Page 35 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“Lady Lockwood—” Sloane began, but she sent him a look that had stopped many a man in his tracks.

“No. That’s enough. You may take up all this nonsense tomorrow. We are about to have a few moments of peace and an early dinner, then go to bed. You, too, Dunbridge.” She made a sweeping gesture with her cane. Her gaze fell on Verity. “Not you. You’re staying, and you’re sleeping in Annabeth’s room.”

“YOU ARE NOT sleeping in my room,” Annabeth told Verity later that evening, standing in the doorway of her bedroom, arms crossed. She couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for the other woman—Verity’s face had reached the full extent of its swelling and bruising. But Annabeth was not going to just ignore her former maid’s treachery.

Verity sighed. “I understand that you are angry with me.” She ignored Annabeth’s soft snort. “But I could not tell you. I was bound to secrecy. It’s not only my life that could be endangered by a slip of the tongue, but the lives of others.”

“Yes, like mine. We can see how well your ‘secrecy’ protected me from harm.”

“I didn’t—I never expected any attack on you. That was obviously a profound mistake. But it makes it clear that you need to be guarded at all times.”

“I will lock my door. The windows are locked, and they’re two floors up a sheer brick wall. No one is going to get in to harm me. And I would like to be alone. I think you owe me at least that much.”

Verity sighed. “Very well. I can’t make you accept my protection. But at least let me come in and help you get ready for bed.”

“I can take down and brush my own hair.”

“And undo all the hooks and eyes down the back of that dress?”

Annabeth looked at her for a long moment, then stepped back. “Come in, then.”

Verity entered after her and closed the door. Annabeth turned her back to her, and Verity began to unfasten the line of hooks and eyes. “You have to admit it was a good thing I was with you this afternoon. I did my best to keep you safe. And I will continue to do so.”

Annabeth whipped around to glare at her. “You lied to me. Worse than lying, you pretended to be my friend.”

“I am your friend,” Verity said.

“Just stop.” Annabeth turned back around. “You wanted information from me, that’s all. You wanted to know about my father. You wanted me to confide in you. I cannot bear to think about the way I told you all about Sloane and...and everything.” Humiliation welled in her. “No one likes to be made a fool of.”

“Nothing you told me was foolish,” Verity said. “I didn’t talk to you to get information. I already knew everything I needed to about your father and about you and Sloane. I talked to you because I liked you.”

“I liked you, too,” Annabeth admitted in a small voice. “It seems I always like people who betray me.” She prayed the tears would stay in her eyes instead of spilling over. “I can finish getting undressed by myself.”

Verity looked as though she wanted to say something more, but then she went to the door and slipped out so silently it was as if she’d never been there at all.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ANNABETH DREAMED ABOUT Sloane that night—the old Sloane, the one she had loved. They were walking, holding hands, and she was happy. They walked on and on, never getting anywhere, but then the sweet mood changed to one of irritation. Sloane refused to stop, and when she turned to look at him, she realized that her companion was no longer Sloane, but a man whose face she could not see. Where had Sloane gone? Fear gripped her, and she turned around and around, looking for Sloane, growing ever more frantic. Then something hit the floor with a thud.

Her eyes flew open. Her heart was racing. She felt disoriented, caught between her dream and reality. She heard a soft rustle near the fireplace, and she knew someone was in her room. She sat up, looking toward the fireplace, and a dark shape stood and turned.

Annabeth screamed and shot out of bed, groping for a weapon on the small bedside stand. The dark shadow ran toward her, saying something in a low guttural whisper. Her hand fell on a book, and she threw it at the intruder. Drawing a breath, she screamed again and looked for something else to throw. There was nothing but a candlestick, so she threw that as well.

The book hit him on the arm, and the candlestick reached only his ankle, but he let out a loud curse and grabbed at his ankle, then turned and ran out the door.

Anna darted after him, pillow in hand. She had nothing better to throw at him, but she could find better weapons in the corridor. He headed for the stairs, but Verity came flying out of a window seat and launched herself at him.

She wasn’t heavy enough to take him down, but he stumbled backward, hit a hall table, and bounced off, landing on his knees. Clasping her hands together, Verity brought them down hard on the back of his neck, and when he scrambled to his feet, she followed and kicked the back of his knees, sending him to the floor again.

With a roar he jumped up and swung at her, but Verity dodged nimbly, and, pulling her encumbering nightgown up to her knees, she kicked the intruder in the stomach. The air went out of him in a whoosh. Bent over and gasping for air, he staggered forward.

From the other end of the hall came a sound like a flock of geese, and a small dog shot into view. Petunia jumped, clamping her teeth on the man’s calf. The intruder swung his leg, sending Petunia flying away. The pug hit the floor, but bounced up and returned to the fray. She swarmed around the man’s ankles, nipping and growling and yapping. More servants came running into the hall.

“How dare you!” An aristocratic voice rang out. Everyone stopped and swung around to gape at the vision of Lady Lockwood in her nightcap and dressing gown, a candle in one hand and brandishing her cane in the other, as she strode down the hall like an avenging angel.

The intruder had sense enough to break out of his paralysis and run, stumbling over Petunia in the process. He staggered up and started down the staircase just as Lady Lockwood reached it. She brought her cane down across his back, and he fell, rolling down the steps to the landing. Pulling himself to his feet, he limped down the stairs and out the front door, which stood open. Verity went tearing after him.

“Well! I never!” Lady Lockwood turned, sending an accusing look at the rest of them and slamming the candle on a small console table. “What has this world come to? Kidnapping. Random strangers popping in and out of the house.” She bent down and gave the panting pug a reassuring scratch. “There, now, Petunia, don’t fret,” she said in a kinder tone than Annabeth had ever heard her use with people. “He’s gone now.”