Clandestine Read Online Free PDF Page B

cedar and beeswax beneath its top note of expensive ink: masculine scents that spoke of an elegant study, the private preserve of the man who had so disturbed her composure in the bookstore.
    His dark head had bent over this very sheet of paper, a dry quirk at the corner of his lips, his profile perfect as he dipped his pen in the inkwell.
    And—if he had happened to glance up—he’d have pinned any observer with eyes so dark that a woman might drown in their black fire.
    Her fingers fumbled as she untied the ribbon and unfolded the paper, while a rush of trepidation sent quite definite little mouse feet running down her spine. To her surprise, some coins rattled onto the table. She set them aside and started to read.
    Dear Madam,
    The recent christening of the infant Lord Wyldshay, the first grandson of the Duke of Blackdown, is to be celebrated tomorrow night with a masked ball. I enjoy the perhaps unfortunate privilege of being one of the baby’s godfathers, so I am obliged to attend.
    No one will notice an extra shepherdess.
    A maid from Blackdown House will arrive tomorrow evening to assist you. You may, of course, send her away, if you wish. However, it would be prudent for you to remain quietly in your room at the hotel until then.
    Meanwhile, since the servants will expect their vails from your hand, and Brockton’s will expect you to settle your reckoning with a certain generosity, I enclose a small token toward that end.
    If you don’t wish to accept it, please use it for charity.
    Either way, we need not refer to it again.
    I remain, dear madam, your most humble, obedient servant,
    Guy Devoran
    Sarah picked up the coins. Money was such an improper present for any gentleman to give to a lady that she ought to return it with a stiff note. Yet her hotel bill would use almost the last of her cash, and now she could buy several meals, as well as offer the correct rewards to his servants.
    She had asked for Guy Devoran’s help. It would be idiotic to faint from hunger before he could give it. And, of course, he had very cleverly offered her a way to save face— please use it for charity .
    So it was just one more small indignity she must suffer for Rachel’s sake.
    Yet a masked ball?
    Sarah had never attended such an event in her life.
    The first grandson of the Duke of Blackdown —that would be Lord Ryderbourne’s new baby, who enjoyed the courtesy title of Earl of Wyldshay even in his cradle. The birth had recently been announced in the newspapers.
    The thought of Mr. Devoran’s being godfather to his cousin’s new baby was indeed oddly reassuring.
    Concentrating only on that, Sarah washed her face in cold water, stripped off her plain green gown, and donned the blue silk. The fit was tight, but passable. The fabric, obviously, was French.
    The shoes, luckily, were a good fit.
    The entire costume was probably worth several months of her schoolteacher’s salary.
    It was not easy without the help of a maid, but she managed to bundle her unruly hair beneath the wig. The little bonnet perched above her left ear like a drunken post boy. Using the small dappled mirror above the fireplace, she tried to adjust it. The sheep—all tied together by a length of ribbon—seemed determined to race off down the powdered ringlets to escape over her shoulder. Which only emphasized that the tight bodice was very close to being indecent.
    Sarah tucked the handkerchief into the décolletage. One of the sheep entangled itself in the lace edging. She tried to free it and only caught two more of them.
    From the sheer absurdity of it—and as if she must at last release all of her worry in open mockery at herself—she began to laugh. She laughed till she cried.

    C ARRIAGES lined the street. Music echoed into the night.
    Beneath the glow of the gaslights, each fabulous equipage moved, then stopped, then moved again. The procession stretched for several blocks as the most