Vexed, she rifled through her reticule, pulled out her handkerchief, and vigorously rubbed at the center pane—gasping as the door swung open.
Gads. She hadn’t imagined it would be unlocked, much less unlatched. The faint scents of leather and cigars wafted through the door opening, but the interior was cloaked in shadows, still and quiet.
She placed her hand on the doorknob and hesitated. She hadn’t planned on breaking and entering into a vacant building this evening, but now that she was there, one foot already over the threshold, why shouldn’t she scout out the location? It would certainly save her the trouble of a return trip during the week, and she could only concoct so many excuses for leaving the house before Mama became suspicious.
One quick glance around the inside would tell her if the building was a viable meeting place. Half of her hoped it was filled with trash and rat dung, so she’d be able to close the door firmly behind her and walk away. Only one way to find out.
She pushed the door open and took a tentative step inside. “Hullo?” she called, praying no response was forthcoming. If anyone did reply, she intended to dash outside and be two blocks away before they could reach the door. “Is anyone here?”
Emboldened by the continued silence, she took two more steps inside and paused, giving her eyes time to adjust to the inky darkness. She could make out a few large shapes in the center of the room—furniture, most likely—and a long counter along the far wall.
Already she could see the potential here—room for at least fifty women, an easily accessible back entrance, and even some seating. She’d need to inspect it during the day to be sure, but—
The air at her back moved unexpectedly, sending a chill over her skin. The courage she’d felt moments ago drained through her slippers. Deciding she’d had more than enough adventure for one night, she gulped and took a step backward. She reached behind her, feeling for the wall or the doorjamb, but as she did, the swath of moonlight that had painted the floor a pale yellow shrunk to a thin ribbon before being swallowed up by darkness.
The door slammed shut with a bang that made her heart buck like a spooked foal. She leaped halfway to the ceiling and let out a cry before she managed to find her voice. “Who’s there?” she asked, wishing she sounded more assured and in command. Less terrified to the point of casting up her accounts.
“If you don’t mind,” came the exceedingly dry, hauntingly deep, eminently masculine voice, “I’ll ask the questions here.”
Chapter 2
Henry Reese, Earl of Warshire, dropped his cheroot and ground it under his boot heel before making a slow, appraising circle around the intruder—a woman, if he wasn’t mistaken. He scrubbed his eyelids with the backs of his hands and blinked to make sure she wasn’t some sort of hallucination. Sometimes, when he’d gone for a week without any sleep to speak of, his brain deceived him. But she seemed real enough.
Even in the dark, Reese could see her trembling like a rabbit hiding from a fox on the prowl. And yet, she raised her chin—a subtle act of defiance that was admirable, if ultimately futile.
No, this woman was not his usual sort of vision. The grotesque monsters lurking in the corners of his admittedly warped mind were made not of flesh but of pain and terror. Their bony fingers had clawed at his soul and wrung it out until it was nothing but a shriveled casing.
But the woman standing before him was slender, and the tendrils of hair that peeked out of her bonnet appeared to be fair—white gold. While there was no denying that she’d broken into his building, she smelled like the earth and wildflowers and springtime.
In a tone that brooked no argument, he said, “Do not move.”
He strode to the large picture window at the front of the building and yanked open the heavy, mite-filled drapes, bathing the room in pale moonlight. When he faced the intruder again, she gazed at him warily and clutched a pink reticule tightly in one hand. The gown she wore was the color of freshly sprouted grass, and the soft muslin clung to her willowy frame.
“What are you doing here in my building?” he asked, fairly certain that a lie was about to spout forth from her mouth.
She licked her lips nervously. “Actually, I wasn’t intending to come inside. I only wanted to peer in the window.”
Reese narrowed his eyes and let his gaze travel slowly around the room. “You were window shopping,” he said, not bothering to mask his skepticism. “Simply strolling down an alley late at night, looking for a new waistcoat? Maybe a cravat or two?”
“No,” she said, frowning. “Of course not. I’d heard that the shop was vacant and thought it might make a suitable location for my … that is, I…” She clamped her mouth shut before taking a breath and starting again—with more confidence. “I thought I might rent the space.”
He arched a brow, intrigued—and, perhaps, secretly pleased that she’d managed to surprise him.
“I’m Miss Kendall,” she said, thrusting a gloved hand toward him. “You must be Mr. Peabody.”
Reese kept his face impassive and reached for her hand. Curled his fingers around her palm. Held on a bit longer than was strictly necessary. “A pleasure,” he growled, not bothering to tell her that Mr. Peabody, the elderly tailor, had turned up his toes over a year ago.
“Are you a shop owner, Miss Kendall?” He walked to the smooth, old oak counter and lit the lamp there.
She hesitated. “No.”
When she didn’t elaborate, he sank into one of a pair of large leather armchairs and waved a hand at the other. “Care to sit?”
She gulped and hazarded a look at the worn seat before perching on the edge. “I must apologize for intruding. I didn’t expect the door to be unlocked, and when it swung open, I…”
“Decided to give yourself a tour?” he provided.
“Something like that.”
He reached for the snifter on the table next to him and took a swallow of brandy before offering the glass to her. “Care for a drink?”
She recoiled as if he’d offered a vial of venom. “No, thank you.”
“Well, feel free to look around. There’s a work area and storage room at the rear.” Reese had been killing time back there when he heard the door creak open and ventured out to investigate.
She remained seated as she said, “If you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing here at this time of the evening? It’s awfully late to be working.”
A lie hovered on his tongue, but he swallowed it and told the truth—or, at least, part of it. “I come here when I’m restless. When I feel the need to escape my house.” There was nothing worse than lying in bed, drowning in colorless shadows and unnatural silence while his body and mind battled for control. Every part of his physical being longed for sleep. Craved it like an addict needs opium. But his mind lived in fear of the moment he drifted off—when he relinquished control of his thoughts to the foulest of demons. They sat on their haunches, ready to charge into the void, swamping and suffocating him. He shuddered but pretended to merely shift in his seat.
“I see,” she said simply—and something in her perceptive blue eyes suggested that she did understand.
He cleared his throat, leaned back, and stretched his legs. “As I was saying, you’re welcome to inspect the shop if you’re curious.”