Page 93 of No One's Bride
“What time is it?”
“Three o’clock in the morning.”
“Three?” She sat up, aware his gaze journeyed over her plain nightgown as if it were gossamer. “What could Mr Daventry want at this godforsaken hour? Do ye suppose there’s been another murder?”
“What else could it be? He sent a note with his agent Evan Sloane, informing us to dress and await his arrival.”
Ailsa threw back the sheets and climbed out of bed. “Is it safe for me to walk the hallways? What about the men who hire rooms?” She had not heard so much as a groan or creak the past few days.
Sebastian brushed a copper curl behind her ear and smiled. “Aaron was testing your mettle. He stopped hiring out the rooms a month ago and is having them refurbished.”
A veil of sadness fell over her whenever she thought about Mr Chance. He was ruthless in business. The most dangerous man ever to make her acquaintance. The patriarch who took care of his family.
But who took care of him?
A sudden thought dragged her from her musings. “What if Mr Daventry has solved the case? Perhaps he visited the Alien Office and assisted Mr Smith in catching the culprit.”
The mere mention of the spymaster gave her chills. He would have let his men beat Sebastian and Mr Gibbs just to get his hands on the grimoire. In all fairness, when the security of a nation was at stake, one had to be merciless.
“It wouldn’t surprise me if Smith knew the killer’s identity and has spent the day laying a trap.” Sebastian’s gaze journeyed slowly over her nightgown. “Do you require help dressing?”
The warm glow of happiness spread through her chest. “And risk the wrath of our host? I shall find a way to manage.”
He glanced at the door. “And you think I’m gruff.”
Ailsa laughed. “Let’s pray Mr Chance meets a Scottish lass who’s willing to take him on a wild adventure.”
A secretive smile softened his lips. Was he imagining their scandalous interlude in the garden? Did he recall sliding deep into her body last night?
“Ailsa.” He paused. “Whatever happens with Daventry, don’t think it’s the end of us. It is only the beginning.”
She didn’t question what that meant.
A woman in love invented romantic fantasies. But what future was there with a man who refused to marry? How long would a love affair last? Weeks? Months? Every day she risked ruin.
“Denton!” Aaron Chance’s call echoed from the landing.
“We’ll discuss the matter later.” Sebastian closed the gap between them and kissed her quickly before striding from the room.
Ailsa dressed and tried to keep her thoughts on the case, not the haze of uncertainty that was her future.
Mr Daventry arrived within minutes of her entering the plush drawing room Mr Chance used as an office.
He wasn’t alone.
Mr and Mrs Murden came scurrying behind him, smudges of soot on their pale faces. Both looked like corpses risen from the grave, their gait unsteady, their eyes wide with confusion.
“What the devil is this?” Mr Chance straightened to an intimidating height. He firmed his jaw and glared through eyes as black as Satan’s soul. “This isn’t Bow Street. You can’t bring your waifs and strays here in the dead of night. I’m warning you, Daventry, this is more than a sane man can tolerate.”
“I had no choice,” Mr Daventry countered. “I need your brother to examine the coded letter. And I’ll not have Smith getting his hands on it first.”
“Smith? Who the hell is Smith?”
“The man from the Alien Office,” Ailsa said. “Sir, might I fetch Mr and Mrs Murden refreshment? They look in desperate need of brandy.” The pair were trembling and somewhat bewildered.
Mr Chance threw his hands up in exasperation. “By all means. Let me rouse Cook. I’ll have her prepare a light repast and fetch my best bottle of claret from the cellar. Perhaps Smith will join us shortly. It must be his man camped in Golden Fleece Alley watching these premises.”
Ignoring the man’s sarcasm, Ailsa poured brandy into two glasses and gave them to the shaken couple. “We called at the auction house yesterday but were told ye had left early to dine with Mrs Murden at Mivart’s Hotel.”
