A dog barked somewhere in the distance. She ignored it.
“Unfortunately, I am of an age where I cannot expect acceptable offers to continue indefinitely. And I admit, there are some suitable gentlemen as yet unwed.”
The dog continued its tirade, accompanied now by shouts. Felicity rolled her gaze toward the heavens. Goodness, you would think people would be more considerate of their neighbors at this time of night.
“As I was saying, if my wish is not to be granted, then I really should accept that my life is going to be unexceptional. I should therefore get on with it and find a gentleman of good family, acceptable fortune, and, if at all possible, pleasant appearance. I really would prefer not—”
The unmistakable sound of a shot rang out in the night.
Felicity started and, without thinking, leaned over the balustrade and peered in the direction of the noise, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that warned it might well be better upon hearing shots to take precautions rather than give in to curiosity. A tall wall separated her family’s garden from that of their neighbors, Lord and Lady Pomfrey, but from her balcony she had an excellent vantage point. The lights flickered on in an upstairs room, and she could make out the distinct figure of a man climbing down the ivy that covered the Pomfreys’ house.
Felicity gasped. A burglar, no doubt. Caught in the act of robbing Lady Pomfrey’s jewels or the Pomfreys’ collection of art or something equally valuable. The figure ran across the Pomfreys’ lawn, his white shirt illuminated by the starlight, and vanished behind the wall. Her wall! Felicity’s heart caught in her throat. Good Lord, he wasn’t coming here, was he? She grabbed her spyglass and hefted it in her hand. It was brass and quite heavy. She had never considered it a weapon before but it certainly could be.
Shouts caught her attention, and she could see two figures in the window. Even from this distance, it was apparent they were arguing. Why on earth would one argue about a burglar? And shouldn’t there be servants all over the grounds by now giving chase?
Unless it wasn’t a burglar at all. There certainly were enough rumors about Lady Pomfrey’s, well, interests. Still, it could be a burglar, and one should know for certain if only to protect one’s home and family. Even as Felicity raised the spyglass to her eye, she knew observing her neighbors thusly was completely improper, quite rude, and, in a moral sense, absolutely wrong. She fully intended to chastise herself about it later.
She stepped back into the deeper shadows of her room, grateful she had not lit a lamp that would expose her presence, extended the spyglass, and focused on the window. Lord and Lady Pomfrey were indeed arguing. Why, His Lordship was the color of overripe plums, although that might have been a trick of light and distance. One would think if one had a wife like Lady Pomfrey, and from all she had heard Lord Pomfrey was no better, one would be used to middle-of the-night incidents like this and would take them in stride. Of course, regardless of their individual activities, it could well be that His Lordship was not at all pleased to come upon his wife in the act of what ever she was in the act of with a—
Good Lord, where was the burglar?
Felicity scanned the area and caught a blurred glimpse of someone dropping from the top of the wall into the garden. Her garden! She ignored a rising sense of panic. One should keep one’s head at a time like this when it was critical to properly evaluate a situation. She found the figure through the spyglass and adjusted the focus. It was far too dark to make out his features, and he did blend in rather well with the shrubbery at the base of the wall in spite of his shirt. Still, she could tell he was tall, and even in the inadequate light cast by the stars, she noted impressively broad shoulders and—
And he was staring straight at her! The immediate temptation was to step back, deeper into the shadows, but Felicity held her ground. She was made of sterner stuff than to retreat, and hadn’t she just been wishing for excitement? Regardless, he couldn’t possibly see her. There was no light on in the room behind her and the starlight was entirely too dim to—
“I say,” he called in a stage whisper, “is it safe?”
Dear Lord, he could see her! For a moment she considered ignoring him completely and slipping back into the safety of her rooms. But that would be the height of cowardice. Besides, what she did or did not do scarcely mattered. She was precisely where she was supposed to be. He was the interloper.
“Miss,” he hissed from the darkness.
She lowered the spyglass reluctantly and matched her tone to his. “What do you mean, safe?”
“I should think safe would be fairly obvious.” There was a distinct hint of annoyance in the man’s voice, although it was a cultured, refined voice. Any lingering thoughts as to whether he was indeed a burglar vanished, although he could have been a well-bred burglar. A duke fallen on hard times or a prince trying to retrieve royal jewels from Lady Pomfrey’s boudoir or—
“Safe specifically as in is anyone coming after me? Have they set the dogs on me?”
She raised a brow. “You’re rather impatient, given your position at the moment.”
“One tends to be impatient when one has been shot at, forced to climb down a building, scaled a wall, and lost one’s favorite coat in the process, all with the proverbial hounds of hell nipping at one’s heels.”
“They don’t have hounds,” she murmured. “Or dogs of any kind.”
“I was certain I heard dogs.” He stepped away from the shrubbery and closer toward her house.
“Oh, there are any number of dogs in the neighborhood, all of whom were probably aroused by tonight’s activities, but Lord and Lady Pomfrey don’t have dogs, although I suppose you were speaking metaphorically. I daresay there are no hounds of hell in London at all. Even if they did have hounds or dogs, I should imagine Lady Pomfrey would have something quite small and furry and not at all capable of climbing walls. Although now that I think about it, dogs generally can’t climb walls so you would indeed be safe.”
