Page 9

Pulling the simple tan linen walking dress over her head, a slip of shiny gold at floor level caught her eye. Ah, yes. She tied the cord at her bodice and frowned at the poor, lone slipper lying against the baseboard where it had landed last night.

She scooped up the slipper, admiring its hand-stitched embroidery briefly before tucking it away in the wardrobe beneath her folded nightshift. She doubted very much she’d see the missing half of the pair ever again. But she’d take a look nonetheless.

She pulled on her gleaming, black leather lace-up boots.

Tying off the first bow, she smiled briefly.

Only last week she purchased both the boots and evening slippers from the cobbler's shop she’d discovered on one of her off-days.

The owner adored Anna. And why wouldn’t he?

She spent a pretty penny in his establishment.

True, the quality of her low-heeled boots marked them as too dear for a woman on a companion’s salary.

Anna had deemed the risk low considering the unlikelihood anyone would notice the help’s shoes peeking out from beneath plain gray and brown and tan skirts.

People see what they expect to see , her father always said.

Indulging her penchant for beautiful, well-made shoes was one small luxury she allowed herself.

Not that her funds would last forever. Still, spending the money she'd acquired from pawning her mother's ruby pendant—the very pendant Angelique claimed to have sold to pay her father’s debts—felt like a small victory in a sea of losses.

She had forfeited her freedom and all tangible ties to her late parents, but Angelique had not ended up with her mother's prized ruby.

Shoulders back and head high, she let herself into the corridor.

***

Caden shifted on his feet and thought longingly of the lone cup of strong black coffee he’d imbibed before taking up his watch. He stared past palm fronds down the empty corridor from his post—a recessed alcove off the main concourse leading to the dining hall.

He pulled the watch from his pocket and frowned. He’d waited here three quarters of an hour. No sign of Anna yet. He’d been so sure. Perhaps he’d misjudged.

After Lady Wentworth’s casual mention of her companion’s penchant for early morning walks last night, he’d lain awake trying to work-out how he could use the knowledge to his advantage. The brilliant scheme finally came to him as the sun’s fiery rays lit the horizon with an orange glow.

Invigorated, he’d arisen, washed, shaved, and ventured downstairs in search of strong coffee and a good stake-out position.

Ah, well. Another cup wouldn’t go amiss. He sidled out from behind the potted palm, and froze as Anna came into view. Satisfaction pulsed through him. His hunch had proved correct.

Sliding back into place, he crossed his arms over his chest and allowed himself a smug grin. Gloriana Masters, or Mrs. Anna Jones depending, had returned to the last known location of her lost slipper.

Another tell, Mrs. Jones.

If she wanted him, hell, anyone , to believe her story about haling from a remote farming village, she’d need to make several adjustments to her persona, and not solely concerning the incompatibility of her footwear to her station.

Right enough, her usual dresses, like the one she wore now, marked her as a servant.

But her clothing failed to disguise her gentle breeding.

The grace with which she moved, her regal posture and incline of her head told a story all its own.

Put the woman in silks such as she'd donned last night, and voila, she resembled nothing so much as a member of the nobility with the bluest blood running through her veins.

Eyes peeled on the floor, she moved steadily toward his alcove. The hated, ever-present bonnet for once hung loosely from her fingers.

With nothing obscuring her face, her beauty took his breath away. He straightened away from the wall and rubbed a hand over a chest that felt suddenly tight. Damn sleepless night catching up with him, no doubt, or perhaps coffee on an empty stomach .

She reached a cross section in the corridor. Brows knitted in concentration, she clasped her arms behind her, zigged one way, then zagged the other.

A twinge of regret pricked his conscience. She’d never find the recalcitrant slipper. Some perverse instinct bade him leave it in his bedchamber. Still, her focus impressed him. She apparently didn't notice the Fenton’s oh-so-proper butler eyeing her with concern.

“Madam, may I assist you in locating…er…the breakfast room perhaps?”

She jerked upright and bit her lower lip.

Caden stifled a snort.

“No, indeed. Just taking a turn ‘round the manse, stretching the legs.” She patted her skirts in emphasis.

“Very good, mum.” Frowning, the spit-shined butler turned on his heel—and headed past Caden’s alcove.

Caden deemed it time to make his move. He smoothed a hand over his hair and stepped into the corridor.

Anna did not look up. She’d resumed her search.

As he closed the distance, a heady sense of anticipation heated his blood, something he hadn’t experienced since—well, he couldn’t remember the last time.

“Mrs. Jones.”

Anna let go a tiny, strangled shriek. Her eyes, wide with surprise, locked on him then narrowed. “Mr. Thurgood? Why are you here?”

He snorted. “Why am I here? I believe I was invited. Or rather, Randall was invited and I—”

“I meant, why are you here, in this corridor, at this hour?”

“Stretching my legs,” he said, in a parody of her words a moment ago.

She slanted him a skeptical look .

“As to the the time of day, I always rise early, Mrs. Jones.”

“You don’t say?”

He shrugged, then said honestly, “I enjoy the relative quiet mornings offer, and the time it affords for contemplation. And you, Mrs. Jones?”

She arched a brow and a corner of her lips crooked upward. “Contemplation? Of what, pray tell?"

Caden opened his arms wide. “Solutions to the world’s problems? At least in my small corner of it, Mrs. Jones."

Her semblance of a smile vanished. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Exactly what, Mrs. Jones?”

A most becoming pink tinged her cheeks. “Mrs. Jones,” she said between gritted teeth.

He grinned. He was having more fun than he’d had in ages. “It is your name, is it not? Nevertheless, I shall refrain from addressing you as such.”

She gave an exasperated sigh. “It seemed unnecessarily excessive.”

Craning her head, she glanced over his shoulder, giving him the impression she meant to skirt him.

He stepped closer. “And how fares your head this morning, ma’am? I presume ma’am is acceptable?”

The pink tinge on her cheeks which had begun to fade blossomed with a vengeance. “Much improved, sir. Thank you for asking. How is your…” She flittered her gloved fingers over the crown of her head.

“Oh, yes.” He rubbed his cranial lump a-la-Harrison. Still tender. “I hardly remember it’s there.”

The smile that curved her lips turned genuine.

“May I ask what has captured your interest so intently?” He waited, his expression all innocence, or so he hoped, despite the fact his gaze kept dropping to her mouth. But he didn’t want to miss the tell-tale nibble that was sure to come.

Only it never came. Instead she moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. Those rosy, perfectly-shaped-for-kissing lips. With effort he dragged his gaze to her eyes, then decided the view wasn’t half bad there, either.

“Last night when we…that is, you didn’t happen to...” She huffed out a breath. “Never mind. It's not important. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Thurgood? Pleasant day to you.” Picking up her skirts, she turned and set off at a brisk pace.

She meant to leave him in her dust.

In two strides Caden fell into step beside her. “No breakfast for you?”

The look of consternation she slid him nearly teased a bark of amusement from him. Or annoyance. She’d given him the cut direct. Again. It was the damnedest thing.

“I prefer to take my morning stroll before breakfasting.”

As he'd guessed. “Your morning stroll, you say? How’s that for a lucky coincidence. As it happens, I am also heading out for a walk. Might I accompany you?”

Her clear reticence made him want to retract his request. He realized he disliked feeling like a beggar, an unwanted one at that. Teasing her was one thing. But he’d be damned if he’d resort to forcing his attentions on a woman. “I beg your pardon. I won’t infringe—”

“No, no,” she cut in, linking her hands behind her back. Her shoulders rose and fell in a deep sigh. “Your company is most welcome, sir.”

An unfamiliar, heady warmth suffused him. “Lead the way.”