As were the marble stairs she eventually confronted. She moved up slowly, keeping to the edge in case an overzealous servant should appear, but it was evening and most of them would be discreetly absent unless summoned. She remembered that much from her family’s more affluent times.

She wandered the hallways of the first floor, peering into rooms. She found a library, redolent of leather and pipe tobacco, a pretty little salon clearly designed for the woman of the house, clearly never used, a music room with a pianoforte and harp. At the end of one hall was the ballroom, dark and silent, at the opposite end a locked door.

She pressed her ear against the door, but all was silent. Whatever that room was used for, and she shuddered to think, it was empty now.

She had no choice but to climb another flight of stairs, this one smaller but no less magnificent. What if Rolande was mistaken, what if she was wandering around the Viscount Rohan’s town house with no one there? And then she heard the voices as she reached the top of the stairs. His, deep and melodious, and she held her breath, expecting a woman’s reply.

Instead, a man’s voice, the words too indistinct for her to decipher. She moved out of the shadows, heading in the direction of that room, when her rival from the front door suddenly reappeared, carrying a tray with a carafe and glasses.

“You!” the butler said in tones of extreme loathing, too much the professional to drop the tray. He set it down carefully on a table, but she was already off, racing in the direction of those voices.

A door was open, light spilling out into the hallway, with her goal just beyond it. She’d almost reached it, her booted feet no longer silent on the parquet floor, when the majordomo caught up her with her, catching her hair and yanking her back painfully.

She bit him, hard. And kicked him in the shins with Lady Carlton’s boots, and she heard her dress tear as she lunged forward, skittering through the open door to greet the room’s inhabitants, who stared at her in shocked silence.

9

At least the scarred man, Reading, appeared suitably shocked, Elinor thought. Lord Rohan, as always, was a different matter. He appeared to be expecting her, the wretch.

He was sitting in splendid state, in the middle of a huge bed hung with gloriously gilded curtains, his hair loose around his shoulders, and he was completely naked, at least as far as she could tell. He had covers pulled to his waist, but it still left far too much flesh exposed, and she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about that when her nemesis came skidding around the corner after her.

Lord Rohan made no effort to cover himself. He merely smiled at her. “You shouldn’t look so surprised, Charles. It’s my darling poppet from last night. Clearly she couldn’t bear to be parted from me. Did I tell you we slept together? Twice? And extremely pleasant it was.”

Reading made a choking sound. “Pleasant?”

“His lordship is misleading you, as always,” Elinor said. “I fell asleep in his presence. Not everyone finds him as entertaining as you seem to.”

“Do you see why she enchants me, Reading?” Rohan said. And then his gaze and voice hardened to steel. “You didn’t offer Miss Harriman any insult did you, Cavalle? I should be most displeased if she were not treated with the utmost care and respect.”

She glanced behind her. The majordomo was the color of parchment, and she could swear she could hear his knees knocking. There was no question that he was terrified.

“Of course he treated me with care and respect,” she said in a crabby voice, taking pity on the man. “He simply wished to announce my presence to give you time to cover yourself like any decent Christian, but I was in too much of a hurry and I ran ahead.”

“Indeed,” he said, clearly not believing a word she said. “You always run around in torn clothes and your hair halfway down your back? You may go, Cavalle. We’ll discuss this later.”

“Yes, my lord,” the man said, his voice quaking.

Then Rohan’s dark blue eyes focused on her. “And what in heaven’s name made you think I was a decent Christian, child? I am affronted.”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “There is always hope, Monsieur le Comte. I wish to speak to you.”

“And here you are, my precious. Is it a private matter? Reading will be more than happy to leave us. Come sit beside me.” He patted the snow-white sheets. “If I am to entertain a woman in my bedroom I prefer to keep them in close quarters.”

“And I prefer you to put clothes on.”

“Why?” He sounded like the soul of reason.

For the first time she noticed the bandage on his arm. “You’ve been hurt,” she said, momentarily distracted.

“A trifle.” He dismissed it. “Why do you want me to put clothes on?”

“I will not have a discussion with a…a naked man. It’s distracting.”

His soft laugh was maddening. “Very well, my sweet. In that case Reading had best take you to my sitting room while I ring for my valet, because I’m afraid that under these covers I’m as naked as the devil made me, and if you aren’t going to join me you should retire before you faint with shock.”