“This might well be the strangest conversation I have ever had,” he muttered, and she wasn’t at all sure he was speaking to her. He came closer. “Coupled with one of the stranger evenings. Not the beginning, of course—”
“Yes, well…” She cleared her throat. “Perhaps it might be best if you didn’t—”
“Quite.”
He was right; the conversation was odd and abruptly uncomfortable. It struck her how terribly improper it was as well. Why, she was in her nightclothes chatting with a man who, while probably not a burglar, was certainly not to be trusted. She glanced at the neighboring property. Their Lordships could still be seen in the window but there was no rush of torch-bearing servants headed toward the wall. “It appears to me that you are indeed safe.”
“Excellent.” He chuckled. “That’s that then.”
“Is it?” She stared down at him. “Have you no shame? No morals whatsoever?”
“What do you mean?” he said cautiously.
“I mean—” She thought for a moment. “I suppose before I make any accusations regarding your morals, I should determine if you are or are not a burglar.”
“Fair enough.” She could hear the grin in his voice. “I can assure you I am most certainly not a burglar.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Good point. I have no idea.” He thought for a moment. “I would think, if I were a burglar, I probably wouldn’t be taking the time to chat with you. Furthermore, if I were a burglar, I certainly wouldn’t be plying my trade with the lady of the house present. It’s obviously a sure way to get caught.”
“That would depend on whether you were a good burglar.”
“Oh, I would be a very good burglar. However, I am not.”
She sighed. “No, I don’t suppose you are.”
“You sound disappointed,” he said slowly.
“Not precisely. One should never be disappointed to learn one’s home and family ar
e safe.”
He stepped nearer and stared up at her. He was almost directly beneath the balcony now. She couldn’t make out his features but his voice was surprisingly nice. “And yet you definitely sound disappointed.”
“Well, if you’re not a burglar then you…It scarcely matters.”
“I should be happy to rob your house if you wish.”
She scoffed. “Don’t be absurd. I have no desire for you or anyone to rob my house.”
“That is a relief. I haven’t the faintest idea how to properly rob a house, and I should hate to be found out.” He chuckled. “A man could get shot that way.”
“A distinct possibility.” Indeed, there was an antique dueling pistol in the top drawer of her nightstand at this very moment. She had purchased it after a nasty incident in Venice and had kept it beside her bed ever since. It was of sentimental value more than true protection, really, although a pistol close at hand made her feel a little adventurous. Odd that she hadn’t remembered it before now. Of course, the weight of the spyglass still in her hand was reassuring.
“Now then, as we have resolved that question I should like—”
“As we have established that you probably are not a burglar, I assume you were”—Felicity wrinkled her nose—“dallying with Lady Pomfrey?”
Silence greeted her question, then a resigned sigh drifted upward. “Dallying is as good a word as any.”
“That’s rather reprehensible of you, isn’t it?”
He paused. “Is it?”
“Absolutely.” She collapsed the spyglass in a measured, methodical manner and searched for the right words. It wasn’t every day she chastised a man for scandalous behavior. “Lady Pomfrey is a married woman. Therefore your actions were indeed reprehensible. Morally, that is.”
“Do you think so?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“I see.” He paused for a long moment. “I, however, do not.”
She snorted in disbelief. “You can’t possibly disagree. Your behavior is improper and immoral and—”
“Aha. That’s where you’re wrong.”
“I most certainly am not.”
“Oh but you are.” An annoying note of triumph rang in his voice. “You see, I am not married.”
She furrowed her brow in confusion. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“I am not married, which means I have not broken any sort of vow of fidelity or loyalty or what ever else one promises when shackling one’s life forever to a spouse.” He shrugged. “My morals therefore are not in question.”
She gasped. “Surely you don’t believe that?”
“Surely I do. I take my word, and any promises I might make, up to and including marriage vows—which I have never taken nor do I have any intention of taking in the foreseeable future—quite seriously. Honoring my word is my responsibility, my solemn duty, as it were. However, the actions others take in regard to what ever promises they might make are not my responsibility.”
“Come now. You bear some culpability. Lady Pomfrey couldn’t dally by herself.”
“I wouldn’t wager on—never mind.” He choked back a laugh. “Now then, if there’s nothing else—”
“You are a man of questionable morals, aren’t you?”
“I suppose that depends on your point of view. I have no question at all about my morals. And while I would love to continue to debate my behavior and the ethical considerations regarding that behavior, I should take my leave.”
“Indeed you should,” she murmured, struck by a vague sense of disappointment. It was ridiculous, even if this—or rather, he—was the most interesting thing to happen in her life in some time. Or ever.
“Unless you plan to summon the authorities and have me arrested?”
