Chapter 17
April 28, 1814
“My lord?” Charlotte Timkins inquired hopefully as the hired post chaise turned off Germantown Road.
Grey sat across from her and Speed, his gaze fixed on the verdant spring countryside. Now, his eyes flicked back to the young woman and he murmured, “I have asked you to call me Mr. St. James, Charlotte.”
“I beg your pardon, sir.” Recognizing that his attention was already wavering, she plunged onward. “Mr. St. James, what if my mistress no longer needs me when she gets to her parents’ house? What if there is a family retainer she would prefer to have wait upon her? What if—”
“Enough, my dear Miss Timkins,” Grey cut in, holding up a hand. “Let us wait and see rather than expect the worst. And then, if your fears should come to pass, you will simply remain in my employ... and eventually return to England with me, if you so choose.”
“You aren’t going back immediately?”
Grey shook his head, staring out at the chestnut trees that lined the drive leading to Belle Maison. Daffodils grew wild, like yellow stars sprinkled amid the lush green grass. “My plans are tentative at this time.” He glanced back at Charlotte, aware of her curiosity. “And I must ask that you refrain from discussing my plans, or lack of same, with Miss Beauvisage. Do I make myself clear?”
Charlotte widened her blue eyes. “Aye, I suppose that you do, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“Mum’s the word,” Jasper Speed chimed in.
“Exactly.”
The carriage ahead of them began to slow, and Grey caught his first glimpse of Belle Maison, Natalya’s girlhood home. The large house was a beautiful example of Georgian architecture. Constructed of red brick, it was square and solid, shaded by huge elm trees and generously framed by sweeping lawns and exquisite beds of tulips. Fourteen perfect, many-paned windows, all with pure white casements, marched across the front of the house, surrounding a magnificent white front door with brass fittings. The Beauvisage carriage stopped right in front of the patterned brick walkway that led to the house’s entrance. Grey watched, pensive for a moment, as Natalya stepped giddily onto the path and turned in slow circles, her fingers pressed to her lips in silent wonder. Alec stopped beside her, and she looked up at him, eyes bright with tears.
“Oh, Papa, it seems like a dream. I don’t think I realized how desperately I’ve longed for home... until now.”
Arm in arm they went into the house while Grey, Speed, and Charlotte disembarked from their post chaise. Caro was waiting for them while Kristin lingered nearby, staring at Grey.
“I can’t tell you how pleased we are that you could join us,” Caro said sincerely, taking Grey’s arm. “I’m going to have Pierre, our butler, send someone to take these two lovely people out to our kitchen for a good, hot meal... and a nap if that would be desirable. Meanwhile, we’ll sort out who is staying and who is going....” She continued to chatter on as they reached the front door, at which point a wizened little old man appeared. “Mr. St. James,” she said, “I should like to present Pierre DuBois, who is our major domo and in charge of running our home.”
“Bonjour, m’sieur!” Pierre greeted him, dark eyes twinkling with interest. “This is a happy day! Life has been a trifle dull here of late, I must confess—indeed, I had been deliberating on a way to enliven this household. But you, sir, have relieved me of that burden by returning Miss Natalya to the fold.”
Grey was charmed to see that Pierre wore an old-fashioned suit, not unlike the one he himself had donned to elude Auteuil and Poujouly during his and Natalya’s flight across France. Pierre’s coat and breeches were mustard-yellow satin, his buckled shoes sported two-inch heels, and his powdered wig was set off by a long waistcoat of gold-and-red brocade. Never had Grey encountered a butler like this in England! Before he could reply to the old man’s speech, Natalya had come between them to hug Pierre, who blushed with delight.
“Pierre, when did you come back to Belle Maison? Did Maman write to me and have I forgotten?” She half turned to explain to Grey, “Pierre was Papa’s valet for years, and before that he sailed with my grandpapa on his pirate ship, didn’t you, Pierre? Then, when he married Hyla Flowers, who helped Aunt Lisette run her coffeehouse, they took it over together when Lisette and Nicholai went to live in France. That was twenty years ago, when I was just a little girl, but I remember very well how sad we all were when you left Belle Maison, Pierre! You used to sneak me treats from the kitchen and let me choose flowers for my very own....”
