Kate Moore Read Online Free PDF Page A

for you in the other room,” she said, wishing her bright cheeks did not reveal her embarrassment so plainly.
    “Alas, Miss Somerley, I cannot trust you to remain there, can I?” She shook her head, and he went on, “Then I recommend ‘Ode to a Debutante,’ page nineteen.”
    Margaret turned to it. Without looking up again she said, “This is not your home, is it.” There was a pause in which she could hear the little indefinite rustle of clothes that meant he continued to move inexorably toward his objective.
    “No, it is not,” he answered.
    “But these are your books?” she persisted. The book had opened so readily to the page he recommended that she could not doubt his familiarity with the volume.
    “Yes,” came the reply. “And that is my bed, Miss Somerley.”
    She looked up then. “You say that merely to disconcert me,” she began, and stopped at the sight of him. He had brushed his hair forward in a style she had often seen in London and had somehow darkened the color, subdued the gold of it to a pale brown. The coat he now wore was bottle-green and cut differently, to exaggerate the contrast between the broad shoulders and narrow waist. He had added fobs and rings that made him look quite the exquisite. The transformation was surprisingly complete, her teasing companion as thoroughly obscured in the haughty figure before her as if he had donned a mask and domino.
    She looked away. She had meant to tell him he was an uncommon thief, but now it appeared he would steal anything. She gazed at a case on the lowboy in which a tangle of jewels sparkled.
    “I meant to leave you with Humphrey, who is as kind as he is old,” he said, and his words recalled her to her own awkward position. “But it seems Humphrey has been called away, or more likely wandered away, on business of his own; thus you must continue with me.” He pulled her to her feet and removed the book from her unresisting fingers.
    “You could not trust me to wait here? We are far from the hall.” It-was reasonable and sensible to ask, and of course she wanted him to leave her behind so that she might escape and alert the earl. So she held herself perfectly still, allowing her fingertips to rest lightly on his, meeting his clear gaze steadily. She felt an unaccustomed tautness in her body as she waited for his decision.
    He studied her for a long moment; then, as certainly as if he had spoken, Margaret knew he had decided to take her with him. The change was in his eyes, and Margaret, who had sided with Prudence and Reason and Conscience all her life, knew that he had discarded the advice of such wise companions, had decided to take her because he wanted to. She dropped her gaze from his lest he should discern the perfectly unreasonable thrill that knowledge gave her.
    “You would not wish to miss the end of your adventure, would you?” he asked lightly. “But you must not appear as Margaret Somerley in my company tonight.”
    She allowed him to remove the borrowed jacket, but when he again put the earl’s papers securely in an inner pocket and tossed the first jacket aside, a pang of conscience made her appeal to him once more.
    “Must you do this thing?”
    “I must.” He studied Margaret with a critical air. “No doubt your mother selected this gown,” he said softly. “And we’ve no modiste to turn to.” Margaret felt the briefest twinge of resentment at her mother’s taste. Then he reached for her. She retreated, and the backs of her knees collided with the hard edge of the bed. In one of his quick, startling moves, he slid the tiny sleeves off her shoulders so that her chest and neck were suddenly more exposed than her mother could have approved of.
    “No,” she protested, hugging her shoulders, pushing against his hands, trying to restore the modesty of her neckline.
    “These bows must go,” he said, ignoring her attempts to right the gown. “Too demure by half for the company we’ll be keeping.”
    Ruthlessly he