Page 32 of The Hollow of Fear

But did she want Lord Ingram to know that—yet?

She covered half of her face. “You must not think, sir, that this is a common occurrence. I... I don’t know what happened. I assure you that the vast, vast majority of the time my appetite is as stiff as a flagpole and just as sizable. I am as shocked as you are by this inexplicable inability to perform.”

Different gradients of incredulity flickered across his face, as he no doubt tried to decide whether she truly was comparing her lack of appetite to an instance of impotence.

“Did you have a particularly plentiful tea at home?” he asked after a while.

He was not getting off the subject; she hadn’t thought he would, either. “My sister’s note came just as we sat down to tea. So…no.”

He peered at her, his brow furrowed. When he spoke again, his voice was low and tight. “Don’t tell me you last ate more than eight hours ago. You are scaring me.”

She exhaled. “You should be terrified. I am.”

She had gone into the village to hire a trap at the railway station to ferry her to Stern Hollow. And had stood outside the station for a quarter of an hour, not because there were no carriages to be had but because she needed to pull herself together.

He gripped the back of the chair behind which he stood. Two seconds later he let go. “Come. I told Mr. Walsh I would take you to your rooms. There’s supper waiting, too.”

She rose, rubbing a sore spot on her back, only to remember that her padding went all the way around. “You aren’t as good at feeding me as Lord Bancroft, but in a pinch, you’ll do.”

He gave her a severe look but did not dispute her claim.

Rooms had been assigned to her on the nursery level, as she’d requested—but they were nicer than she’d anticipated. Usually extra chambers this high up were seldom used and extremely plain, even in the grandest households. But hers was an apartment, sitting room, bedroom, dressing room,andits own attached bath and water closet.

“I used to stay here, when I came to visit my godfather. It suits Sherrinford Holmes’s purpose, I take it?”

“It does.”

“There’s a safe in the wall. I’ll give you the combination before I leave. And I’ve told Mrs. Sanborn that you hate disturbances in the morning. No maids are to come in to sweep the grate or relight the fire while you’re still sleeping.”

“Thank you.”

She half expected him to leave, but he only stared at her, leaning against the door. As the silence was about to become too taut, the corners of his lips quivered.

“I will have you know that Sherrinford Holmes cuts a dashing figure,” she protested. “Or at least he believes he does. And you will not go around injuring that poor man’s feelings.”

He cleared his throat. “I apologize.”

Immediately his lips quivered again. Then he burst out laughing—and kept laughing.

He had the most attractive laughter.

“Poor Sherry will never forgive you!”

But still he couldn’t stop, until she sighed and ripped off both her mustache and her beard.

He straightened and cleared his throat. “I do apologize.”

“You had better not do that when we are in front of other people.”

“I won’t.” He looked down for a moment. “Thank you.”

“You knew I would come.”

“I meant, thank you for your ridiculous yet sublime disguise. When I understood that I would most likely be accused of Lady Ingram’s murder, I thought I would never smile again, let alone laugh like a loon.”

She hadn’t seen him laugh much even otherwise—these had not been the best years of his life.

He pushed away from the door. “The skin on your face is a bit red.”