“You were a dimpled little peach blossom as a child, mademoiselle, and remain so as a woman,” Pierre said effusively. “It’s a great pleasure to welcome you home. I have been back in your parents’ employ nearly two years now, and Hyla is here, too, overseeing the kitchen. We’re not as young as we used to be, you know, and the unceasing activity in the coffeehouse became tiring. Do you remember James Stringfellow, the barman?” When Natalya nodded, Pierre said, “Stringfellow and his wife, Nancy, purchased the coffeehouse from us. Their two sons are nearly grown, and I think they were ready for new challenges.”
“How lovely that everything has worked out so neatly,” she exclaimed, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Kristin had managed to place herself in front of Grey.
“Mr. St. James, all this family gossip must be fearfully dull to you,” Natalya’s sister said, brushing back a stray ebony curl from her cheek. “Would you like me to show you around?”
He smiled carefully. “I’m not bored in the least, but it’s kind of you to offer, Miss Beauvisage, and I would very much like to see more of your home.”
“That’s an excellent idea, Krissie,” Natalya approved, her voice sounding hollow. Obviously her sister was rapidly becoming starry-eyed over the handsome Englishman, and it bothered her to see Kristin trying to improve the acquaintance. But she reminded herself once again that Grey would soon be gone and that she ought to put him out of her mind and enjoy her homecoming.
For his part, Grey was fascinated by Natalya’s family and their home. The style of Belle Maison was very different from that of grand homes in either England or France. It was much simpler, and yet the house possessed an appealing elegance and warmth that London mansions lacked.
The entry hall was laid with a diagonal pattern of bricks, and the paneled walls were lovely with their plain coat of ivory paint. There was no gilding or marble to be found in Belle Maison. Kristin led the way through a graceful arch with double doors that brought them into the stair hall. Two spacious, lovely parlors opened off of each side of the stair hall, and Grey wandered off into the north parlor.
“Is your mother responsible for the design of these rooms?” he asked. “Did she choose the furnishings?”
“For the most part, no, I think not,” Kristin replied, walking over to stand beside him. She could scarcely believe that he was real, so potent was his attraction. Grey St. James looked much as she imagined her father must have thirty years ago. “Maman found Belle Maison so beautiful when she first came here that she has always striven to keep it much the same. This was Papa’s house, you know. He told me when I was a little girl that our home had been orphaned during the Revolution. A battle was fought in the village of Germantown, and the owner of this house was killed accidentally. His family fled, leaving nearly all their possessions.”
“An ideal situation for a single man,” Grey remarked, “particularly if he approved of the previous owner’s tastes!”
“Well, Maman has tried to make gradual changes, adding pieces and replacing worn items over the years. I’m sure it must be grander now than when Papa first acquired it.” Kristin’s long-lashed gaze touched upon paneled walls painted a soft, pale green, a graceful wing chair beautifully embroidered with crewelwork, a Chippendale settee upholstered in rose damask, and the stunningly patterned English rug that covered the wide boards of the floor. “Maman says that the style of our home is timeless, but to me it is... reassuring.” She turned her head a fraction so that she was looking directly into Grey’s eyes. “If you truly want to return to England, you shouldn’t remain here long, Mr. St. James. I believe that my family and our home are under an enchanted spell, and no one who is here for any length of time ever wants to leave…”
Laughing, Grey walked away from her, over to the fifteen-paned glass doors that opened onto the lawns and gardens behind Belle Maison. “You are amusing yourself at my expense, aren’t you, Miss Beauvisage? You know, I come from England, not Ireland. We don’t put much stock in leprechauns and faeries back in London.” His gaze swept appreciatively over the impeccable flowerbeds divided by mossy brick footpaths. “In any event, your theory doesn’t quite fit Natalya, does it? She has thrived thousands of miles away from Belle Maison. Your brother’s left, too, hasn’t he?” He glanced back at her, gently arching a black brow. “Perhaps your belief in this house’s golden aura is an excuse for you to linger here with Maman and Papa, long after most of your friends have married and established homes of their own.”
Kristin swept past him, her back straight, leading the way into the back hallway. “I shan’t dignify such outrageous effrontery with a response, except to say that I am unmarried by choice, Mr. St. James. I am unashamed of the happiness I own here, and until I meet the perfect man, I see no reason to leave.”
Grey smiled to himself as he followed her past the winding back stairway that opened off the servants’ entrance to the house. He reflected that there was nothing like a bit of badinage with a Beauvisage female to get one’s blood flowing. “I must apologize. I was completely at fault and had no right to speak to you on such familiar terms. The only defense I can offer is that I have grown used to teasing your sister, though you mustn’t tell her I’ve confessed to it.”
