She gathered her courage, prepared to rush at him and stop his actions, when a light beamed brightly from inside the study, surprising her and sending the intruder scurrying off like a rat—around the corner of the house and across the garden. As she watched him hurry off, she felt a jolt of recognition. She was certain that he was the Baron Montgrave.
“My God! Ella was right!” she whispered to the night air. She’d made light of her friend’s overactive imagination and, this time, she should have listened!
Once the baron was out of sight, she followed his steps to the study window, which was still cracked open. Stepping into the soft earth beneath the window, she peered into the room to see Blackmoor at his desk, staring into nothingness, clearly lost in his own thoughts. She released an enormous sigh, grateful that he was unharmed—desperate to touch him and confirm his safety.
Reaching up, she rapped on the window pane sharply, startling Blackmoor from his thoughts. He stood up quickly, squinting at the window. Alex realized that he was unable to see her for the reflection of the light in the glass, so she called out softly, “It’s me!”
His eyes widened in surprised recognition as he moved quickly toward her, saying, “I’m certain I must be dreaming. There’s no way you’d risk your reputation quite so baldly.”
He threw open the window and leaned down on the sill, peering out into the night, meeting her nose to nose and continuing drily, “Tell me I’m dreaming, Alexandra.”
“I regret I cannot do that, my lord. It is indeed I standing in your flower bed…quite clandestinely.” Placing her hands next to his on the windowsill, she continued, “I need to speak with you. Help me in?”
He considered leaving her in the garden and then thought better of it. Reaching down, he grasped her arms and hauled her through the opening and into the study, waiting for her to steady herself before turning and closing the window. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off as he turned around. “You risked your reputation to follow me back here and, quite frankly, you had better have a decent reason to be skulking around my gardens instead of dancing the night away at your parents’ house.”
“I do. I’ve several reasons, actually, including the fact that it seems I’m not the only person skulking about your gardens this evening.”
His eyes widened in surprise at her words. “I beg your pardon?”
She stole a glance at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “I cannot stay long, and neither can you. We have to return to Worthington House.”
“Why? Haven’t we been to enough balls this season?” he quipped.
“It’s not the ball. It’s that you cannot stay here by yourself. Someone is planning to kill you. I just watched an aborted attempt to enter the house through this very window. I think it was Baron Montgrave.
“He’s gone now, and I can’t be sure. You scared him off with the light.” She pushed on, urgently. “I know that wasn’t the most tactful way to tell you, but we don’t have much time. You see…only moments ago at the ball, I overheard a private conversation between two men who sounded very much involved in what could only have been espionage. They made it quite clear that you have access to some very dangerous information or, rather, that your father was privy to some information that he should not have been privy to and, more importantly, that they were willing to kill to be sure that, first, you don’t have the opportunity to share this knowledge you may or may not have with anyone else, and, second, you do not have the opportunity to learn this information to begin with.” She grasped his hand and pulled. “We have to leave here. Now.”
He did not move. “We’re not going anywhere until you’ve explained slightly more than you already have.”
She sighed impatiently. “I don’t have time to explain any more! Someone could climb through that window at any moment and surprise us!”
“It does seem a popular entryway,” he observed.
“How can you jest at a time like this?” she said. “Did you not understand me? Someone is plotting to do away with you!”
“Alex. Try to stay calm.”
“Stay calm?” she burst out, frustrated. “You weren’t there! You didn’t hear them speaking as though killing you would fit in between breakfast and morning visitors!”
“You’re not hearing what I’m trying to say, Alex,” he said calmly. “I know. All of it. I know that my father had information damning enough to kill for. I know it related, in some way, to the war. I know that information is believed to be hidden somewhere in Blackmoor House. I know that whoever killed my father is out for me. I know, and so does most of the War Office. We’re all waiting for the knave to make his next move, which we expect will be some time soon. Could have been just now, if what you say about an intruder running off is true. I assure you, we’re all prepared for it.”
“What? You know of it? But how? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“I’ve suspected it to be the case for months—you know I never really believed that my father’s death was an accident. The only other people who agreed with me were your father and Lord Langford, but none of us could prove anything, or so I thought. Once Blackmoor House was robbed and nothing of importance taken, I knew it must have been related to my father. Your father, Lord Langford, and I have been trying to root out the thief ever since.”
“But you could be killed!”
