Page 18 of How the Earl Entices

No. Her safest strategy was simply to wait.

Grimly, Alice picked up a newspaper. “This arrived two days ago. I finally read it this morning.” Her voice was grim. “You need to see this.”

Her belly knotted as Alice opened the broadsheet and laid it on the counter. Grace scanned it—

The gossip page?

She rolled her eyes. That page was home to all kinds of salacious news about theton’shappenings during the London season. She knew Alice eagerly followed such nonsense, but Grace had lived it once and had no desire whatsoever to relive it, even in newsprint from half a country away.

Alice tapped her finger on a small bit of news tucked in between all the wedding announcements. Biting back an annoyed sigh, Grace read:

Lockwood strutsthrough Mayfair like a peacock these days, now that his American heiress wife is finallyenceinteand sharing her good news with her friends—and more importantly, with her dressmaker. Could this be the long-awaited Lockwood heir?

The earth pitched sickeninglybeneath her. She grabbed for the counter to keep from collapsing.

“Like I said,” Alice whispered, the soft sound reverberating inside Grace’s chest. “You’ve run out of time.”

Chapter 6

“You.”

Ross opened his eyes. Grace had returned.

And something was wrong.

She stood in the narrow bedroom doorway, her fingers clasping the doorjamb on either side of her so tightly that even from the bed he could see her fingertips turning white. The oil slicker was open, and rain had soaked her through, leaving her dress wet and her hair lying plastered against her head. Raindrops clung to her cheeks and eyelashes—rather he hoped they were raindrops. From her stricken expression, they might have been tears.

“Me,” he returned dryly. “You said not to go anywhere, so I made myself at home.”

For once, his taunting didn’t draw an irritated reaction from her. Which worried him. She continued to stand there, wild-eyed and struggling for breath.Good Lord. Had she run back from the village?

She panted out, “I know who you are.”

He kept the surprise from his face. She couldn’t possibly know his true identity. “Because I told you. Christopher Thomas.”

“You’re Ross Carlisle, Viscount Mooreland.” The certainty with which she said that belied the violent shaking in her limbs. “Christopher is your brother.”

He froze.Thatbit of information wouldn’t be on a bill for his arrest. How the devil did she find out?

She came forward and pulled a pocketknife from her oil slicker. The blade sliced through the rope tying his right wrist. Then she slumped down in the chair, still trying to catch her breath. Her slender shoulders slumped as the rainwater puddled on the floor around her boots, but she kept the knife clasped tightly in her trembling hand.

Her gaze locked with his. “You and I are going to have a little talk.”

Despite himself, the corner of his mouth twisted into a wry smile. His situation had suddenly taken an interesting turn.

However she’d learned of his identity, it wasn’t from news of what he’d done in France. That information couldn’t possibly have reached all the way here so soon, to a tiny fishing village in East Sussex. Not when boats had been safely docked against the storm. No news in or out. He’d counted on that to secure a jump in the race to London that he’d been thrust into.

Not saying a word, with only the sound of falling rain and her ragged breathing breaking the silence, he reached over and untied his other wrist. He paused to rub the red marks where the slipknots had tightened against his skin, then sat up and untied both feet.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed to stand up and warned, “Better look away so I can dress.”

“Not on your life.” Her hand clenched tighter around the knife.

With a roguish arch of his eyebrow, he pushed himself off the bed. The throw fell away, leaving him standing there naked, daring her to look. But she kept her gaze firmly fixed on his face, despite the soft hitch of her breath.

He would have laughed if he didn’t suspect that she might very well use that knife on him for it.

Turning his back to her, he reached for the stack of clothes on the dresser. “Why do you think I’m a peer?” He smiled to himself as he tugged on his trousers. The aggravating woman had mended them for him during the night. “Is it my fashionable attire?”