Kristin whirled around in front of the entrance to a small plant-filled, glass conservatory. Struck by the unmistakably fond undercurrents in his voice when he spoke of Natalya, she said, “I was under the impression that the two of you didn’t deal together very well?”
“That was true, some of the time.” The silvery glint of a smile crept into Grey’s eyes. “There were also… enjoyable moments.”
“I can hardly wait to hear all the details of your travels,” Kristin said, watching him.
“I doubt whether your sister will care to dwell on that subject.” As they reached the dining room, Grey gestured toward the doorway. “After you.”
Realizing that no more bits of gossip would be forthcoming, Kristin returned to her role as guide. Her tour of the dining room and south parlor were matter-of-fact. She pointed out a corner cabinet filled with pieces of china and keepsakes from Beauvisage voyages and the travels of her parents abroad. The rooms themselves were tasteful and charming, decorated with creamy walls, richly colored rugs, and more handsome pieces of furniture. Over the fireplace, faced with Delft tiles, hung a portrait of Alexandre and Caroline Beauvisage. Kristin paused with Grey to gaze up at the large painting, which was an excellent likeness of her parents.
“That was painted twenty years ago, not long after my birth,” she said. “Charles Willson Peale was the artist. No doubt he is virtually unknown in Europe, but Philadelphia holds him in high esteem, and he has sired or taught a whole clan of other Peales. Also, he has a museum in the city filled with animals that have been stuffed and placed in re-creations of their natural habitats. There are tigers, exotic birds, snakes, a mongoose, and the skeletons of two prehistoric mastodons, which Mr. Peale excavated and assembled himself. He’s seventy-three now and as active as ever.”
“Indeed?” Grey tried to think of a suitable response. “You obviously must believe that we Britons are sadly lacking in education, but I can assure you that I am familiar with the paintings of Charles Willson Peale. However, I must confess that I was ignorant of the mongoose and the mastodons.” He flashed a sudden smile. “I have always heard that America is quite unique. A friend told me that Americans have been able to invent themselves and their country, making up all sorts of new rules. So far, I am thoroughly charmed by all I have seen, from this wonderful house to your tale of Peale’s distinctly original museum!”
Kristin began to feel a bit dizzy under his potent spell. “I have one more surprise for you in this parlor before we go upstairs,” she said, walking over to open a door that was barely noticeable in the paneled wall. “This is our whispering closet, apparently built into the house during the Revolution.”
Grey joined her, leaning into the empty closet to watch as she found the secret opening in the back wall. As the panel opened, he ducked his head under the low threshold and discovered three different passageways. One led farther along the parlor wall, over to the south side of the house, he guessed. “I gather that this was a hiding place for eavesdroppers,” he remarked.
“It’s been used as a refuge for those in danger as well,” Kristin replied, nodding, and stepped past him into the closet. Lit only by the sunlight that spilled into the parlor, it appeared dim and dingy, and it smelled of damp earth and must. “You’re probably wondering where the tunnel goes that leads underground.”
“Rather,” he agreed dryly.
“It passes under the gardens and then forks. One side leads to the kitchen building and the other connects with the little cottage where my great-grandmother once lived. And this”—Kristin took a few steps around a corner in the tunnel, gesturing toward a narrow, curving stone staircase that went upward—“goes upstairs. I find it all rather frightening, but when we were children, Etienne and Talya and our cousins played in these passageways a great deal. I was the baby, and always afraid that I would be left behind or a spider would touch me or something else equally horrific.”
As they returned to the spacious parlor, Grey shook his head in wonderment. “I thought that only we British went in for hidden doors and secret passageways. During my boyhood, I felt cheated because none of our residences possessed one. This is indeed quite a home.”
Moments later, as he followed Kristin up the sweeping curve of the staircase, Grey decided that Belle Maison was exactly the right size: large enough for dignity and space, small enough for comfort and modesty. It was the ideal home—impressive and elegant without the least affectation.
Upstairs, their tour was more abbreviated. Grey did little more than poke his head in doorways and nod as Kristin pointed out each of the welcoming bedrooms. Most had window seats built in below recessed windows, and he found this a charming touch. The elder Beauvisages shared a large bedchamber decorated in blue and white with Chinese red accents; next to it was a small sun-drenched morning room with freshly painted lemon-yellow walls and a circular Aubusson carpet. In passing, Grey glimpsed a lovely bedroom done in ivory and moss green with a Sheraton field bed as its centerpiece, and then Kristin pointed out her own room, which was rose and pale blue.
