Page 42 of Never a Bride
He approached the mansion, then moved from window to window on the ground floor. It wasn’t long before he found one unlatched. Pushing it open, he slid his legs inside and dropped to the floor.
Chapter 13
Emmeline couldn’t sleep. Through her mind ran thoughts of how to make Blythe and Maxwell comfortable with each other. She discarded plan after plan and still had nothing.
And then there was Alex, and what to do about him. In the few days since the masque, he had not come to call, nor sent a letter to Blythe. Emmeline wondered if it bothered Blythe.
Was her sister awake? She got up and looked across the dark hall, but saw no light beneath the door.
Suddenly, she heard a sound from somewhere else in the house, and it echoed softly and died away. Who could be awake at this time of night? She quietly opened Blythe’s door, and found her sister fast asleep.
Returning to her own room, Emmeline shrugged into her dressing gown and tied it about her waist. She took the candleholder from her bedside table and walked out into the dark hall.
The candle wrapped her in its glow, but made it hard to see anything else. She went down the front staircase very carefully, the cold marble numbing her bare feet.
Light glowed from the parlor, as if the servants had put wood on the fire before they’d gone to bed. But only the kitchen fire was supposed to be left—
She saw the silhouette of a crouching man before the hearth and frowned, feeling her unease blossoming. He didn’t look like any of her people…
Then he rose up, and seeing that he was a stranger, she gave a startled cry and dropped the candle.
“Emmeline!”
Alex Thornton rushed toward her. She shuddered with relief and leaned against the doorframe, watching rather dazedly as he picked up the now unlit candle.
He scuffed his foot across the spot on the floor. “I don’t think it did any damage,” he said, looking back up at her.
He had the gall to grin. She could easily have slapped his face, but then his gaze roved down her body, and his smile faded. Remembering vividly how it felt to be held in his strong arms, she stiffened and pulled the dressing gown even tighter at her waist. He seemed to choke as he turned back toward the fire.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded as she followed him, her voice low.
“Passing the time.”
“You cannot possibly make me believe that Blytheknew—”
“No, of course not,” he said, holding up a hand as he turned to face her. “I didn’t intend to stop in, but it seemed the best alternative.”
“Alternative to what?” Emmeline rested her fists on her hips and glared up at him as if being alone in the night with him did not do strange, wicked things to her insides.
“To being accosted by criminals out in the street. I was being followed, and I had to go somewhere, didn’t I?”
He busied himself at a small table, and she realized with disbelief that he was pouring himself a goblet of wine.
“Is that my father’s?” she asked faintly.
He lifted it toward her in a silent toast, took a sip, then sighed with obvious pleasure. “I assumed he wouldn’t mind. Can I pour you some?”
“No. Just—just tell me why you were being followed.”
He shrugged. “Thievery, I guess.”
“Like that evening I came to the tavern?”
He nodded, looking very much at ease in the flickering firelight in someone else’s home. She had to think about something else.
“Do you think the incidents are related?”
He glanced at her sharply. “Smart girl.”