“Don’t be absurd. If I had wanted to summon the authorities I would have done so by now.” While it was highly improper for a man who had just escaped the justifiable wrath of an irate husband to be under her balcony in the middle of the night, it was probably not worthy of arrest. Apparently, though, this adventure had come to an end. Pity. She gestured at the far side of the garden. “If you head toward the break in the top of the wall, you’ll find a gate a few feet away. It leads to the mews and the passage to the street.”
“What break?”
“There.” She waved again. “You can see it from here, edged against the night sky. It’s just above the border of tall hedges over there.”
“I can’t see it; it’s dark. And I daresay I wouldn’t be able to see it from down here anyway.” He blew a frustrated breath and moved to the trellis. “Damnation, it’s been a hell of a night.”
“Indeed it has.” She peered over the side of the balcony. “What are you doing?”
“I’m climbing up your trellis.”
Felicity ignored the thrill that ran up her spine, whether of fear or excitement, she wasn’t entirely certain. Probably a bit of both. “Is that wise?”
“It is if I’m to see where this blasted gate of yours is and get out of here.”
“Perhaps if you looked a bit harder.” She backed away from the balcony, struck by the realization that she could indeed be in danger. She gripped the spyglass tighter and clutched it to her chest, its weight a comfort and a reassurance. It could indeed serve as a more than adequate weapon and put a nasty dent in a man’s skull. Beyond that, she had no doubt as to her ability to scream if necessary. “I really don’t think you should come—”
“If you’re fearing for your virtue, you needn’t.” An arm appeared over the balustrade, and her breath caught. Dear Lord, he was far faster than she’d expected. Although she shouldn’t have been surprised. The man had already climbed down one building, sprinted across a lawn, and scaled a wall, not to mention what ever other activities he might have engaged in previously, and he hadn’t seemed the least bit out of breath.
He hauled himself onto the balcony, planted his feet on the floor, and straightened. She was right; he was tall. Nearly a head taller than she, and she was of above average height. It was far too dark to see his features well, but what she could make out was quite nice. Of course in the light of day he could well be hideous, although she doubted Lady Pomfrey would ever be involved with an unattractive man. Regardless, his smile would be wicked and no doubt irresistible. If she knew nothing else about him, she knew that.
“I am far too tired to engage in anything other than sleep, which I intend to do the moment I am in my own bed.”
“I wasn’t the least bit worried,” she said in a lofty manner.
“Then why are you armed?” He nodded at the spyglass in her hands.
“This?” She shifted the spyglass from one hand to the other. “This is simply an old spyglass that once belonged to a seafaring relative.”
“A spyglass?” He glanced from the instrument in her hands to her telescope. “And I see you have a larger telescope as well.”
“I study the stars. I find them fascinating.”
He laughed. “As fascinating as your neighbors?”
Heat flashed up her face. “I am an astronomer. Amateur, admittedly, but an astronomer nonetheless. I do not study my neighbors!”
“No?”
“I will admit that once I heard shouting and shots I did wish to see what was happening, but I do not make a habit of peeking in other people’s houses.”
He snorted in obvious disbelief and turned away to study the garden wall. At this particular moment she regretted that she hadn’t bashed him with the spyglass, and noted that it was not too late to do so. Of course, if she rendered him unconscious he would probably be discovered and her reputation would be shattered, as he was obviously a man of disrepute and—
“You’re foolish not to be worried, you know. Speaking to a stranger of questionable morals in the middle of the night and allowing him to enter your bedchamber—”
“I allowed nothing of the sort.” Indignation sounded in her voice. “You took liberties that were not granted to you. You cli
mbed into my garden uninvited and now, again uninvited, you appear in my room and—”
“Yes, well, that is just the kind of thing a man of questionable morals does.” He nodded. “I see the break in the wall now and how to get to it, so I shall bid you good night.”
She huffed. “Go on, then.”
“Before I once again take to the trellis, I should like to thank you for your assistance.”
She shrugged. “I really didn’t do anything.”
A grin sounded in his voice. “Precisely. And it is most appreciated.” Without warning he stepped closer, took her free hand in his, and raised it to his lips. “My dear girl, if you were my younger sister I would make certain you were locked up for the better part of the next year to ensure there would be no repetition of to night’s incident.”
“Would you?” She raised a brow. “If it were my younger sister I would make certain she was armed with something other than a spyglass should there be a repetition of to night’s incident.”
“Well said.” He laughed, released her hand, and stepped to the balcony. He swung a leg over the side and reached for the trellis. “Oh, and one more thing. Do try to keep men of questionable morals from climbing into your bedchamber in the future. At least until you are of an age to understand exactly what the consequences of questionable morals might be.” With that, he disappeared into the night. Only the sound of rustling leaves indicated he had been there at all.
“Of an age…” She stared for a moment, then laughed. The silly man thought she was a child. Certainly in the dark with her eminently practical nightclothes and her hair down, plus her telescope and spyglass, she probably did indeed look like a mere girl.
A thump sounded somewhere below her, followed by a muffled profanity. She moved to the balcony and leaned over. “Are you all right?”
“My bloody shoe caught in your blasted trellis and now I can’t find the damnable thing.”
She stifled a giggle. “Sir, your language.”
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