Voices drifted out to them from a room at the back of the house. “We ought to join the others,” Kristin said, opening the door. “I suppose I should warn you that Belle Maison is quite famous for its library.”
Grey let out his breath appreciatively as they entered a magnificent room that spanned the depth of the second floor. There were two other entrances at the middle and far end of the library, and all the walls were lined from floor to ceiling with handsomely bound books. Alec Beauvisage’s desk was across the room from where Grey and Kristin stood, and Natalya and her parents were seated on a settee and wing chairs grouped before the mahogany-framed fireplace in the center of the library.
“Ah, here you are at last!” Caro called cheerfully. “We’ve just poured a glass of sherry, and Rose announced that we shall dine in half an hour. Do come and join us.”
As Grey and Kristin took matching flame-stitched wing chairs, Natalya murmured, “I thought perhaps you two had gotten lost.”
Kristin laughed, glancing at Grey under her lashes. “Have we been terribly long?”
“I’ve been admiring your home,” Grey interjected, speaking to Alec and Caro. He sat back in his chair and stretched out his long legs, appearing to be very much at ease and oblivious to Natalya’s suspicious looks and Kristin’s smitten gaze. “I like it immensely.”
“It’s kind of you to say so,” Caro rejoined. “We love Belle Maison.”
“It does seem to have a character all its own,” Alec agreed. “Sometimes I feel that the house is as alive as we are.”
Distracted, Natalya sipped her sherry and beamed. “It really is wonderful to be back. I’ve missed all of you—and Belle Maison—more than I realized.”
“I still cannot believe it,” her mother said, reaching over to clasp her hand. “It’s like a dream.”
Looking at Grey, Kristin murmured, “It certainly is....”
* * *
Dinner was exceedingly festive. Natalya brightened when Caro seated Grey next to Alec and placed Kristin at the opposite end. If Grey St. James had to intrude on her family reunion, she would rather he befriend her father than further intoxicate her sister.
Hyla DuBois and her staff had labored in the kitchen behind the house to create a magnificent meal on short notice: clam-and-mushroom bisque, sour milk biscuits with sweet butter, duckling with apple stuffing, codfish cakes, mashed carrots and parsnips, and young greens with bacon dressing. Natalya and Grey were both famished and ate far too much. Natalya happily answered questions about Nicholai and Lisette, discussed the publication of My Lady’s Heart, and divulged selected details of her sojourn with Adrienne in London. Alec, along with the others, wanted to hear all about Napoleon’s downfall and Grey’s other experiences in the war. Finally Natalya and Grey took turns describing their flight from France and voyage across the Atlantic.
“I cannot express the gratitude my wife and I feel for all you have done to help Natalya return to America,” Alec said at last, pushing his plate away with a satisfied sigh.
“Natalya aided in my escape from France,” Grey replied. “I might well have failed without her assistance, and failure would have meant death. What I have done to repay her is really very little.” He gave Natalya a wry smile, his gray eyes twinkling with secrets. “Actually I’ve quite enjoyed myself. Your daughter is highly... original!”
Her cheeks flaming, Natalya wished with all her heart that he would go away. She picked up her fork and aimed it at her plate—only to discover that there wasn’t a bite of food left on it. “Goodness! I’ve been a monstrous glutton, haven’t I?” Her voice was loud with false gaiety. “I have an excuse, though. Hyla is the best cook in the world, and besides, it’s been six years since I’ve eaten real American food. Lisette still prepares some of her old recipes from the coffeehouse, but somehow they taste different in France.”
Grey helped himself to the rest of the greens. “For my part, I can attest that this is quite possibly the best meal I have ever had. Is this the sort of thing everyone in Philadelphia eats?”
“Everyone who can afford good food,” Alec said.
“Then I may never leave!” Grey laughed with a trace of mischief, enjoying himself as he witnessed the flush that rose again in Natalya’s cheeks.
“I am suddenly very tired,” she announced. “It must be all the excitement. Krissie, why don’t you come upstairs and help me unpack? I want to hear all about your suitors. And Maman, you must come, too, and tell me the news of Etienne. When is he coming home from that horrid war, and what of his wife and baby?”
Caro watched in surprise as her daughter stood up. “But, Talya, there’s rhubarb tapioca for dessert. It was always your favorite.”
