by Lynsay Sands
The library door opened. One moment Maggie and James were hanging over the chair panting; the next they were both standing upright, guilt and alarm painting their flushed faces. James slid out of her, and her skirts fell back into place.
“James, where the devil have you gotten to?” Lady Barlow called irritably as she stepped into the room. There was an attractive brunette at her heels. Despite the fact that the woman was not the wizened Lady Wingate, Maggie suffered a definite sense of déjà vu at the situation. James’s aunt looked about the room until she spotted them, standing one behind the other, half-hidden by the chair. “Oh, there you are. Sophie wants—”
Lady Barlow paused after only a few steps, her gaze narrowing at their flushed and breathless state. Her eyes widened, and she cried, “Good Lord, not again! What the devil is it with you and libraries that makes you unable to control yourself in them, James? You have always had a passion for books, but really!”
Groaning, Maggie closed her eyes and wished with all her heart that the floor would do her the inestimable favor of opening up and swallowing her whole. She was not at all appreciative of James’s sense of humor when a small snort of laughter slid from his lips, blowing against the sensitive skin on the back of her neck. For a moment she considered sliding out from between him and the chair and making her escape, but she wasn’t at all sure that the chair was high enough to hide his presently unsheathed state—she was trapped where she was unless she wished it revealed.
Much to her relief, Lady Barlow did not leave her trapped for long. Giving a huff of disgust, the woman turned and made her way back to the door. “Sophie and I will be in the salon. I will expect you immediately, James. I do hope you can keep your hands off the poor girl long enough for her to meet your sister.”
The door closed behind the two women with a soft thud, and James heaved a breath of relief. Sliding his arms around Maggie’s waist from behind, he nuzzled the top of her head. “I fear she is right. I always have had a passion for libraries. Still, I never realized quite how much pleasure they could afford until I met you.”
Caught off guard by the comment, Maggie found herself chuckling, her shoulders relaxing as the tension slipped from them. Covering his hands with her own, she leaned back and tipped her head to smile up at him crookedly. “I do not know if I can face them after getting caught like that again. Your aunt must think me the lowest of creatures.”
“You?” He glanced at her with surprise, then shook his head firmly. “Nay. She thinks the world of you. It is me of whom she thinks poorly. I am the seducer of innocents, you see.”
“Oh, but I seduced you,” Maggie protested earnestly, turning in his arms. James’s gaze heated again. “So you did, you little minx.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, his lips curving in an appreciative smile. “And rather thoroughly at that, too.”
Rather pleased with herself, Maggie smiled and leaned against his chest, tucking her head under his chin to enjoy his simple caress. His hands moved over her back in a soothing rhythm. The two of them stood like that for a moment; then James chuckled.
“What a shame we were caught, however. I am quite certain Aunt Viv shall make sure we do not get any more such opportunities. We will be lucky if she doesn’t raid the museum for a chastity belt and clap it on you until the wedding.”
An amused giggle erupted from Maggie at the thought, and James’s arms tightened around her. His voice was a bit irritated as he said, “There is nothing funny about it, madam. In case you hadn’t noticed, just holding you like this has left me embarrassingly eager for more. The next two weeks are shaping up to be rather hellish.”
Pulling back, Maggie peered down at his breeches, surprised to note that he was indeed bulging with interest. But that didn’t surprise her as much as the fact that he was bulging against the cloth of his breeches. He was tucked in and buttoned up, and the only time he could possibly have done that without her noticing was while they had stood facing his aunt. It was no wonder she had worked out what they were doing if he had been busy putting himself away as she approached!
Maggie should have been annoyed with him, but he was gifting her with such a sweetly wry expression, she couldn’t seem to muster any irritation.
“Come. My sister is going to love you, and you shall love her, too. The two of you shall no doubt become good friends.”
“Your sister probably already hates me,” Maggie muttered unhappily as he dragged her toward the door. “She probably thinks me a tart.”