He shook his head firmly. “While that is certainly a possibility, between my very frequent, very public appearances and the skilled Bow Street Runners who are patrolling the house, I don’t think that’s going to come to pass.”
“My God! Ella was right!” she whispered to the night air. She’d made light of her friend’s overactive imagination and, this time, she should have listened!
Once the baron was out of sight, she followed his steps to the study window, which was still cracked open. Stepping into the soft earth beneath the window, she peered into the room to see Blackmoor at his desk, staring into nothingness, clearly lost in his own thoughts. She released an enormous sigh, grateful that he was unharmed—desperate to touch him and confirm his safety.
Reaching up, she rapped on the window pane sharply, startling Blackmoor from his thoughts. He stood up quickly, squinting at the window. Alex realized that he was unable to see her for the reflection of the light in the glass, so she called out softly, “It’s me!”
His eyes widened in surprised recognition as he moved quickly toward her, saying, “I’m certain I must be dreaming. There’s no way you’d risk your reputation quite so baldly.”
He threw open the window and leaned down on the sill, peering out into the night, meeting her nose to nose and continuing drily, “Tell me I’m dreaming, Alexandra.”
“I regret I cannot do that, my lord. It is indeed I standing in your flower bed…quite clandestinely.” Placing her hands next to his on the windowsill, she continued, “I need to speak with you. Help me in?”
He considered leaving her in the garden and then thought better of it. Reaching down, he grasped her arms and hauled her through the opening and into the study, waiting for her to steady herself before turning and closing the window. She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off as he turned around. “You risked your reputation to follow me back here and, quite frankly, you had better have a decent reason to be skulking around my gardens instead of dancing the night away at your parents’ house.”
“I do. I’ve several reasons, actually, including the fact that it seems I’m not the only person skulking about your gardens this evening.”
His eyes widened in surprise at her words. “I beg your pardon?”
She stole a glance at the clock on the fireplace mantel. “I cannot stay long, and neither can you. We have to return to Worthington House.”
“Why? Haven’t we been to enough balls this season?” he quipped.
“It’s not the ball. It’s that you cannot stay here by yourself. Someone is planning to kill you. I just watched an aborted attempt to enter the house through this very window. I think it was Baron Montgrave.
“He’s gone now, and I can’t be sure. You scared him off with the light.” She pushed on, urgently. “I know that wasn’t the most tactful way to tell you, but we don’t have much time. You see…only moments ago at the ball, I overheard a private conversation between two men who sounded very much involved in what could only have been espionage. They made it quite clear that you have access to some very dangerous information or, rather, that your father was privy to some information that he should not have been privy to and, more importantly, that they were willing to kill to be sure that, first, you don’t have the opportunity to share this knowledge you may or may not have with anyone else, and, second, you do not have the opportunity to learn this information to begin with.” She grasped his hand and pulled. “We have to leave here. Now.”
He did not move. “We’re not going anywhere until you’ve explained slightly more than you already have.”
She sighed impatiently. “I don’t have time to explain any more! Someone could climb through that window at any moment and surprise us!”
“It does seem a popular entryway,” he observed.
“How can you jest at a time like this?” she said. “Did you not understand me? Someone is plotting to do away with you!”
“Alex. Try to stay calm.”
“Stay calm?” she burst out, frustrated. “You weren’t there! You didn’t hear them speaking as though killing you would fit in between breakfast and morning visitors!”
“You’re not hearing what I’m trying to say, Alex,” he said calmly. “I know. All of it. I know that my father had information damning enough to kill for. I know it related, in some way, to the war. I know that information is believed to be hidden somewhere in Blackmoor House. I know that whoever killed my father is out for me. I know, and so does most of the War Office. We’re all waiting for the knave to make his next move, which we expect will be some time soon. Could have been just now, if what you say about an intruder running off is true. I assure you, we’re all prepared for it.”
“What? You know of it? But how? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“I’ve suspected it to be the case for months—you know I never really believed that my father’s death was an accident. The only other people who agreed with me were your father and Lord Langford, but none of us could prove anything, or so I thought. Once Blackmoor House was robbed and nothing of importance taken, I knew it must have been related to my father. Your father, Lord Langford, and I have been trying to root out the thief ever since.”
“But you could be killed!”
He shook his head firmly. “While that is certainly a possibility, between my very frequent, very public appearances and the skilled Bow Street Runners who are patrolling the house, I don’t think that’s going to come to pass.”
