Page 17 of A Trickster’s Temptation

He would have to go home. Have to put on a stupid costume, a stupid mask. For the first time in Adam’s life, he deeply resented having to wear a disguise.

But there was no alternative. None whatsoever. Mary would find out sooner rather than later—Abigail and Winnie were no doubt already writing letters—and when she did, he would have to be ready for her. Better yet, he would have to meet her first and tell her that he hadn’t meant to reveal their secret.

Mary had wanted to keep their new rapport hidden. No matter how that made Adam feel—and it didn’t make him feel good, not if he thought about it for more than a moment—her wishes had to be respected. And now, thanks to a single foolish gesture and the quickness of Mary’s friends, it looked as if he’d told them everything.

Enough illness. Enough languishing in bed, silent and pale, fulfilling the duties her parents had placed upon her while her heart lay somewhere else entirely. Such dramatic excesses of emotion were for prettier women, or so Mary thought, and so after four days of self-indulgence she began to participate in her daily life once more with her usual zeal.

Her head was entirely full of Adam, of course, as was her heart, but she had to think of other things. Namely what Abigail and Winnie could possibly think of her after this strange period of absence; she was always the person taking care of other people, helping them through their sentimental journeys, and it felt deeply strange to be going through one of her own.

Still—enough. She had no intention of telling Abigail and Winnie what had happened, not because they would mock her, but because they would be excited for her. That excitement, that happiness… Mary was so unused to feeling it in herself, lighting up her inner world, that she couldn’t imagine sharing it with anyone else.

She stood on the doorstep of the Brookes townhouse, her carriage waiting on the street. One of the horses whinnied; Mary jumped, glancing at it, trying to recover her composure.

All I want to do is go to Adam again.It was so strange, admitting that to herself.But I can’t think of him, at least for a little while, or I’ll give myself away.

The door’s opening now. Control yourself, for goodness’ sake.

‘Miss Fine.’ The Brookes butler smiled. Mary smiled back; she’d known the man for years and had always felt comfortable in his company. ‘As always, a delight to see you.’

‘You’re too kind.’ As she was ushered into the house, Mary couldn’t help but notice that the table by the door had been dislodged from its usual place. ‘But—I’m not interrupting anything, am I? Is someone cleaning the entrance hall? Perhaps I should have written.’

‘Oh, no.’ The butler’s face fell. ‘Forgive the disorder. There was… well, a somewhat unusual visitor two hours ago. But he has long since left, and Lady Brookes and Miss Warbeck will be delighted to see you well.’

An unusual visitor? Something nagged at Mary, but she shrugged it away as she followed the butler along the corridor. Hopefully Abigail and Winnie weren’t too engrossed in some small project to easily enfold her into their activities; normally she wrote ahead, but today had allowed instinct to take her to Abigail’s door rather than formality.

‘They are in the study.’ The butler led Mary down the corridor. ‘They’ve been working at something—I imagine you already know what it is.’

‘Alas, I’m afraid I do not.’

‘They’ll be very happy to see you.’ The butler had always had a fatherly air; Mary glowed. ‘Especially after the last gentleman left so abruptly.’

What on earth had this mysterious visitor done? She would have to ask Abigail what had happened. Fighting that same prickle of unease that she’d felt at the sight of the dislodged table, Mary waited outside the study door as the butler announced her.

‘Miss Fine? Is it really Miss Fine?’ Winnie’s excited voice came from within. Mary started; Winnie was often happy to see her, but never like this. ‘No other?’

‘Send her in immediately.’ Abigail’s voice sounded positively feverish. ‘Now.’

The butler, looking confused, beckoned Mary inside. Mary entered, blinking as she looked around the room.

Half-written notes were everywhere. Scrawled in a pile on the desk, scattered all over the floor. Some of them were in Winnie’s scrawled hand—her friend had clearly been far too excited to write her letters with any precision—and some of them had Abigail’s far more delicate handwriting, loops and curls covering the paper.

Abigail and Winnie looked almost as dishevelled as the room did. Winnie had shadows beneath her eyes that normally only appeared during one of her periods of illness, while Abigail had ink stains on her hands that could only have come from repeated writing.

‘Mary. Come here immediately.’ Winnie pulled Mary in with ice-cold hands; Abigail shooed the butler away as Mary walked into the room, practically dragged by Mary. ‘We’ve been trying to write a letter to you for the last two hours.’

‘We haven’t eaten. We’ve barely drunk water. Would you like water? Oh, forgive me—I’ve forgotten how to be a gracious hostess.’ Abigail reached out for Mary, pulling her into a tight hug that she hadn’t been expecting. ‘Hello, dear. I’m so glad you’re feeling better. But then, you haven’t been feeling ill, have you? Not really?’

‘Oh, I—what do you mean?’ Mary narrowed her eyes as she stared at her friend. ‘I’ve felt very out of sorts.’

‘Yes. That isn’t in any doubt.’ Winnie stepped forward, her eyes alive with excitement. ‘We know that.’

‘Forgive me, but I’m not understanding something. Why were both of you writing me a letter before I arrived?’ Mary blinked, gently withdrawing from Abigail’s hasty embrace. ‘And… and the butler said something about a visitor?’

‘Exactly.’ Winnie nodded eagerly. ‘A visitor.’

‘More specifically, Mr. Hart.’ The concern heightened in Abigail’s face.

Oh, God.‘Mr. Hart?’

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