“Nonsense. She was caught in rather similar circumstances herself with her husband—before he was her husband,” he confided with amusement. “Their wedding was rather rushed as well, you know. It would appear a bit of scandal runs in the family.”
A little more than an hour later, Maggie had to admit that James was right. She wouldn’t have said that she and Sophie loved each other already, but they certainly got on well enough and had found several interests in common. Maggie rather liked her soon-to-be sister-in-law and hoped it might be mutual. Which was why it was such a shame that this was James’s sister. Maggie felt rather in need of a friend just now.
Peering out the window of her room, she watched the activity on the street below with blind eyes. Maggie had enjoyed the visit, despite its embarrassing beginning, and had cut it short only out of consideration for Sophie and Lady Barlow. The two women had an obvious affection for each other, and Maggie had thought to let them visit privately after James excused himself. Maggie couldn’t recall the evening’s plans exactly at the moment, but supposed they would all either go to a play and a ball, an opera and a soiree, or some other similar combination. This would be another evening on display.
She twitched the drapes at her windows impatiently, her mind returning to the dilemma she’d been considering before her exciting little adventure in the library. Did she love James? The question left her with the beginnings of a headache. Normally she would have taken such a problem to her friend Charlotte to discuss. Unfortunately Charlotte hadn’t ventured into London yet. It was early in the season still, and Charlotte’s family tended to be one of the last to arrive each year.
Maggie had friends with whom she might have discussed other problems, but Charlotte was the only one with whom she would feel comfortable discussing this personal issue, and in this matter, Maggie wasn’t at all sure she would even have felt thoroughly comfortable discussing it with her. Charlotte like Maggie was unmarried, but Charlotte was well-behaved—which Maggie could no longer claim. Nay, perhaps she couldn’t have discussed this dilemma with her. What she needed was a more experienced woman, someone married, someone to whom she could talk. Like Sophie.
She discarded the thought as quickly as it came to her. While she hoped that she and Sophie might someday become close enough to discuss such things, it was too early in their friendship yet. Besides, the other girl would be biased in her opinions: James was her brother.
Sighing, Maggie leaned her head against the window, her gaze focusing on an old woman peddling fruit on the street. The shawl covering her head and the hunched way she walked reminded her of the disguise Madame Dubarry had used when she’d come to tell Maggie that someone was impersonating her dead brother. Maggie smiled fondly at the thought of the woman. She supposed it was shocking that she enjoyed a friendship with the brothel owner, but Agatha was the only one who had seen both sides of her: what the world saw, and her secret identity as G. W. Clark. And the older woman never judged her. Which was not how the ton would have reacted, she knew.
“Oh, stuff!” she muttered suddenly, straightening by the window. She could talk to Agatha Dubarry. Aggie would neither be shocked nor biased. She would listen and offer advice born of years of experience. It was such a brilliant idea, and so obvious, that Maggie wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. She would invite Agatha to tea. She hadn’t done that in ages—not since before her abduction to the country, anyway.
Moving to the bellpull in the corner, she gave it a tug, knowin
g it would bring Mary immediately. She would send the girl for stationery and ink and invite Agatha here to Lady Bar—
“Oh,” she murmured aloud as she realized that she couldn’t possibly invite the woman here. This was not her home. It was one thing to invite the madam to her own house, but she could not possibly invite her here without Lady Barlow’s permission. Maggie grimaced. She could just imagine Lady Barlow’s reaction to a request to invite a brothel owner to tea. The woman would be scandalized.
Maybe, some part of her reasoned. Then again, maybe not. She hadn’t been scandalized by Maggie’s being G. W. Clark, she considered. Then she shook her head. Writing articles for the Daily Express and owning a brothel were not exactly similar degrees of scandal.
Sighing, she gave up the idea with regret, only to glance up in surprise when Mary rushed in. “Yes, m’lady?” the maid asked.