“Oh, Maman, I simply couldn’t eat another bite. Tell Hyla I’ll have mine for breakfast, won’t you?” Natalya came around the table, held out her hand to Grey, and said, “You must think me incredibly rude, making such an abrupt exit, but I really am too exhausted to sit up a moment longer. I have already told you how grateful I am to you for bringing me all this way, and I wish you all the best in your new life in England.” She forced a smile but avoided his keen silver eyes as she delivered her prepared remarks: “Good-bye, Grey. I know I’ve been a trial to you at times, but these past weeks have been memorable, and you were a gift from heaven. Have a safe journey home, and I hope that you’ll think of me with a smile from time to time.”
Coolly he arched his eyebrows, all too aware of their audience. Standing to face her, he lifted Natalya’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. It pleased him to feel her involuntary shiver. “Good night, Natalya.”
She waited for him to make a farewell speech, but none was forthcoming. Blushing again, she pulled her hand free and stepped backward, nearly landing in her father’s lap, then turned toward the doorway. “Krissie, are you coming with me?”
Reluctantly Kristin rose from the table. She was beginning to feel foolish for having flirted openly with the Englishman since he was apparently leaving on the morrow, so she mustered her dignity and exchanged pleasant words of parting with him. He leaned across the table to clasp her hand, smiling as he thanked her for the tour of Belle Maison.
“I’ll be up momentarily,” Caro called as the sisters left the dining room. Then, turning to the men, she said, “I have a notion that the two of you would enjoy some time alone to chat. I’ll have dessert and port served, then go upstairs and tuck my daughter into bed.”
“I’ll come up to kiss her good night after a bit,” Alec said, squeezing his wife’s hand. “Don’t look so puzzled, cherie. It’s her first night home and she’s bound to be restless and preoccupied.”
“You’re right, of course.” Caro gave him a grateful smile. “I ought to bid you good-bye, Mr. St. James, and thank you once more for all you’ve done. If we can ever repay you, do not hesitate to call upon us.”
After Grey offered more words of appreciation for her hospitality, Caro went upstairs, and he found himself alone with Alec Beauvisage. Crystal dishes of tapioca were served and port was poured from a cut-glass decanter.
“Are you really sailing tomorrow?” Alec asked, raising his glass. “Talya keeps insisting on it, but I haven’t heard a word of confirmation from you.”
“Actually”—Grey sipped his port, smiling slowly,—“no. I have a few matters to attend to in Philadelphia before I return to England. Your daughter would prefer that I make myself scarce, but since I cannot accommodate her wishes, I thought it might be better for the moment to not comment on my plans in her presence.”
Alec couldn’t bring himself to ask why Natalya was so anxious that Grey return to England. Instead he said, “Won’t you tell me more about yourself and your family? I’ve spent some time in London, and your name seems familiar somehow.”
“Actually, sir, I believe you know my father, the Earl of Hartford,” Grey replied.
Alec registered astonished delight. “Of course! You’re Hartford’s elder son, aren’t you? I’d simply forgotten that St. James was his family name. My God, now I am indebted to both of you, for Hartford spared my life in 1781, during the battle of Yorktown....” His gaze wandered as memories returned, then he looked back at Grey, smiling. “Your father must be very proud of you. Is he well?”
“Quite, sir. He’s not a warm man, but I suppose that he enjoys life after a fashion. And he’s had his share of sorrows. My mother died in childbirth when I was ten, and then my brother David was killed in the battle of Salamanca two years ago.”
“Lord, what a terrible blow for a father—and for you. I cannot imagine what it would do to me if our Etienne were lost in this war.” Alec sighed. “Hartford was full of life and fun when I knew him. He’d had a few whiskies the night he caught me spying on Cornwallis. He started asking me questions about myself and we became friends. I gave him my word to leave quietly, and so he let me go.”
Grey blinked, trying to imagine his father in the scene Beauvisage had described. “He has always spoken kindly of you, sir, and has been pleased to receive your letters.”
Nodding thoughtfully, Alec sipped his port for a moment before asking, “Can you discuss your business in Philadelphia, or is it private? If I can assist you in any way...”
“It’s a long story,” Grey said lightly. “I’d rather not divulge all the details, but I can say that I am searching for someone who may have recently arrived in Philadelphia. Have you by chance met a beautiful Englishwoman, somewhat haughty, I should think, with auburn hair and green eyes? Her name is Francesca and... she is in possession of some property that belongs to my family. I hope to find her and reclaim these lost items before I return to England.”
