A View to a Kiss

by Caroline Linden

  “I never said that.” He folded his arms and leaned back on the windowsill, his shadow firming into a more definite silhouette. His hair was wavy, she saw with interest—or perhaps just tousled from his climb. Oh, how she longed for him to turn his head, or bend down so the moonlight would illuminate his face…

  “Then where did you go? I looked and looked—” She broke off, chagrined at herself for blurting that out.

  “Did you really?” His voice warmed. “How very flattering.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I was merely curious to see who would do such a rash thing. I’m only glad it wasn’t a waste of time.” Mariah heaved what she hoped was a carefree sigh. “I met ever so many more gentlemen whilst looking for you.”

  “I hope they were more to your liking.” Dark amusement lurked in his voice; he was teasing her. Mariah longed to say yes, she had met a dozen immensely fascinating men after he disappeared, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t true. She hadn’t met any man half as intriguing as the mysterious one now sitting on her windowsill.

  “None of them felt compelled to leap off a balcony to avoid being seen with me,” she settled for saying.

  “And none of them climbed thirty feet up a wall to see you again tonight, did they?”

  That was true. She couldn’t stop a glowing burst of feminine satisfaction. “And why did you?”

  For a long moment he didn’t answer. “Because I wanted to see you again.”

  “Why?” she pressed. “You hardly know me.”

  “No,” he agreed. “It’s a risk, I know. You might be as vain and silly and spoiled as any young lady in London. Certainly not worth risking a broken neck, as you were so kind to warn me.”

  Her mouth dropped open in shock.

  “Still,” he went on in the same thoughtful tone, “I really had to come, just for my own peace of mind. I couldn’t sleep at all last night for thinking of your voice.”

  Oh, dear. Her stomach fluttered and her toes curled. Mariah licked her lips. “Why didn’t you come to call on me today, if you were so curious?”

  “Didn’t I?” He leaned forward, and a slash of moonlight moved over his head for an instant, too quickly for Mariah to make out any of his features. “Am I not here?”

  There was something in his voice, some quiet undercurrent, that made her abruptly, acutely, aware of just how near he was. Here in her dark room, the house slumbering around them in peaceful ignorance, it was just the two of them, alone and unseen and well outside the rules of propriety. Her skin prickled with nervous excitement. “I suppose you are,” she murmured, peering into the darkness that cloaked him.

  Harry sensed the instant her curiosity became more sensual and less intellectual. He’d caught her off guard with his unorthodox visit, but now she was fully aware that a man was in her bedchamber and that they were completely alone. She had shifted her weight, from sitting cross-legged in front of her bank of pillows to leaning toward him propped on one arm. Her fingers twisted the end of the long dark braid that lay over her shoulder, and her head tilted to one side in a pose of innocent allure.

  He stayed where he was. This visit, after all, was not to seduce her, but to see if his impressions last night had been correct. Good God, she was beautiful; when she leaned out her bedroom window, he’d been frozen to his spot in a shadowed hedge, mesmerized by the way she turned her face up to the sky, her eyes closed and a small smile on her lips. He had been compelled then, compelled to climb a vine that ought to have dumped him straight back into the dirt and compelled to ignore every caution and rule imposed on him by asking to come into her room. And she was pleased that he had; with his back to the window, he could see her expression as clear as day without letting her see him. He knew that would only make her more curious about him, but he couldn’t afford to give himself away yet.

  The thought brought him up short. Not yet? Not ever. Because he was, and always would be, beneath her. Seducing Mariah Dunmore would be ruinous for her and, if he were lucky, merely the most dishonorable thing he had ever done—and thanks to his current employment, that said a great deal. If Mariah knew who and what he was, she’d certainly not welcome him into her room ever again.

  “What shall we do now?” came her suggestive whisper, driving home the point.

  Harry clenched his jaw and forced down the surge of desire her question caused. This was no scullery maid or tavern wench, ready and willing to be tumbled. “I think we’ve talked quite enough.”

  “R-Really?” The catch in her voice, revealing her to be at once startled and intrigued, acted like fuel on the desire smoldering inside him.

