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prayed the navy walking dress she’d donned would be dark enough to conceal her as she shut her eyes and forced herself to hold still.
     
    “Of course, gel,” a voice answered, closer now. “Just pretend that you’re lost, and being a gentleman he won’t be able to refuse…” The voice faded as the women passed round the corner.
     
    Liliana let out a breath at the near miss. She hadn’t anticipated that she wouldn’t be the only person sneaking around Somerton Park tonight. She shook her head. Whatever—
whomever
—other people hunted was none of her concern.
     
    An image of black hair and arresting cobalt eyes flashed through her mind. An unwelcome rush of feminine appreciation rolled over her as she recalled herintroduction to Stratford. He’d been a head taller than any other gentleman in the room, and even with his sleek muscles fully covered by black evening clothes, Liliana recognized that he would be a specimen worth hunting.
     
    If, of course, he didn’t turn out to be a traitor. After she’d learned whose family crest had marked the seal, she’d done some research. Stratford’s father had been earl in 1803, so the letters had most likely come from him. But if he and her father had been passing—or receiving—sensitive information, who had more opportunity to carry that information across enemy lines than the
current
earl, who was then a soldier moving throughout the continent with his regiment?
     
    Sure that the other women were far past, Liliana slowly felt her way in the shadows toward the central staircase, in search of the library. She was grateful she’d thought to leave her slippers behind. Even in her stockings, she imagined she could hear her every footfall on the cold marble. Her heart sped faster with each step.
     
    After a frustrating half hour of wrong turns and missteps, Liliana came upon a set of double doors. They stood open, revealing only several bookshelves and shadowed furnishings. At least none of the husband hunters thought to lay in wait in the library. Of course, she couldn’t picture the ladies she’d seen tonight reading much beyond gossip rags or fashion plates.
     
    Praying for solitude, she slipped into the room and closed the doors. In the oppressive darkness, Liliana made out the lines of a fireplace, cold and dark. Drat it all. Was it really too much to hope some fire remained for light?
     
    No matter. She reached into a pocket of her navy dress, one of several she’d designed herself. While in London, she wore only fashionable pastels. But in the country, her darker dresses were more practical while working in her laboratory and out gathering the specimens she used in her efforts to isolate chemicals from plants to create more effective medicines. Not onlycould she carry several items in the oversized pockets, but the fabric stained less easily. The added benefit of keeping her hidden in shadow while sneaking around strangers’ homes was a bonus she’d never needed or appreciated before.
     
    Liliana withdrew her tinderbox, a taper candle and a holder. She felt her way to the mantel, where she found a jar of spills. Opening the little drawer, she tugged a bit of char cloth into the open and snapped the drawer shut with her thumb. The flint sparked and the cloth began to smolder on the first attempt. Pride swelled as her experimental accelerant flared. She lit first the spill, then the taper.
     
    She looked about. The high-ceilinged space swallowed the golden flicker of her candle after mere feet. The distant corners of the room disappeared into inky blackness. She would have to risk more light. Liliana made her way to the outer wall, where shutters covered the windows, and flicked a latch, willing the wood not to creak.
     
    Moonlight flooded in, illuminating shelves and wall sconces.
     
    Her stomach fell. The main room dwarfed her own study-cum-library many times over. Hers was more the size of
one
of the two nooks that flanked Somerton Park’s main