Page 68 of What's an Earl Gotta Do?
Michael caught Anne’s eye and found that she was giving him a very I-told-you-so look. “Nonetheless,” Michael said, “I doubt there is any plan that would satisfy me.”
“You should go with her, m’lord,” Hugh said.
“Me?” Michael tore his gaze from Anne to look at Hugh. “But the note says she has to go alone.”
“The writer says he’ll only speak to Lady Wynters,” Hugh countered, “and that she can’t draw any notice. Well, you can stand a few feet back and keep watch if he insists upon it. And a man and woman walking together at that time of night won’t draw no notice at all, especially if you act a bit, er, friendly.”
“That’s a good idea, that is,” the maid said. “Too many people will recognize her ladyship, but nobody knows you, m’lord. If things don’t look right, you can just back her up against a wall and block her face from view. It’s a good thing you’re already betrothed, because you’ll have to make it look like you’re about to—”
“Thank you, Sarah,” Anne interjected. “We have the general idea.”
“I’ll find something for you to wear, m’lady,” Sarah said. She turned to inspect Michael’s coat, which was one of his new ones. “You won’t want to dress quite so sharp, m’lord. Stands out too much. You’ll want to look a bit shabby.”
“I believe I have just the thing,” Michael muttered.
“Good.” Sarah beamed. “I’ll go start preparing, m’lady.”
After Hugh and Sarah had taken their leave, Anne returned to her desk and began drafting a letter, paying Michael no attention. He eyed her the way one eyed a tiger, then cleared his throat. “So. Anne. Are you still mad at me?”
She heaved a great sigh, then looked up. “Exasperated might be a better word. The way you’ve treated me this morning has been atrocious—”
“It has,” he hastily agreed. “And I am extremely sorry.”
“—but I’m not going to stay mad at you forever.”
“You… you’re not?” Hope flared in his chest.
“Of course I’m not,” she said, turning back to her letter. “You’re my best friend, after all.”
“Good.” He came around the desk in three quick steps and took both of her hands in his. “Because I cannot bear for you to be mad at me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “In that case, I suggest you do better going forward. Because I have a right to be upset with you, Michael. ‘Knit scarves for the poor’ indeed!”
“I wish you would stop making arguments that are so difficult to refute,” he grumbled.
“Not a chance.”
He sighed. “So, what are we doing this afternoon?”
“I will be occupied writing letters to my various contacts, as well as preparing for this evening. I suggest you do the same.”
“I was afraid that would be your answer,” he muttered.
“You may return at half eleven.”
“Half eleven,” Michael agreed. He leaned in to kiss Anne, and she very pointedly offered him her hand. He settled for pressing a lingering kiss to her palm and took his leave.
An hour after Michael departed, Hugh appeared in the doorway to Anne’s office. “Lord Scudamore,” he announced.
Anne scrambled to her feet. “Lord Scudamore. What an… an unexpected pleasure.”
This, of course, was a lie. Considering Mr. Smithers’ dead body had just come floating down the Thames, it appeared that someone had tipped Lord Gladstone off, and all the evidence pointed to Lord Scudamore.
“Lady Wynters,” he said, bowing over her hand, “I wanted to let you know of a development since our conversation last night. An unfortunate development, I’m afraid.”
“I… I see.” Anne gestured for him to take the chair before her desk, then turned to Hugh, who was just heading out the door. “Hugh, won’t you stay and pour Lord Scudamore a drink?”
Hugh’s eyes went wide as he nodded, understanding her unspoken plea. He crossed the room to the decanter.
