Page 74 of The Duke Undone

In the end, the judges had barely entertained the case against him. Nothing to do with conscience. Everything to do with his father.

“In any event, I was acquitted. With honor.” Perversely, the acquittal was the beginning of the nightmare.

She was staring, face shadowed, jaw tensed, brows two sable slashes, marking her forehead with a frown. She took a breath, as though to respond, then gave herself a little shake. Her last hairpin had loosened and a mass of curls fell across her shoulders. She shoved it back, peering past him at the street, almost empty.

“What time is it?”

He told her, slipping the watch back into his pocket.

She groaned. “I’ll be ruined for tomorrow.”

“Shall we, then?” He extended his arm. She looked at it until he sighed and took her elbow.

“You don’t hold me in high esteem, I know, but you’re mad if you think I’ll allow you to walk these streets alone at this hour.”

“I walk where and when I please,” she muttered, but she didn’t resist, her weight warming his side.

When they turned off Charlotte Road and stopped in front of the dress shop, she slipped free, leaning her back against the door.

“Run,” she advised, closing her eyes. “If Aunt Marian wakes up and sees you, you’ll wish you were at Maiwand.”

But retreat wasn’t an option. He waited, and Miss Coover spoke again. “I didn’t sleep much last night, or the night before.” She laughed. “Or the night before.”

She sighed and opened her eyes. “You’re still here,” she observed. “Well, I’m going in. As soon as I dislodge this rock from my shoe.”

He glanced down. She was rubbing one muddy slipper on the other. When he glanced up, her eyes were closed again. “Dislodge it inside,” he suggested, and swept her into his arms.

Her room was at the top of a narrow back staircase. As he maneuvered through the doorway, her elbow connected with his solar plexus and he grunted.

“Put me down,” she said. He obliged her, so rapidly she clung to him to keep her balance. Her weight depending from his lapels brought his neck down. He touched the top of her head lightly with his lips, feeling the roughened silk of her curls. Did she feel it, his mouth on her hair, his breath against her scalp?

She held still a moment longer, then turned away from him and lit the lamp. Light flared up along the steeply sloped ceiling. He crossed his arms, afraid to move for the clutter. Canvases leaned facedown against the walls, in stacks of threes and fours, reducing the square of usable space. The crude shelves nailed to the walls displayed a collection of bottles filled with brilliant powders. A little table beside the easel held glasses of murky water. The floor was covered with cloth spattered with all the colors of the rainbow. The bed, small, plain, shoved along the wall, seemed an afterthought.

Sighing, she took off her shoes. She dropped them on a paint-spattered cloth, and it squeaked. The cloth rippled.

She rolled her eyes.

“Mr. Malkin was once the fiercest mouser in Britain. He’s hung up his sword, sadly.”

“That was a mouse?”

“Of course it was a mouse.” Her voice sharpened. “We don’t have rats.”

“Do you make them walk the plank?” he asked. She stared at him; then she followed his gaze to the board propped against the back of a wooden chair and laughed.

“No, that board has a different purpose. I’ll show you.” She made to climb up onto the chair but her tight dress, and imperfect balance, prevented her.

“You do it,” she said. “Slide back the cover.”

Perplexed, he took the narrow board. He didn’t need to climb onto the chair. He raised the board to the ceiling.

“There aren’t any windows up here,” she said. “So I made a skylight. Well, it’s almost a skylight. It’s a hole really, with a pad of oil cloth to cover it when I’m not painting.”

He pushed up and over, sliding back the heavy cloth. The night air sank down through the opening in the roof, a stroke of cold, silvering the room, bewitching it.

“Oh,” she said, her breath catching. “You can see the moon.”

He looked. The moon filled the visible square of night sky. Shut up in an attic, Miss Coover had sawed her way to the sky. She was more than extraordinary. She was marvelous, miraculous.