Shirley Kerr Read Online Free PDF

he said, his voice barely audible.
    She hadn’t heard him follow her in, yet felt his presence at her side as strongly as if he were still holding her. They stood stock-still in the shadowy room, with the only light coming from the faint glow of the dying embers in the fireplace.
    “We can’t be seen together,” she whispered, ignoring the urge to reach out and touch him again. “I’ll wait a few minutes after you’re gone, then go downstairs, just like the other hotel guests.”
    She walked toward the door but paused, feeling the heat and weight of his hand on her shoulder, and tingled as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I sincerely hope the rest of your evening is less eventful, Miss Parnell.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving away.
    The balcony door curtains fluttered as he passed. She heard the faint clang of his boots on the iron railing, and then he was up and gone from view, back the way he’d come, just as quick and agile as Steven when it came to climbing about on roofs. Gratifying to know her initial assessment had not been proven incorrect.
    Charlotte stood frozen, staring at the empty balcony, reliving the moments in Moncreiffe’s company. The encounter with his father could prove problematic. He did not wish Alistair to marry, but apparently the duke did. Too bad she didn’t know the viscount’s thoughts on the subject.
    She gave herself a slight shake. What on earth was she doing, thinking about Moncreiffe and marriage, when she had gone to such lengths—not to mention risk—to be here, now, to search Melisande’s room?
    She made sure the hall door was shut and locked, did the same for the balcony door, then lit one candle from the glowing embers and began going through the courtesan’s belongings.
    Half an hour later, she sat back on her heels with a sigh of defeat and closed her eyes. No, she would not give in. Of course it wouldn’t be this simple. She got up and made certain everything was back in its original position. She had found plenty of evidence if she were inclined toward blackmail—at least a dozen gentlemen would pay handsomely for the return of their tokens of affection. Melisande collected paramours the way other women collected shoes or gloves. But there was no sign of the object Charlotte was after.
    Perhaps Melisande carried such a valuable item in her reticule, or on her person?
    She’d have to bribe a maid, find out Melisande’s schedule, follow the courtesan. Go to the same social functions, get close to her.
    If she went alone, it might raise suspicion, not to mention possibly causing a scandal if she came to the attention of some busybody stickler for propriety, and Aunt Hermione and her gout were only good for a couple outings per week.
    She’d need an escort. Steven was out of the question, obviously. He’d only be interested in finding her a suitor, and would ditch her while he went off on his own search,conveniently forgetting all about their successful partnership. The rat.
    Suitor. Hmm. Marianne had been squired about by Lord Glavin to all sorts of events and outings while they were engaged. A husband was still out of the question, but a fiancé might be just the ticket.
    She went still. Viscount Moncreiffe. He’d already brought up a fake engagement.
    How could she let him know she would like to continue his charade, without him thinking it a ploy to actually lure him into parson’s mousetrap?
     
    “You sly puss,” Steven said with a grin two days later, tossing the morning’s paper onto the table in front of Charlotte. He waved dismissal to the footman stationed by the sideboard, so they were alone.
    She swallowed her bite of egg on toast. “Beg pardon?”
    Steven stabbed an article halfway down the page that contained all of the social announcements. “When were you going to tell me you snagged yourself a viscount? One that’s heir to a dukedom, no less.” He ruffled her hair. “Nicely done, poppet. Mama and your papa