“Oh, never mind.” Maggie started to wave the girl away, then paused as her gaze fell on the maid’s serviceable gown and the shawl draped over her shoulders. Her cheeks were rosy, she noted, a telltale sign that she had been out to the stables to see her beau, but it was Mary’s dress that caught Maggie’s attention. The beginnings of an idea were taking root in her mind: perhaps Agatha could not come visit her, but might she possibly slip out to visit Agatha?
“M’lady?”
Maggie gave a start at the maid’s uncertain murmur and stiffened. “It is all right, Mary. I was going to write a letter but changed my mind. I am sorry to have troubled you. You may go back to what you were doing.”
“Yes, m’lady.” The girl was gone as quickly as she had come—no doubt straight back to the stables, Maggie thought. She turned her mind back to her daring thoughts of moments before.
Dared she sneak out and visit Madame Dubarry? Lady Barlow and James would have a fit if she were caught. If, she argued with herself, and she had no intention of being caught. She would sneak out now, while James was gone and Lady Barlow was visiting with her niece. She would be back in plenty of time to prepare for their evening outing.
Yes, but there was her assailant to consider. She risked his harming her if he saw through her disguise. But no one pays attention to servants, she told herself. She could dress as a servant, slip out the back, and carry a basket as if she were going to market. It was growing rather late for a trip to the market, but not so late that it wasn’t possible. Then, too, no one would believe she would dare leave her guard behind and traipse about on her own. Not after the last attack.
Which brought her guard to mind. Maggie frowned. Jack. The man who had saved her from the fire was supposed to have taken time to recuperate, but he was . . . well, a man. And everyone knew that men could be stubborn to the point of stupidity when it came to their health. Good Lord, one could never expect them to admit to being human and needing to heal. Fortunately, nothing had arisen to call his claims of health into question. Not that she didn’t feel safer with him around. She did, and she had no doubt at all that the man would do more damage to his own hands to protect her if the need arose. She simply didn’t understand the male need to take such risks rather than admit to human frailties.
Ah, well, it didn’t matter right now. What did was that originally Jack had merely been in the house. He’d been allowed to spend his time in the kitchen or wherever he would be available if there was trouble. But that had been before Maggie’s jaunt to the men’s club. After that, James had decided Jack needed to follow her around and keep a close eye on her. He now trailed her about like some hulking Cockney angel. Maggie had been forced to promise that she would sit still in the same chair in her room this afternoon simply to get a few minutes’ peace and privacy—and she knew Jack had likely stood outside the door, anyway.
The thought made her groan aloud as she recalled what she and James had done earlier—and the noise they had no doubt made doing it. Dear Lord, seduce James she may have done, but she had also apparently given up her sense of decorum. Close proximity to the man obviously did things to her brain, else she would have recalled her guardian’s embarrassing presence outside the door then, instead of now, when it was too late. . . .
“Only you, Maggie,” she muttered then pushed those thoughts aside. Little could be done about it now, so Maggie considered the problem at hand: how to slip out without her guard knowing. After a moment’s thought, she decided that simple prevarication would be easiest. Taking a deep breath, she gave her hands and arms a shake, then straightened her shoulders and walked calmly to the door. As expected, Jack stood in the hall looking solemn and immovable. Maggie smiled, hoping it was the same expression she usually used and didn’t scream, Hello! I’m about to lie to you!
She forced herself to say, “I thought I should tell you that I am going to take a nap before tonight’s entertainment. You might like to fetch a chair and something to entertain yourself—unless you’d rather go down to the kitchens for a bit of a snack and a beverage?”
“A chair’ll do,” the large man rumbled, as she expected; then he glanced up the hall with a frown.
“I think there is one in the gallery by the top of the stairs,” Maggie suggested, hoping she didn’t sound too sweet. She closed the door then, and quickly dropped to peer through the keyhole, relieved to see her guard move off down the hall. She hadn’t expected him to take her suggestion of retiring to the kitchens, but his fetching a chair from the gallery also played right into her hands. He could see the top of the stairs from there and would think he could watch for her coming or going.