“Come along, Miss Harriman,” Mr. Reading said, taking her arm. “He’s in one of his moods. It’s wiser not encourage him. We’ll await him in the sitting room.”

He’d already begun to pull the covers away from his body, and she spun around, hoping the heat in her cheeks wasn’t visible to the sardonic man by her side. The comte’s soft laugh followed her out into the adjoining room.

“Have a seat, Miss Harriman,” her substitute host said. “May I offer you something to drink? We can have Cavalle bring tea, or perhaps something a bit stronger. I fancy he’s not overfond of the stairs, and forcing him to run up and down them would be entertaining.”

“No, thank you, sir.” She perched herself on the edge of one slender gilt chair, determined not to show how exhausted she was.

“I trust your…family is well? Nothing untoward has brought you racing out into a snowy night?”

She heard that hesitation, and she repressed an inner sigh. Everyone who saw her sister fell in love with her, and Reading was clearly no exception. “My sister is fine,” she said.

There was a curious sweetness in Reading’s scarred smile. “If I can be of any assistance…?”

“This concerns Lord Rohan and myself,” she said.

He took a seat beside her on one of the little chairs. “You’re clearly an intelligent young woman—you must have realized that his lordship and I are particularly close. You can talk to me about whatever it is that troubles you.”

She didn’t bother to suppress her skeptical expression. “I’ll await his lordship, thank you. This is between him and me.”

“Oh, indeed it is.” Reading smiled faintly. “In which case I’ll take my leave. It’s been weeks since I’ve been in town and there are a number of friends and establishments I wish to revisit. I do realize that it’s completely rude to abandon you like this, and I assure you it has nothing to do with the vast amount of respect I hold for you, but merely because I’m a shallow soul who’s a slave to my appetites. And I strongly suspect Rohan wants to be alone with you. The bonds of friendship, alas, outweigh the duties of polite behavior.” He rose, took her hand and bowed low over it. She jerked away before he could kiss it, her face flaming as she remembered the last time a man had kissed her hand. And exactly what it had followed.

But Reading merely smiled at her, that peculiar, twisted smile, and was gone.

She had a moment’s panic when he closed the door behind him. Her initial rage had settled enough for her to have the sudden, horrifying thought: What in heaven’s name was she doing?

It wasn’t as if help was coming from any other quarter. Surely she could have accepted Rohan’s charity without offering her sister as virgin sacrifice. As for her own sense of honor, that was long gone. Ending up like her mother might be a step up in the world.

If it were simply a matter of reputation that had been destroyed long ago, and she was worrying for naught. That particular concern had vanished years past due to any number of occurrences, including the fact Lydia’s mother was a whore and her sister…

She looked out the window into the swirling snow and shivered. Somewhere a church bell tolled eight, and she breathed a sigh of relief. It was early. Late for a social call, but early enough for her to make her objections clear, insist that Lord Rohan remove what could be taken from the house and desist from bothering them again. Her sister wasn’t for sale.

There was a fire blazing in the hearth, filling the room with almost oppressive heat. She should have agreed to the offer of tea—she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, and she wasn’t, she absolutely wasn’t going to fall asleep in his presence again. She wasn’t in any particular danger from him, despite his banter, but she might not always be able to count on that, and if Rohan was in the mood to humiliate her she’d be fair game.

No, she needed to stay wide-awake, and she stood up, walking back and forth in the room, her long, heavy skirts swinging back and forth. What was keeping Lord Rohan? Surely it didn’t take that long to put on a shirt and breeches? Lord help her, he wasn’t getting dressed in his full glory just to receive her thorough dressing-down?

Her inadvertent play on words amused her for a moment, and she sat back down, leaning against the striped silk of the cushioned seat, closing her eyes, just for a moment. She’d hear him coming, particularly if he wore those ridiculous high-heeled slippers he’d worn when he’d accompanied her back to town this morning. She hadn’t been looking at his shoes, she hadn’t been looking at anything if she could help it, as remembered shame and something else swept over her. Had it only been that morning? It seemed like a week ago—a month since she’d raced off in a stolen coach to find her missing mother. It seemed like forever since she’d first set eyes on the Prince of Darkness himself.