  “Yes,” he said, keeping his tone careless even as his body roared to life at the thought of what she might allow him to do if he could just set aside his last few scruples. He wasn’t quite prepared for that. He had expected she would hold him at arm’s length, where he belonged. “Good night.”

  “What? No, wait,” she exclaimed, scrambling toward the side of the bed. Harry instinctively ducked toward the window, and she leaped back. “Stay,” she cried softly. “Please.” He paused, hands on the sill, and looked back at her over his shoulder. “Why didn’t you come see me during the day, as other gentlemen do?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  He shrugged again as a clock somewhere in the house began to chime. In eight hours he had to be at Lord Crane’s house. “I can’t.”

  She was quiet for a minute. “Who are you?” she asked slowly. “Who can’t come calling during the day?”

  He took another look out the window. The garden appeared deserted, and temptation loomed behind him. He had better leave before he lost his mind entirely. “Good night, Lady Mariah.”

  “Stop!” He paused, balanced on the windowsill. “You will come again, won’t you?” she whispered, hope unmistakable in her voice.

  Harry wavered. If he were caught, neither Stafford nor anyone at the Home Office would be able to save him from her father’s wrath, even if they tried—and he knew they wouldn’t. No one would fault Doncaster in the slightest for shooting a man sneaking into his daughter’s room. It was quite likely suicidal to approach her again. The correct answer, the only answer, was a firm and final no.

  “Perhaps,” he said, and slid down the vines before he committed any unpardonable sins.

  Mariah leaped out of bed the moment he was gone and ran to the window. Yanking back the drapes, she strained her eyes into the dark night. She didn’t hear anything other than the dying chime of the clock, and what was worse, she didn’t see anything. She scanned the garden, but there was nothing, not a shadow moving, not even a rustle of the ivy. How the devil had he slipped into their garden and climbed up the ivy to her room without being seen by anyone or leaving any trace of his presence? She leaned out as far as she dared, craning her neck in every direction, and still saw absolutely nothing.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Mariah retreated from the window. Gone, like a ghost or a phantom. But he had been there—she put her hand against the windowsill where he’d leaned his weight, the wood still warm—and instead of curing her fascination, he had only increased it. There was something dangerous in him, something mysterious and compelling that she was helpless to resist. Was he a scoundrel? A thief? A spy? She didn’t know, but a coy, delighted smile spread across her face. Whoever he was, he found her as intriguing as she found him.

  Farewell to her pose of indifference; she cast it off without a second thought. She might not know much more about him, but she did know she wouldn’t rest until she’d found him.

  Chapter 6

  “Joan!” Mariah flew up the stairs of the Bennet house, waving a greeting to Lady Bennet, her aunt Marion. Joan’s mother was her mother’s sister, and she and her cousin had been close all their lives. Now that Mariah was back in London, they had been coming and going like sisters in each other’s homes. Lady Bennet waved back, her only reproof a quick shake of the head. Mariah slowed to a walk until she reached th
e top of the stairs, at which point she hurried on again. Her heart fluttered against her ribs like a bird straining out of its cage, wanting to be free to soar. “Joan! Where are you?”

  “Here.” Her cousin appeared in the doorway of her room, head cocked. “What’s the matter? You know I’ll hear from Mother about all the shouting…”

  “Never mind.” Mariah pushed Joan back into the room, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the wall, breathless with excitement and exertion. “Joan, we must find him!”

  “Him?” Joan’s eyebrows went up. “You don’t mean…Harry?”

  Mariah nodded, hands clasped to her breast as a dreamy smile floated over her face. “Harry.” She, too, whispered the name. Which was absurd, because no one could hear them or would have the faintest idea what or whom they were talking about. Her mysterious visitor was a complete and utter secret, only between her and Joan. And a wonderful, romantic secret, too. The idea made her giddy.

  “Why?” Joan took her by the shoulders, serious for once. She peered closely at Mariah. “Have you taken a fever? You look flushed.”

