Page 53 of The Secret of the Three Fates
“Bridget…” I began, pinning her with my stare. “Where is he?”
Her jaw worked and she shook her head, glancing behind me to the cook who offered her no aid. “I told you before, I do not know. He does not tell me such things. It’s not my place to know any more than I am told.”
She was lying. I could tell by the way she twisted her fingers into her white apron. The way she subconsciously placed herbody between me and the servants’ stair at the opposite end of the room.
What was Andrew Lennox hiding? I rose, inadvertently knocking the spoon from my bowl and splattering the cold stew all over the tabletop. I grabbed a nearby cloth and hastily mopped it up.
“Miss, where are you going? You must stay calm and rest. The young master said that you must rest yourself.”
“Am I your guest here or am I not?”
“No, miss. No. I mean yes youarea guest, but you were shot, that is, but… it’s only—”
“It’s only what?” I folded my arms beneath my breasts. I knew I was intimidating her and I didn’t mean to—at least not wholly—but the young maid’s caginess about Andrew’s whereabouts was making me increasingly concerned that she was hiding something. The only question was what thatthingwas?
“He said I was to keep an eye on you,” the girl said at last in exasperation. Her cheeks flushed.
“Am I in need of a keeper?”Well, considering the fixes I found myself in, probably so…
She shook her head again, face beet red. An iota of guilt rankled. The poor girl was simply following orders, but I couldn’t see why would it matter where I went as long as I had someone accompanying me. At last, I decided to spare the maid any more discomfort and took a different tack, one taken from the pages of Mr. Owen’s very own book: I would lie.
“I believe I shall take a walk in the garden. Assumingwalkingis acceptable to Captain Lennox?”
She worried her pink lower lip before nodding. “In the garden…” she repeated. “I suppose there’s no harm in that. I’ll fetch you a shawl, miss. You wait right here and I’ll accompany you.”
I waited until Bridget disappeared down another corridor. Once her footsteps grew quiet, I darted up the servants’ stair insearch of Andrew, determined to find out for myself what the girl was hiding.
IT ONLY TOOKa handful of minutes to locate his room. The door, of course, had been unlocked, which was his error—not mine. If the man didn’t want interruptions he should employ locks. Not that locks deterred me either, but as my picks were back at Manhurst they would have given me pause inthisinstance. However, immediately upon entering the shadowy room, I recognized my grievous mistake.
I had misread the cluesentirely.
Andrew Lennox was asleep, his expression peaceful in the muted light breaking through the parted curtains. The exhausted lines on his face smoothed in his dreams, making him look far younger than his years. I looked over to his partner, whose stubbled cheek rested against Andrew’s bare chest.
It was an intensely domestic scene: two lovers partaking of a midafternoon nap and my own treacherous heart ached with jealousy. Not over Andrew—goodness, no—but of his ability to find a moment of peace when the world had gone utterly mad around us. Oh, what I would give for one second without the voices in my head, the increasing nightmares or my worsening headaches. One damned second without remembering that everyone I ever cared for had either left of their own accord or been taken from me.
I started for the door, furious at myself.
Andrew opened his eyes and his entire body tensed.
That brief moment of peace melted away into anger. A righteous rage as I’d intruded on his privacy and witnessed something we both knew was illegal.
He mouthed the words, “Get out.”
I obeyed without argument, silently shutting the door behindme. I waited for several seconds in the hall, watching as Bridget came barreling up the stairs, a gray woolen shawl clutched in her hands. She made a sound of horror in the back of her throat. “Miss! Miss! You must come away!”
The girl had been protecting Andrew all along and I felt wretched for the way I’d treated her downstairs.
I opened my mouth to say the same when the door opened again and Andrew stepped out, tying a saffron-colored dressing gown tight around his waist. “It’s all right, Bridget, you may leave us.”
She murmured something beneath her breath before bobbing and scurrying off.
As she disappeared his expression hardened. “You, on the other hand—”
“—I see Mr. Owen’s extravagant taste in dressing gowns runs in the family.”
“Amongst other things,” he grumbled. “Did no one teach you to knock in your American finishing schools?”
“I never went to finishing school.”
