Lady Rosabella's Ruse. Ann Lethbridge

to the belief that sooner or later the will would be found. She’d worked and schemed so she could search for herself and then she’d hesitated.

      Such a coward.

      She turned to face him, looking into his worried face. ‘Please, dear Mr Inchbold. It won’t take long. A few hours at most.’

      ‘All right. I’ll get the key, tomorrow. Where will I find you?’

      ‘At the Grange. I am employed as Lady Keswick’s companion.’

      Horrified, he gaped at her. ‘You are staying at that den of iniquity? The parish is up in arms about her buying the place. The gentry won’t have nothing to do with her. Oh, my lady, how could you?’

      Rosa drew herself up straight. ‘How could I what, Mr Inchbold?’

      He stared at her, his eyes wide, his jaw slack. ‘Did anyone tell you, you are just like your mother?’

      ‘Frequently. But not as a compliment.’

      He winced. ‘Well, you should be proud, you should. She was a fine woman, your mother. A proper lady, no matter what they said.’

      ‘She was an opera singer from Italy, Mr Inchbold. The reason my grandfather cut my father off without a penny until she died.’ And now he was doing the same to her daughters.

      He looked sad. ‘His lordship would never leave you and your sisters with nothing. While ‘tis more than my job is worth to help you search, I’ll turn a blind eye.’

      Relief flooded through her. At last someone who cared. ‘Thank you, Inchbold.’ She rose to her feet and hesitated, pressing her lips together. ‘You won’t tell Grandfather you’ve seen me, will you?’

      A wheezy cackle ended in a cough. ‘Lord, my lady, your grandpa don’t come nigh or near this place. He certainly doesn’t communicate with the likes of me. Nor I with him. Just with old Barrington.’

      Naturally. Grandfather was far too high in the instep to have anything to do with servants or the children of an opera singer, even if they were his own flesh and blood.

      She smiled and patted his hand. ‘Thank you, dear Mr Inchbold. I will return tomorrow evening. Oh, and by the way, I go by the name of Mrs Rose Travenor.’

      His frown deepened. ‘Be careful, my lady. Your Grandpa is not a man to cross.’

      As her parents had discovered.

      Only the torches at the doors gave off any light as Rosa approached The Grange. As it should be. She slipped quietly around to the side door she’d left open. Her heart picked up speed. What if someone had come along and locked it? Slowly she lifted the latch and pushed. The door swung back on silent hinges.

      She let go a sigh of relief and stepped over the threshold.

      A large warm body smelling of cigars and sandalwood blocked her way. A man. She leapt back.

      The man grabbed her arm and raised a lamp high. She blinked in the glare shining on her face, unable to see her assailant. ‘Back so soon, Mrs Travenor?’ he mocked. ‘Whoever you are meeting can’t be much good if he is finished already.’

      Stanford. She recognised his voice. A flash of heat followed by the cold of dread left her breathless. She drew herself up to her full height. ‘Stand aside, Lord Stanford.’

      He hung the lamp on a hook on the wall. It cast eerie shadows on his harsh features. She shivered. ‘Please, let me pass.’ She made to push by him.

      He put a hand against the wall, blocking her way.

      She could feel the heat of his body only inches from hers, his dark insolent gaze raking her face. ‘Where have you been?’

      Her heart rattled. Her breath quickened. ‘Out for a walk.’

      ‘At this time of night?’ He made no attempt to hide his disbelief.

      ‘Where I go is none of your business.’

      ‘Perhaps not,’ he mused, not moving an inch. ‘But Lady Keswick might be interested to hear about her little companion’s forays into the night. Or does she already know?’ The amused smile on his lips made her want to hit him.

      He lifted a hand and brushed back the hood of her cloak, trailed a finger down the side of her face. ‘Who are you meeting, hmm? A lover? Or some man you must meet in secret because … he has mischief on his mind?’

      Inwardly, she trembled. She hated how weak he made her feel, as if her knees had no more substance than overcooked asparagus. She straightened her shoulders and forced herself to meet his dark gaze and saw more than she expected. Heat.

      She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Lady Keswick has no interest in what I do in my free time.’

      He laughed. A cruel low chuckle, full of arrogance. ‘And if I tell her I suspect you are up to no good, if I tell her I suspect you have some criminal intent sneaking out at night? What then, do you think?’

      She edged back, away from the heat of his body, free of his overbearing presence that seemed to scramble every thought in her head. ‘Why are you wandering the halls at night?’ she asked haughtily.

      His smile broadened. ‘Waiting for you.’ His low murmur was a silky stroke to her ear. ‘I saw you leave.’

      A shiver slid down her spine, far too pleasant to be entirely fear driven. The thought of such a man waiting for her was far too distracting. Her brain seemed full of him, instead of coming up with a reasonable explanation.

      ‘Well, here I am,’ she said, lifting her chin and meeting that penetrating gaze full on. Pride that her voice held steady, despite the trembles rushing through her body, gave her courage. ‘And you can tell Lady Keswick whatever you wish. Now if you would excuse me, I would like to retire.’

      His eyes widened a fraction. He turned sideways and leaned against the wall, tipping his dark head back. ‘Not until you tell me where you were.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Let us say I am curious.’

      She swallowed. ‘I told you, I went for a walk.’

      He turned to face her, his eyes gleaming. ‘In the woods, in the pouring rain?’

      ‘I couldn’t sleep. I find the fresh air helps.’

      ‘I know an excellent cure for insomnia I’d be willing to share.’

      The salacious undertone in his voice sent shivers across her shoulders. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you.’

      He chuckled softly. ‘Such a polite little nun. And yet I do think you are tempted.’ He leaned closer.

      Tempted? She stared up at him, staring at the smile on his sensual mouth a mere whisper away, the scent of brandy and cigars filling her nostrils. If she leaned forwards just a fraction, she had the feeling he would kiss her.

      Her lips tingled at the thought of how his mouth might feel on her lips. Her body ached to be held close to that magnificent breadth of chest. A moan of longing rose in her throat and only by dint of will did she stop from giving it voice.

      Heaven help her, he was tempting. The man was a rake and a libertine and he thought her a widow. An experienced woman.

      Her heart banged a fearful tattoo against her ribs. Her blood ran in rivers of molten lava. Did he know the effect he was having? A swift glance into his eyes told her he had no doubt about what he was doing. He was playing with her. Tormenting her the way a cat toyed with a mouse.

      ‘Let me pass,’ she said, knowing she was begging for release, not from physical restraint, but from the spell holding her enthralled.

      ‘Tell me where you went and I will let you pass. If you are sure you really want to go.’

      She swallowed. ‘How many times must I repeat myself before you believe me?’

      His