“I see....” Alec digested this information with interest. “I cannot recall meeting such a woman, but I can ask Caro, and—”
“Please, sir, do not,” Grey said curtly. “I must ask that this conversation remain between us for the time being. If Francesca should hear of my presence in Philadelphia before I discover her whereabouts...”
“I may know someone who can help you. Before Lisette married my brother, she inherited Hahn’s Coffeehouse from her father. The coffeehouse has long been one of Philadelphia’s most popular meeting places. It is now owned by James Stringfellow, her old friend and the barman there for many years. He’s an Englishman and a wonderful fellow who keeps his ears open and is always aware of the latest news. If anyone has word of the woman you seek, it would be Stringfellow, and he can be trusted to keep your secrets.” Alec grinned. “If he knows that you’re a friend of Lisette’s, he’ll move heaven and earth for you.”
Grey, who had been listening intently, returned his host’s grin. “Thank you, sir. I have a feeling that I shall be able to make good use of that information.”
“You will need a place to stay,” Alec decided, “and I have just the solution. Nicholai’s house on Spruce Street is large and comfortable, and we have kept it for the use of visiting relatives. I insist that you make yourself at home there for as long as you care to stay.”
Their eyes met, and Grey realized that he had a friend who offered the sort of camaraderie he had always longed to share with his own father. A smile lit his face as he replied, “I appreciate your generous offer and accept with gratitude.”
“It’s the least we can do for you. We’ll loan you a carriage, and one of our drivers will deliver you and your manservant tonight, then your things can be sent over from the ship in the morning.” Alec paused to take a spoonful of tapioca. “I confess that I’ve missed my son since the war took him away, and my father’s death this past year has left me lonely. I like you, Grey, and I hope to spend more time with you. I’d like to show you our shipyards, and I could take you to my club....”
“Your kindness renders me speechless, sir.”
“Nonsense.” He grinned. “And for God’s sake call me Alec! I’m not in my dotage yet.”
“I’d be honored, Alec,” he said, smiling back, thinking that this family was like a fantasy in comparison with his own. “I ought to go out to the kitchen and inform Speed, my valet, of our plans. Oh, and I should ask you about Charlotte Timkins, Natalya’s maid these past weeks. She came with us from the ship, just in case.”
“Naturally, if she chooses to remain here, she is welcome,” Alec said immediately. He rose to his feet and held out his hand to Grey. “I shall bid you good night, then. Pierre will arrange for your carriage. Perhaps I’ll drop by to visit you in a day or two, to make certain there’s nothing you need.”
“I’ll look forward to it, Alec.”
Beauvisage walked Grey to the back door, pointing out the brightly lit kitchen building behind the house, then he started up the servants’ stairs to visit his elder daughter.
* * *
Alone at last, her family’s good-night kisses still warm on her cheeks, Natalya lay in the Sheraton field bed and gazed up at the moonlit snowflake pattern in the net canopy that curved above her. This had been her mother’s room when she had first come to Belle Maison as Alec’s ward more than thirty years ago. Growing up, Natalya had shared the rose-and-blue bedroom with Kristin, but now she was sleeping here. She had always loved this room, most especially the beautiful field bed with its arched canopy frame draped in hand-tied snowflakes. She had spent many a daylight hour lying here on her back and dreaming.
Smiling contentedly, Natalya burrowed deeper into the soft linens and quilts covering her. It felt so safe to be back at last. The dangers of her journey, the risks and confusion of her relationship with Grey, were behind her. The future, complete with the challenges of adjusting to life in Philadelphia and meeting old and new friends, could still be held at arm’s length. For now, she could be her mother’s and father’s daughter again, tucked snugly into her favorite bed at Belle Maison.
What was that sound? She sat up in bed, hands clasped over her breasts, staring at the paneled wall. She heard another tap and then a click. Before she could cry out for her father, part of the wall slid back and Grey St. James stepped out into a shaft of moonlight. Her first thought was that he looked like a dangerous pirate, bent on ravishing a defenseless maiden.
Dusting off his hands, Grey arched a brow at her and remarked, “I thought I ought to drop by to bid you a proper good night. You didn’t really think that you could fob me off with that feeble, wooden scene in the dining room, did you?” His grin flashed in the shadows. “My dear Natalya, your penchant for underestimating me will one day prove your downfall.”
As he approached the bed, Natalya opened her mouth to scream, but the only sound that emerged was a tiny squeak.