  Mariah seized her hands and laughed. “No doubt! Oh, you’ll never guess…” She trailed off, thinking again of how he had scaled the wall to her bedroom to see her, like a knight of old braving the sleeping dragon to court the fair princess. The very thought was enough to make her hands tremble and her stomach feel fluttery.

  “Well, tell me!” Joan exclaimed. “What happened?”

  “He came to see me last night.”

  Joan frowned. “He did? But then you know who he is.”

  Mariah shook her head. “I didn’t see him. It was very late. And very dark. I was almost asleep when he climbed in the window.”

  Joan’s mouth opened as if she would scream, but no sound came out. Mariah nodded. “He came into your bedroom?” Joan whispered, incredulous.

  Mariah nodded again, spinning away from the wall in a lazy waltz step. “Yes, indeed.”

  “In the middle of the night?” Joan followed, eyes still leaping from her head. “You’re ruined, then!”

  She stopped. “Of course not! Don’t even say such a thing.” She softened her stern tone. “He never came near me. A perfect gentleman—well, aside from the fact that he was in my bedroom at midnight—but Joan! It was so romantic,” she said on a sigh. “And I could have talked to him all night.”

  Joan sat on the chaise with a thump, still stunned. “Like a knight rescuing a fair maiden,” she said, echoing Mariah’s thought. “Like Romeo risking his life to see Juliet…Do you know, I believe I am quite jealous of you for the first time in my life.”

  Mariah laughed. “You should be! I feel like I could fly! Or at least run through the streets laughing and singing. I think I’ve never been really alive until now.”

  “You’re in love.”

  Mariah snorted. “No. I don’t think so. Not yet. But I am well and truly infatuated.” Both of them laughed.

  “That settles it: we must find him.” Joan crossed the room to her writing desk and pulled out the chair. She took out her journal and opened it with a determined air. “As soon as possible. How intolerable that you still don’t know his name!”

  Mariah twirled around again, then threw herself onto her cousin’s bed. “I quite agree. Where shall we start?”

  Joan dipped her pen in the inkwell, ready to write. “What do you know about him?”

  Mariah sighed, sadly this time. “Nothing. He might be a Whig for all I know, although I didn’t ask—it was bad enough to receive a gentleman at night, let alone a Whig gentleman—”

  “Bother all that,” Joan interrupted. “What do you know about him? How tall is he?”

  Mariah frowned up at the ceiling, thinking of his shadow against her window. “Half a foot taller than I am, I think. Perhaps a little more.”

  Joan wrote it down. “Hair?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mariah,” Joan grumbled.

  She laughed, then shook her head. “I cannot tell you anything beyond the fact that he has hair. Not too long, but not too short. I’d wager it’s dark, but cannot say for certain. Perhaps wavy.”

  Joan snorted, but made a note. “I suppose nothing about his face.”

  “He has a very handsome profile,” said Mariah dreamily. “And he must be very strong and agile to climb up that old ivy—do you know, it must be thirty feet from the ground—”

  “Stop! You’re making me want to plant ivy outside my own window, even though I’d be an old woman before it grew high enough for anyone to climb.” Joan stared into space for a moment. “So he must be a young man,” she said thoughtfully. “But not too young. Strong. Tall. Witty. Charming. And he has hair. Why can I not meet such a man?”

  “You will,” said Mariah. “And you must help me look for this one.”

  Joan sighed and shook her head. “But you don’t know anything useful. The only thing you would recognize in daylight is his voice.”

  Mariah rolled over and sat up. “Then that’s how we’ll find him. We’ll simply talk to every man in London.”

  Joan looked doubtful. “It will take forever.”

  Mariah thought for a moment. That was unacceptable. She wanted to start searching for him this very instant. “The park. We’ll go to the park. Everyone goes there, and it would be quite natural and ordinary to greet gentlemen passing by.”

  “You could just force him to tell you himself,” said Joan. “That would be much faster.”

