about her seemed entirely reliant on keeping him at arm’s length at a minimum.

The smell of sweet dried flowers and herbs greeted her as she entered the chamber. Low burning wall lamps framing a closed, shuttered window provided enough light to illuminate the space.

Silver and pale-rose striped paper covered the walls.

To the right a woman’s escritoire stood open, paper and writing implements neatly laid out on its surface.

To the left a small settee, armchair and side table made up a modest sitting area.

Behind her, a narrow bookshelf filled with slim, leather-bound books covered most of the wall.

Add to the furnishing a very feminine decor, and she concluded she’d wandered into a ladies office.

She strode to an ornate, oriental floor vase containing an arrangement of dried eucalyptus, cat tails, and ostrich feathers. Careful not to disturb the rest, she withdrew one feather .

“We can check this box.” Smiling in triumph, she turned on her heel in time to witness Caden drawing the chamber’s heavy paneled door closed—or nearly so. He pressed one eye to the crack of space between the door and the door jam.

“What are you—”

“Shh.” Still peering into the hallway, he held one long finger behind him to staunch further protest. “One of the couples followed us,” he whispered. “I presume you don’t want them pilfering your cache of feathers.”

She hastened toward him. Rising on her tiptoes, she struggled in vain to see over his broad shoulder. “Would you…” She squirmed her way in front of him and put her eye to the crack. Then she saw him . She gasped and jerked backward into Caden’s hard chest.

Lord Hardasher was following her.

Saying nothing, Caden held her fast, one arm around her waist as the other reached past her to close the door with a soft click. Grasping her shoulders, he turned her to face him.

His teeth flashed white as he grinned. “Your level of competitiveness astounds me, Mrs. Jones. Not to worry. They’ll soon pass by.”

But they wouldn’t. Of course they wouldn’t. Not with Lord Hardasher hunting her. Did he work for the Yard?

She grabbed his hand to drag him from the door toward the sitting area on the furthest side of the room. “Caden, who is Lord Hardasher?” she whispered. “How do you know him?”

He frowned down at her. “Hardasher? Not well. He holds a minor title. A baronetage, I think? I met him some time ago—at my club, or perhaps a house party. I can’t recall precisely where. Why?” Suspicion laced the one-word question.

She twisted her hands in front of her. “That’s all? You did introduce us. ”

Caden’s eyes narrowed. “Has he approached you? Propositioned you in some way?”

“N-no. N-not precisely.” Damn her quavering voice.

Concern softened his face. He grasped her shoulders in a warm, gentle grip. Abruptly his expression changed to one of alarm. “What the devil? Anna, you’re shaking. What’s this about?”

She searched her mind for a plausible answer and willed her tremors to desist. Nothing came to her and, if anything, her trembling increased.

“Anna?” he prodded, his voice quiet steel. “Tell me, or by God, I will leave this room and drag the answer out of Hardasher himself.”

She gripped his waistcoat lapels intending to hold him in place by any means necessary. “ No . Lord Hardasher has done nothing untoward. I-I’m competitive, as you said.”

“A competitive streak doesn’t explain your trembling, Anna.”

“I’ve caught a chill.” In truth, sweat trickled down her back, but she soldiered on, her words coming faster and faster. “If anyone has given me pause, it’s you, tossing my given name around willy nilly. I don’t recall giving you leave. I ne—”

Only Caden’s sharp, “Anna,” cut off her rapid-fire speech. Or babbling, depending on one’s perspective.

He drew her to the settee. Dark pink velvet, she noted, dazed, as he pressed her onto the bench.

Just as well. Her legs wouldn’t hold her upright much longer. She stared at the door, dread hollowing out her insides. Any minute now, Lord Hardasher would burst in. And then what would she do?

Caden stood before her, hands at his hips. “I’d like to point out, you were the first to use my Christian name, by the by.”

She dragged her gaze from the door to Caden .

He studied her, jaw clenched. He bore the comportment of one who’d made-up his mind about something and expected resistance.

God, now what? She couldn’t think straight as it was.

“I have an alternate question, Anna . Rather than ask why I used your given name, Anna , why are you?”

