Thief of Shadows (Maiden Lane #4)(32)

“Yours sounds like a lonely childhood,” he murmured, low enough that Butterman couldn’t hear.

“Does it?” She faced him again. “But it wasn’t. I had many friends and that same girl cousin I argued with when young is now an intimate. There were parties and teas and picnics in the country. I had a very happy girlhood.”

She curtsied as he bowed. “When I was old enough, I came out—to great acclaim, if I do say so myself.”

His dark eyes lit. “I can believe it. You must’ve had scores of young aristocrats at your feet.”

“Perhaps.”

He shook his head. “Did you think about what you were looking for in a husband? What type of man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?”

What was he getting at? “I suppose I thought mostly of elegance and form, like most young girls,” she said cautiously.

His eyes narrowed. “And yet you married Beckinhall?”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “You make poor Edmund sound like a dire fate. He wasn’t, you know. I was quite fond of him, and he of me.”

His face was expressionless. “He was also much older than you.”

“No, to the left here.” She shrugged as he circled her in the direction indicated. “What of it? Many marriages are made with differing ages.” She glanced at him slyly with a sudden urge to provoke—he was so grave today! “I do assure you that I was quite… satisfied… in my marriage.”

They linked hands, about to skip sideways, but he tugged over hard on her fingers, making her fall against him.

“Oof!” She looked up at him, startled.

The harpsichord clanged in discord before Mr. Butterman caught himself.

“Oh, dear,” Mr. Makepeace drawled. “I do beg your pardon.”

Isabel narrowed her eyes. Each breath she took pushed her breasts into his chest. “Do be careful, Mr. Makepeace. Complicated maneuvers such as the one you just tried are better left to those more experienced.”

“Ah, but, Lady Beckinhall,” he said as the corners of his mouth twitched, “I hope under your tutelage to be experienced quite soon.”

“Yes, well…” She stepped back, trying to regain her breath. “Shall we try again?”

He bowed. “As you wish.”

“I do wish.” She nodded at Butterman.

Once again they faced forward, repeating the steps, though she wasn’t sure why since he seemed to have already learned them in a damnably short time. When she glanced at him, he was studying her thoughtfully.

“A penny for your thoughts,” she murmured.

“I was just thinking,” he said as he paced toward her, “how very stupid your husband must’ve been to stray from you.”

She braced herself, but still his words hurt. “I never said that.”

He merely looked at her.

She inhaled. “I assure you I thought nothing of it. Marriages among my rank are often more friendly than passionate.”

“And yet you are a passionate woman,” he whispered as he took her hand and raised it. They circled each other as he spoke. “Has anyone cherished you just for yourself?”

She looked up and laughed at him. “This question from the man who takes care of everyone yet whom no one takes care of?”

He frowned slightly. “I don’t—”

“No, no,” she said softly, placing her hands on his hard hips and turning him. “Like this. And you do know exactly what I mean.”

They stopped dancing, oblivious to the music still playing.

“Do I?” he asked.

“We might come from terribly divergent backgrounds, Mr. Makepeace,” she murmured. “But I do assure you I can recognize one as lonely as I.”

He stilled. “You keep surprising me, my lady.”

“What do you do at night,” she whispered impulsively, “after all the children have gone to bed? Do you lie in your own lonely bed—or do you walk the streets of St. Giles?”

His face closed as surely as if a door had shut. “You also keep drawing me in,” he murmured as he stepped away from her, “when I know you are a danger to my mission in St. Giles.”

She knit her brow. Mission? That sounded very religious. Surely he couldn’t—

“I think our lesson must be over with for today,” he continued.

He bowed and was out the door before she could react.

“Shall I retire, my lady?” Butterman asked diffidently from the piano.

“Yes. Yes, that will be all, Butterman. Thank you,” Isabel replied absently, then reconsidered. “Wait.”

“My lady?”

She looked at her butler, a man who’d been in her service since her marriage. She’d never really thought about it, but she trusted him implicitly. That made up her mind. “I’d like you to do something a little out of the ordinary for me, Butterman.”

He bowed. “I’m always at your service, my lady.”

“And I thank you for it,” she said warmly. “I’d like you to find out everything you can about the Ghost of St. Giles.”

Butterman didn’t even blink. “Of course, my lady.”

She continued staring at the door where Mr. Makepeace had left long after the butler had gone about his business.