LITMIR.BIZ

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was big enough that she could crawl up onto the sill, curl up and survey at the grounds.

      She undressed and stretched out on the bed, relaxing against the pillow. But that creeping sensation returned again, the feeling that someone was watching her. She crawled under the covers and pulled them to her chin. It helped a little bit. Dimly, she heard the grandfather clock toll eleven mellow chimes. It was still morning. It felt like a lifetime since she’d first arrived at the manor. The lids of her eyes felt heavy. She gave in to the urge and closed them.

      A few moments later, a strange shuffling noise grabbed her attention. It was an odd, sliding, shifting sound, like a cotton sack being dragged along a floor. Rising and wiping the sleep from her eyes, she went to the door and looked down the stairs. They were empty. But the sound persisted. She went completely still to pay attention.

      The walls. The sound was coming from within the walls. A tight wave of icy fear swept her body as she listened. What a fool she’d been to race over here and hop on the easy-money bandwagon. That scraping, swooshing noise just wouldn’t stop.

      Penrose sighed. Better to know. It was always better to know.

      In her white cotton underthings and with her dark hair spilled around her shoulders, she tiptoed to the wall. She pressed her ear to the wooden panels. Silence. But something or someone was there. Taking shallow breaths, she walked along slowly, swallowing often to keep the bile from her throat. Again. A scratching. Scraping. Following the noise, she traced her finger over the plaster, drawing closer to the source. When the sound increased suddenly, she knew she’d located it. The sound was low to the ground. Dropping to her knees, she pressed her head to the wall and closed her eyes. The noise was quite distinct and just on the other side.

      “Who’s there?” she whispered, surprised by the sharpness in her voice.

      Complete silence. Then, distantly, the sound dimmed, more scratching. Still as stone, she stood, her whole being focused on the sound as it drifted farther away until there was only the sharp, quick hiss of her own breathing. She returned to her bed shaken, convinced she’d never sleep again, let alone take an afternoon nap. But she was wrong and fell quickly asleep.

      * * *

      Carrick Arundell parted the thick curtains and looked out at the unfamiliar sight of the afternoon sun. He hated the day, hated that aching yellow ball inching its way across the sky. It did nothing but bruise his eyes and burn his skin. It was the night he lived for—for the long, dark hours when the world was asleep and he emerged to create his inventions.

      On most mornings, the rising sun was easy to ignore. Except for today. He’d twisted and turned in bed, reluctantly watching a streak of sunlight stretch across the floor. Finally, he’d given in. There would be no sleep today.

      It didn’t sit well with him. He needed his energy. A thousand small setbacks plagued his project, and every single one had to fall into place before the mechanical man took his first step.

      Now he could add one more setback. An image that he couldn’t get out of his mind. His new assistant standing in the doorway, pure midnight from head to toe. Black dress, black bonnet, black hair and a winter-white face peering out at the world. Any man would be tempted. But he wasn’t any man. He couldn’t afford to be.

      No, it was more than that. It wasn’t just the project. It was the sight of her stepping back, her lips curling in disdain. The poor girl could barely talk. Dropping the curtain, he went to his wardrobe and began to dress for the evening.

      Maintaining focus was crucial. Every day, his eyesight grew even weaker.

      There was no choice but to control his thoughts about her. It wasn’t that he didn’t like women. Quite the opposite. It was that women didn’t like him. They stepped away, turned away, or looked down at their shoes when he approached. The only companionship he’d ever known, he’d paid for. Even then, the women turned their faces away from him.

      Penrose had turned away, as well, but not before he caught a glimpse of her expression in the bright flash of the lightning. She’d looked up at him in a mixture of fear and horror. He’d grown immune to such looks. But coming from her it angered him.

      Long ago, his heart had turned to iron. If he had his way, he would shun everyone. Keep the whole damn world out. But he needed the help of a steady hand and a good pair of eyes. Pretty blue eyes, a voice inside him added.

      He went and looked for her, and when she couldn’t be found, he went up the small flight of stairs to the servant’s bedroom. The door to her room was ajar a few inches and he peered in and saw her sleeping on the bed. Toeing the door open, he stepped inside. Maybe he should have just knocked, but it happened before he knew his foot was moving, and then he was inside the room.

      He watched her sleep. It seemed wicked, an indulgence more sinful than the women he paid to lift their skirts for him. Here he was, a man of thirty-six, and he’d never once seen the serene, soft expression of a woman lost in her dreams. Her features were soft now, not guarded like when he’d first met her.

      The attic was warm that afternoon. She had two high spots of color on her cheeks. Her beauty was unusual, angular even. A sharp prettiness. The kind that could cut a man. But those two spots of color flaming away against all that tumbling black hair softened her looks. She sighed, and flung an arm out, revealing bare skin all the way to the strap of her undergarment. It was damn tempting.

      He heard the clock chime the half hour. A half hour of prime working time lost just watching her sleep. Like a fool.

      When he reached out to wake her, he shook her much harder than he intended to. Her eyes snapped open and met his gaze. For a brief second, she looked at him openly, her expression unafraid. He wanted to stop time, to linger in that tiny moment. But then the moment was gone.

      Penrose’s eyes widened and her hands clutched at the covers, instinctively pulling them higher. She was like all the rest, he realized, as he felt the shutters on his heart slam shut.

       Chapter 3

      Penrose came to alertness from sleep in an odd rush, as if rising from a fog. Images still swirled in her brain—of Carrick looming above her, the chandelier spinning and spinning out of control, and the glittery windows of the manor watching her with their golden gaze. She knew if she opened her eyes, it would all prove true. So she lingered, stubbornly refusing to be roused. The grip turned harder still and shook her shoulders just firmly enough that she couldn’t ignore it anymore. Finally, she looked up and right into the kaleidoscope eyes of her new employer.

      “You overslept.” It sounded like an accusation coming from him. The shadowy light of the afternoon made him appear deathly pale. Anger or some other emotion etched his face in a deep scowl.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, voice heavy with sleep. She was disoriented, staring hard at him before rubbing her eyes. It was difficult to know if she still slept and he was just a dream. “I must have been very tired,” she managed to say.

      He nodded. “Well, then, I’ll leave you to get dressed. Meet me downstairs in the cellar.”

      “Fine. I’ll hurry.”

      He left. She jumped up and dressed quickly, blood pounding in her veins. She wasn’t sure if it was fear of him or guilt at oversleeping, but she ignored it and moved quickly. She went to the kitchen to take the stairs that led down to the cellar and was surprised to see Carrick standing at the counter, eating.

      “Come. Eat,” he said, barely turning to look at her. She went and stood next to him. He held out a steaming cup of coffee for her and she grabbed it greedily and took a sip. He was eating johnnycakes. She lifted one from the basket, smeared it with butter and took a bite. It was warm and buttery.

      “Tell me, Miss Heatherton,” he said, between bites, “how it is you came to the agency?”

      Her stomach dropped when he mentioned the agency and she spoke quickly, trying to change the subject. “Please,

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