The over-stressing of her name, accompanied by the certainty she read in his eyes, penetrated in an instant. Her blood turned to ice. He knew. He’d known all along. She’d had it all wrong. Caden, not Hardasher, hunted her.

Or perhaps they hunted in tandem.

It explained everything. His undeterred interest in her. His questions.

She’d walked right into a trap, lured by irresistible bait—Caden Thurgood.

She decided to play dumb and buy herself a little time to think. “What other name would I use?”

He gave her an almost pitying look. “Miss Gloriana Masters, perhaps? Or Mrs. Gloriana Jones, your married name—assuming you are, in fact, widowed. But you’re not who you’re pretending to be.”

She blinked rapidly, batting back a wave not of panic, but pain. Caden meant to betray her? She could hardly fathom the notion. Never mind she’d been lying to him. But that’d been for his own good, to keep him from becoming embroiled in her mess.

What was his plan, she wondered, bitterness swamping her?

To drag a confession out of her and deliver her to the magistrate?

She would not go without a fight. She glanced around the room.

The door was her only means of exit, unless she wanted to dive through panes of glass, but there went any hope of subtlety .

“For pity’s sake, quit acting like a cornered rabbit. You’d think I meant to cart you off to be drawn and quartered. It’s not a crime to pretend to be someone else, darling.”

He lowered his big frame onto the tiny bench to sit beside her, then took her hands in his with exquisite care.

“Anna—Glory, tell me what is going on. If you’re in some kind of trouble, let me help you.

I’m more resourceful than I look. As it happens, I’ve a bit of experience in aiding damsels in distress. ”

And just like that, the bricks she’d begun erecting around her heart crumbled, probably because she wanted so desperately to believe he didn’t—couldn’t—mean her any harm.

She searched his face for any sign of duplicity. He looked so dog-eyed hopeful she almost smiled.

From nowhere, her mother’s oft-repeated words spoken years ago played in her head so clearly they may have been uttered only yesterday— Watch yourself with that Claybourne boy. He might not be in line for the title, but he’s nobility. With them the title always comes first. Even before family.

She sobered, pushing her fanciful hopes concerning Caden aside. His lineage notwithstanding, she dared not place her safety in anyone’s hands but her own. Hadn’t her own step-mother led her into the trap that landed her here?

“You can help by telling me who sent you, Mr. Thurgood.”

“Sent me? Nobody, unless you want to count Viscount Randall when he asked me to accompany Harrison in his stead. Something about a family emergency involving their sister.”

She glared at him. What else could she do?

Caden traced his fingers along her jaw.

Heat curled through her insides .

“You needn’t look so peeved that I worked out who you are.

In fairness, I didn’t put it together at first. I only knew I recognized you.

Then, last night I asked you where you came from and you bit your lip, and—there goes my ace.

” He chuckled, but his joviality seemed forced and did nothing to hide the concern in his blue eyes.

Longing welled inside her, birthing a sliver of hope she could not seem to squelch. Could she trust him? How could she possibly know?

He peeled off his gloves, eyes on his task, a crooked grin creasing his cheek. “For your information, when you speak something, shall we say, less than truthful…” He broke off, set his gloves aside, then raised his gaze to meet hers.

“Yes?” She prodded, breathless.

“… You bite your lower lip.” He brushed the pad of his thumb over her lip as if to illustrate.

Like a spark igniting a flame, warmth spiraled through her.

“On the way into dinner last night you mentioned one of your father’s sayings, and my memories stirred. My father says thus and such you used to say—usually as a means of getting your way, I now recall.

“I still didn’t put it all together, however. Not ’til the moment you told me you came from Durham and nibbled your lip.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall behind them.

He was so handsome, it almost hurt looking at him.

“My memories came back in a rush. A foggy rush, mind you.” He waited, expectant.

She had no words. He remembered her. She should be frightened, and she was. But for some reason, an overwhelming joy blotted out most of it.

He spread his arms. “Come now. Derbyshire? Summertime? Robin-hood and his merry men?”

She was helpless to stop the wobbly smile curving her lips .

Triumph lit his blue-eyes at her silent admission.

Her resistance crumpled. “Prince Charming and the stolen princess, you mean?”

He hooted with laughter. “The very same. Now, kindly tell me what in hell is going on.”