Of course, Maggie didn’t plan to take those stairs. Easing the door open, she watched him walk down the hall. This was the tricky part, and luck would play a large part. She needed to slip out and make her way to the opposite end of the hall before he went into the room and returned, which meant she had to creep out into the hall while he was still in it. Fortunately, her room was only two doors from the attic, into which she planned to escape.
Maggie waited until he was halfway to the gallery, saw him glance back once, then decided it was now or never. She slipped out into the hall. She eased her bedchamber door silently closed, then made a quick dash on tiptoe for the end of the hall. She didn’t look back until she had slid through the attic door, then she peered out as she eased it almost closed. Through the crack, she saw Jack glare back as he reached the gallery. Maggie waited until he stepped inside before easing the door shut and making her way up into the attic.
Her previous trip in search of a disguise to meet Maisey had revealed various other bits of clothing, some of which would aid her now. Sophie and James weren’t the only ones who had cast-off clothing up here; there were also items of obvious servant quality. Maggie supposed the garments had been outgrown or left behind, but either way they would aid her now.
Once in the attic proper, Maggie cursed her own stupidity for not thinking to bring a candle. Opening the small window at the end of the packed room, allowing the gloomy late-afternoon light in, helped. The window was not very big and the light was rather poor, but it was enough. She was able to quickly find and don what she needed.
Locating a basket that had seen better days, Maggie tossed in some fabric and covered it with a linen shirt so that it appeared full. Next she made her way silently back down the stairs to the hall.
This was another tricky part, of course: getting out of the attic and slipping to the servants’ stairs without Jack noticing. Pausing, Maggie eased the door open a crack and peered out into the hall. Her guardian had retrieved a chair, set it outside her door, and now sat twiddling his thumbs in a rather bored fashion. It did not look promising. In fact, as the minutes ticked by and Jack sat glancing alertly about, Maggie began to think she would be stuck on the stairwell forever.
At last, Jack stood, stretched, then walked toward the stairwell. Sucking in a breath, Maggie slid out of the attic stairwell, hurried the few steps to the servants’ stairs, and eased through the door. As she carefully slid it closed, she saw Jack peer down the stairs, then turn back and start
up the hall once more. Letting out her breath on a sigh, Maggie turned and started carefully down toward the first floor. Her ears straining for the sound of anyone approaching, she managed to make it all the way to the door leading into the kitchen undetected. Pausing there, she lifted the shawl hanging over her shoulders and rearranged it to cover her head and shadow her face; then she eased that door open to peek out.
She couldn’t believe her luck when she saw how quiet the kitchen was. Lady Barlow’s cook and another servant were standing in the cellar just off to the side, discussing something as they looked over the stock, but otherwise the room was momentarily empty. Deciding it was now or never, Maggie pulled her shawl closer around her face, pushed the basket up her arm, and moved quickly out of the stairwell. She was across the room and at the back door before she heard another door open behind her, but she didn’t slow down or glance back. Counting on her servant’s disguise to protect her, she slipped out of the house and straight through the gardens. She reached the back gate in a hurry, and a moment later she had passed through it to freedom.
Chapter Seventeen
“Lady Margaret!”
“Good afternoon, Agatha.” Maggie greeted the older woman with a smile of relief. It had taken a lot of talking to convince the brothel doorman to at least fetch his mistress out to her when he had refused her entrance at the door. She’d had to take on her snootiest attitude and order the man in her most cultured tones to ask Madame Dubarry to come outside.
At least, she thought happily, her disguise was working. This man had obviously been convinced that she was nothing more than a servant.
“Well, come in. . . . My goodness, come in,” Madame Dubarry urged, turning to frown at her amazed doorman. “You must never again leave this young woman on the stoop, Ralph. She is always welcome.”