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“Oy! Brigand, good to have you back, boy.” The groom rubbed the horse’s nose, eyeing Vivienne. “I haven’t seen you before. What are you doing with Sir Sebastian’s horse?”

“Obviously, if I am bringing him to you, I have his permission to borrow his steed, do I not?” she answered in a deep tone, which she hoped was manly.

She flicked him a copper. This time it flipped through the air into his waiting palm.

“Give Brigand a good rubdown. He deserves it.” She turned on her heel and strolled out the door to avoid more leading questions.

She removed the skeleton key from her waistcoat pocket and fit it to the lock.

The door swung open with a low creak. She narrowed her eyes to see better in the darkened hall with stairs on the left.

She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, a sense of Bash filling the very air, and the peace it lent her made the pain in her chest ease.

She inhaled a full, deep breath. She would no longer be alone.

She need only tell Bash, and Grandmother would be saved.

“Bash?” She doubted he would be home, but if he was, she wouldn’t want to surprise a man skilled with so many weapons.

“Bash?” she called once more, and strode into the hall.

To her right, a small room in the front appeared to have once been a parlor.

Judging from his desk strewn with paper and a stack of books, along with a small bookcase of tomes beneath the window, he now used it as his study.

She gasped at the title of the smallest book.

He had purchased her debut novel, and judging from the cheesecloth marker, he was halfway through reading it.

Smiling, she ran her finger over the desk, imagining him sitting here.

She picked up the small clock on his desk.

The artistry of the piece was magnificent.

She gently set it back down—riding had made her arms shaky.

“Best not drop what’s sure to be an heirloom. ”

She ventured farther down the hall to find a tiny kitchen.

There was no larder, but there was a cupboard.

She found a loaf of bread and knocked on it.

“It’s soft.” She squealed and bit into it, devouring half the loaf while she discovered a bottle of lemonade and a tin of biscuits.

I know he does not employ anyone … so does Bash know how to bake?

She peered in the cupboard and found the necessary ingredients.

“Muriel would be impressed. What else don’t I know about you, Sir Sebastian? ”

She peeked out the back door, only to find an alley shared with the other townhouses and no place for a lady to venture alone. Bash kept the interior of his home clean, but the malodorous alley threatened the contents of her stomach. She bolted the door.

Her body ached. If she had to wait for Bash to return from his duties, she needed to rest. She removed his hat and trod up the stairs.

There was only one door at the top. Bash’s room would complete the small townhouse.

She well remembered what had happened the last time she’d snooped in his room.

She swung it open. A small, plain bed with a burgundy blanket stood in the corner by the lone window with heavy curtains.

In the opposite corner stood a serviceable chair with a basin and pitcher atop it.

He did not spend much time here, it seemed, but all was clean.

She had heard that in recent years the Yeomen of the Guard were now responsible for their lodgings.

Perhaps he did not wish to spare much funds for his rooms when he had a perfectly beautiful manor in Bath.

The ancient opulence of the manor house provided fodder for imagination, with its vast gardens and the priest hole in Bash’s old room, but she doubted she would see it again.

Even with Bash’s help, the law was clearly on Alden’s side in regard to the inheritance.

She sighed. “What will Alden do to Grandmother’s beautiful home with all those rooms?”

Vivienne regarded the bed. Would it be so improper to take a nap in his bed while she waited for him?

The room spun. She tested the bed. It was impossibly stiff, as it seemed to be overstuffed with hay.

She smiled at his frugality. A nobleman of character who baked his own bread and slept on hay while serving the Crown in palaces.

But if it meant that she could stay with Bash, she would choose to live here without a moment’s hesitation. Even without a guest room.

She ran her hands over the blanket, her eyes heavy.

Seeing how she could not fetch Grandmother out alone, she might as well rest. A basin rested atop a dresser in the corner of the room, but it was all she could do to draw back the covers and yank off her filthy boots before falling onto the bed, weapons and all.

The scent of Bash upon the blanket lulled her to sleep, filling her dreams with their time together when they were simply Evie and the highwayman.