  She bit her lip. She didn’t want to tell Joan her vague suspicion that Harry was someone not quite…proper. She couldn’t think of any other reason why he wouldn’t tell her his name or come to call on her properly or even let her see his face. She wasn’t even entirely sure she wanted him simply to tell her; he was a mystery, rather exciting and undeniably romantic. “I don’t know how I could. I don’t even know if he’ll come back to see me.”

  “Of course he will!” Joan exclaimed. “How could he not?”

  Mariah hoped she was right, but Harry had defied her expectation at every turn so far. “I did ask him to—”

  Her cousin gasped in shocked delight.

  “—but he only said perhaps. He might decide it’s not worth the trouble.”

  Joan made a face. “If he doesn’t come back, that will solve your trouble over him.”

  But not to her satisfaction. Not only would it be very unflattering if he never came back, it would be disappointing in a way she didn’t even want to consider.

  Joan apparently realized that, and abandoned the topic. “How long do you think we’ll have to walk through the park before you manage to speak to him?”

  “I don’t care.” Mariah bounced off the bed, determination taking root in her breast. “All I need to hear is a few words. If we go every day, surely a week will be sufficient.”

  “A week!” Joan put down her pen. “Well, I suppose. When do you propose we start?”

  “Why not now?”

  Joan, who was not fond of exercise, groaned again.

  Mariah headed for the door. “Do you really want to remain here and listen to lectures on shouting in the halls? I suppose I could take Sally, to speak to all those gentlemen…”

  “Oh, wait!” Joan stuffed her journal back into her desk and hurried after her. “I could hardly subject you to that torment without suffering with you,” she said primly.

  Aunt Marion gave her permission for the stroll, eyebrows raised. Mariah fidgeted impatiently while Joan went to change her shoes, but finally they were off, with Janet, Aunt Marion’s imposing abigail, marching behind them. Mariah hoped Janet wouldn’t frighten off any and all gentlemen who might speak to them, but knew they wouldn’t be allowed to go without the woman.

  “So,” Joan said, slipping her hand around Mariah’s arm, “tell me more.”

  “I already told you all I know about him.”

  “No, no,” her cousin said with a flip of her free hand. She leaned even closer. “What did he say? How did you kno
w it was he? Tell me everything!”

  Mariah couldn’t hide a smile. She cast a quick glance back at Janet—still striding along, three respectful paces behind them—and lowered her voice, too. “It was so unexpected. I had already gone to bed, but was not asleep—”

  “Were you thinking of him?” Joan wanted to know.

  Mariah pursed her lips. “Only because I had quite given up on finding him.”

  “No, you hadn’t, but go on.” Joan’s eyes sparkled as if she, too, had a secret suitor.

  “Then I heard a voice at the window, asking if he might come in. I asked who it was—”

  “As if you didn’t know!”

  “And he said Harry,” Mariah finished with a blissful smile. “I said yes, before I thought better of it, and then he climbed through the window!”

  “Oh.” Joan sighed happily. “What did you talk about? How long did he stay? Are you not worried your parents will find out?”

  Mariah shuddered. “I don’t want to think what would happen if Papa learned of it. And you are the only soul on earth who knows, so if he discovers it, I shall know whom to blame.”

  “You can’t think I would reveal it! Even if it weren’t the most exciting secret imaginable. If my mother were to find out I had anything to do with it, I would never be let out of the house again.”

  Mariah nodded. “Right. It is our secret, then.”

  Joan heaved another sigh. “All I have is the secret part, while you have the suitor, too.”

  “That’s just luck,” Mariah said. “I would do the same for you.”

  Joan laughed, somewhat wryly. “I expect no less, if anything remotely like it should ever happen to me.”

  They had arrived at the park, and Mariah’s steps quickened as they left the city streets behind. It was early still, but the day was so fine there were already many people taking the air. The most fashionable ladies wouldn’t come until later, but gentlemen were exercising their horses and flirting with the ladies who had ventured out. Even though she knew there was no guarantee of success, even though the chances of meeting one particular man this particular morning in the sprawling park were very small, her heart skipped a beat, and that strange fluttery feeling invaded her stomach again.