Page 114 of Seducing the Knave

Epilogue

A little more than one year later

She wasn’t supposed to be there, but such an irrelevant detail had never stopped her before. In fact, very few things managed to prevent Cailleach Davina Claybourne from doing exactly what she wanted. Within reason, of course. She wasn’t completely irresponsible. She simply knew better than anyone else what was best for her.

And right now, she was on an important mission.

The latest novel from Sir Walter Scott had become available just that morning at her favorite bookshop and she was desperate to start sharing it with her friends. That her friends resided in the west wing of her brother’s gambling hell—an area strictly forbidden to her—was a detail she refused to acknowledge.

In truth, being forbidden to do anything was one way to ensure Caillie did exactly that.

Which wasn’t to say she did things for the sole purpose of being contrary or rebellious. She just hated when her activities were restricted based on arbitrary reasons such as her gender or age. If someone older and more...male was able to do something, then she should be allowed the same.

Unfortunately, the rest of the world didn’t often agree with such a position, so she was required to sneak about when men could stride freely.

This morning, she was excited and impatient to dive into the long-awaited historical novel from one of her favorite authors and she’d arrived at Bentley’s quite early by the club’s standards. The activities of the night before had likely not ended until dawn, which meant most of her brother’s staff would be resting in their private rooms at this hour. Though Roderick provided the space and additional protection for Mrs. Beaumont and the rest of the women of the west wing, they were not technically under his employ. Caillie had secretly obtained permission from Mrs. Beaumont to visit in these early hours of the day—when her presence didn’t coincide with their business. So, instead of entering Bentley’s via the east wing as she did when visiting her brother, she went to the opposite side of the grand building. The private entrance to the west wing was painted a glossy black and was bracketed by two wrought iron lamps which were lit whenever the place was receiving their gentlemen patrons.

The lamps were currently dark.

Caillie’s soft knock was answered immediately by a smiling house maid who gave a frantic wave of her hand. “Come in quickly, miss, ’afore ye’re seen. They’re all waiting in the blue parlor.”

“Thank you, Lydia. Will you be joining us today?”

“As soon as I finish me chores,” the maid replied with a nod.

“See you soon, then,” Caillie replied as she crossed the gleaming parquet floor to a shadowed hallway which led back to the private stairway used only by servants and the ladies who lived there when they didn’t wish to interact with patrons.

At night, the common rooms were often packed with gentlemen of all sorts anticipating the wealth of pleasures to be enjoyed in the bedrooms above.

At this time, however, all was rather quiet.

Anxious to meet up with her friends, Caillie was rushing up the stairs when the door on the second-floor landing swung open and a man staggered out. Her momentum and the man’s obvious inebriation resulted in an inevitable collision.

Caillie’s heart leapt into her throat as she was spun off-balance. For a terrifying moment, she teetered at the edge of the stairs, feeling a flashing certainty that she was about to tumble to her death.

But then, with heart-stopping strength and speed despite his current condition, the man looped an arm around her middle and forcefully swung her in a wide circle away from the ledge of the landing until her back hit the opposite wall.

Caillie stood there in breathless shock. Though her chest ached a bit with that momentary burst of terror, the fear quickly dissipated once her brain caught up to the fact that she was not going to fly down the stairs. Opening her eyes—which she didn’t remember closing—she first saw that her hands were curled rather tightly into her assailant and rescuer’s untied cravat. Before she could instruct her fingers to release the snowy-white cotton, her gaze flicked upward and her grip tightened even further.

“You,” she breathed.

Of course, it would be him. Bishop Black.

He was one of Roderick’s most trusted men.

And the absolute bluidy bane of her entire existence.

His smile was slow to form. No doubt his brain was still foggy from whatever wicked behavior he’d engaged in once the club had closed the night before.

She had on very good authority that Bishop visited the west wing with shocking frequency.

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