LITMIR.BIZ

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face, then set off down the street. Taking Archie’s cane from his cousin’s relaxed hand, he raised it to open the small square window beside the driver’s head and give him a terse set of instructions.

      Then he leaned back against the seat, pulling the concealing curtain into place, as the carriage rolled forward, following the woman.

      “You think that is Lady Calandra?” Archie asked disbelievingly. “What would she be doing out? Alone? And at this time of night?”

      “What indeed?” his cousin repeated, tapping his forefinger against his lips thoughtfully.

      Archie pushed aside a sliver of curtain and looked out. “We’ve passed her.”

      “I know.”

      At the next street their carriage turned right and rolled slowly to a stop. Bromwell opened the door and stepped out of the carriage.

      “Brom! What do you think you are doing?” Archie asked.

      The earl replied lightly, “Well, I can scarcely let a lady walk alone at this hour, can I?”

      With a smile and a tip of his hat, Bromwell closed the door and walked off.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CALLIE WALKED QUICKLY, her footsteps echoing in the empty street. When she had conceived of her plan, she had not really thought about how dark and empty the night would be. It had seemed relevant only in that there would be no one about to see that she was walking out boldly without a maid or other companion. But now, as she hurried past the dark hulking shapes of the other houses, it occurred to her that a companion, even one as slight as her maid, would be reassuring.

      She was not in general someone who frightened easily, but as she walked, the anger that had sent her hurrying out into the night began to ebb away, replaced by the realization that night was the time when thieves and other evildoers were afoot, going about their business. This was, of course, the best area of London and therefore should be much safer than any other place, but she could not help but remember the stories she had heard of gentlemen being followed home from taverns and attacked in their inebriated state. And surely, if someone was going to rob a wealthy household, now would be the time when the thief would be breaking in.

      Moreover, even if there were no such robbers around, she knew that gentlemen, especially those in their cups, could be dangerous enough—and likely to assume that a woman alone on the street at night was not a decent woman at all, but in all likelihood one who sold her virtue on a routine basis. Callie had no desire to be mistaken for a barque of frailty plying her trade.

      The sound of a carriage behind her made her start, but she did not look around, merely walked with as confident a stride as she could muster. Perhaps the occupant of the carriage would assume she was a man in a long cloak, not noticing the hem of her dress beneath it. Or perhaps he would not look out at all.

      She let out a breath of relief as the carriage passed her, rattling over the bricks down the next block and disappearing around the corner. Callie hurried across the next intersection and on down the sidewalk. The few blocks to Lady Haughston’s home, so short a distance in ordinary circumstances, seemed frighteningly long now. Callie thought about turning back, but she told herself not to be a goose and forged on ahead.

      In front of her, at the end of the block, a figure came around the corner, heading toward her. Callie hesitated, her heart leaping into her throat, and then she walked on slowly. If she were to turn and run now, she thought, it might cause the stranger to pursue her, if only because it would stir his curiosity.

      Besides, there was something very puzzling about the man, something that made her go forward, squinting to see him better in the dim light. The man walking toward her did not wear a greatcoat or cloak or—how strange—even a hat. And though clearly he was a man, there was something odd about his manner of dress. His jacket was puffed at the sleeves, and his trousers were rather wide above his cuffed boots. He was not wearing the usual evening attire of a gentleman—or, indeed, the clothes of any sort of man she could identify. And he seemed to have stuck his cane through the side of his belt.

      Her first thought was that he must be several sheets to the wind, and her second was that…but no, that was impossible!

      Callie came to a dead stop.

      The man continued toward her at the same steady pace, and with each stride she became more and more certain that her eyes were not playing tricks on her.

      “Lord Bromwell!” she exclaimed.

      In the next moment she wished that she had not let out the words. She should, she thought, have turned around and headed straight back for her house. He would think she was a lunatic. No, worse than that, he might assume that she was a woman of loose morals. No sister of a duke would be suspected of selling herself, of course, but she knew that the likeliest reason for her to be out at this time of night was for some sort of romantic rendezvous. In a married woman, such behavior would be scandalous, but for a girl not yet married, it would be disastrous.

      Her stomach sank at the realization that this man would probably now look upon her with contempt. And if he told anyone that he had seen her in these circumstances, her reputation would be ruined, her brother and family shadowed by the disgrace. Someone who knew her well would, she hoped, not assume that she was engaged in something reprehensible, and even if he thought poorly of her, many a gentleman would keep the story to himself in order to spare her family the shame.

      But this man scarcely knew her. And, worse, Sinclair had treated the earl in an unfriendly manner; indeed, Callie would characterize her brother’s attitude toward him as angry, even contemptuous. She hated to think how Sinclair had spoken to him after she left. Bromwell would have little reason to shield her or her brother; worse, he might gleefully seize this opportunity to get back at the duke.

      And why had her brother acted that way? Sinclair’s meddling and his cool assumption that he could tell her what to do had irritated her so much that she had not really stopped to wonder what reason he had had for being so upset that she’d been alone with this particular man. Was it Bromwell’s reputation that alarmed her brother? Had the duke warned him off because he knew that the man had a history of seducing young females?

      Her mind leapfrogged from one thought to another, each more disastrous than the last, in the instant that she stood there frozen. Her last thought, one that was purely wishful thinking, she knew, was that perhaps he had not recognized her voice and could not see her face inside the deep hood of her cloak. She could still turn and flee.

      But in the next instant such hope vanished, for he started toward her, his face registering shock. “Lady Calandra? Is that you?”

      Callie swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. She had to face this, whatever came; she must do what she could to keep the family name from being tainted by her impulsive behavior.

      “Lord Bromwell. ’Tis no wonder that you are surprised.” Her mind raced, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for being there.

      “Indeed, at first I thought my eyes were deceiving me.” He stopped a foot away from her. “This cannot be right. You should not be out at this hour. Where is your family?”

      Callie gestured back down the street. “They are in their beds. I—I could not sleep.”

      “So you came out for a stroll?” he asked, his raised eyebrows revealing the disbelief that his polite tone did not.

      “I know you will think me very foolish,” she said.

      “Oh, no.” He smiled. “I have a sister, and I am aware of how confining the restrictions of Society are, how the rules weigh upon a young woman of spirit.”

      Callie could not help but smile back at him. Her fears had been foolish, she told herself. He seemed not at all disapproving of her actions; indeed, his smile, his face, his voice…all seemed both kind and understanding. Nor was there anything about him that bespoke the roué—no leer, no suggestive tone or improper suggestion.

      “Then you will not…tell

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