“Perhaps we should ask the innkeeper,” Royce suggested. “Surely if it is all right for him to know, it would not be amiss for me to know as well.”
“I suppose not.” Rose frowned thoughtfully.
“Oh, really, Rose,” Lily grumbled, “you cannot believe that Sir Royce is a swindler. Or that he is going to take advantage of our—well, you know who.”
“And he’s right—Mary must have told the innkeeper,” Camellia pointed out.
“Yes, but though she may have told him who, she did not tell him why she was going to see … this person whom she was going to see.” Rose began to chuckle even as she finished her sentence, and the others joined her in laughter. “I am sorry. This is awfully secretive, isn’t it?”
“Positively furtive,” Royce agreed. “In another moment, I shall become convinced that you are involved in a secret society.”
“Like in the The Secret of Castle Ordeyne !” Lily sat up straighter, her face glowing. “Where the wicked count is part of a group that supports the false prince, and they all dress up in hooded robes and meet in the dungeon of the castle.”
“Precisely.”
Lily let out a huge sigh. “Well, it’s not at all like that.”
“No? I am downcast.” Royce smiled.
“I think we should tell him,” Camellia offered. “Mary has been gone too long. I’d go looking for her myself, but I haven’t any idea where to go. If she’s lost or in trouble, we need Sir Royce’s help. And it isn’t as if our grandfather—”
“Your grandfather? Then he lives here in London?”
“Yes. That is where Mary has gone, to see our grandfather.”
“Why did he not come to meet you at the docks? Or send someone for you?”
“He didn’t know we were coming,” Rose replied.
“He didn’t know we were alive,” Lily added.
As Royce was absorbing this bit of information, a knock sounded on the door, and it swung open. Mary Bascombe stood on the threshold, looking flushed, tired, and thoroughly irritated.#p#分页标题#e#
“You!” Mary said in accents of loathing.
She wasn’t sure why it was so irritating to see Sir Royce Winslow. But it seemed the final humiliating cap to a dreadful day to arrive, red in the face and perspiring, her hair damp and crushed under her bonnet, fuming from her encounter with her grandfather’s servants, and find Sir Royce here, looking handsome and carefree, so utterly relaxed as he joked and chatted with her sisters. Mary was perilously close to the edge of tears, and it would be the absolute worst to bawl like a child in front of this man.
“Yes, I.” Sir Royce rose with easy grace and went to the bellpull. “I think something to drink might be in order. Some tea, perhaps?”
“Anything.” Mary jerked at the bow tied beneath her chin, eager to pull the hat from her head, but the bow had turned into a knot during her long walk, and her sharp movements only served to make it tighter.
“Allow me.” Sir Royce came over to her and gently pushed Mary’s fumbling fingers aside.
He smiled down into her face, his green eyes alight with amusement and some other quality Mary could not quite identify. Despite her annoyance, Mary felt herself relaxing. It was difficult to keep her lips from curving up in response to his smile. And there was something so capable, so calm about him; she could not imagine anything ruffling him.
His fingers grazed the underside of her chin as he worked at the knot, and it was all Mary could do not to shiver. It felt so pleasant and yet so different; she found her mind wandering to how it would feel to have his fingers trail all the way down her throat. She remembered the touch of his lips on hers the night before, and her cheeks warmed even more.
Mary looked away, unable to meet his eyes. What if he realized where her thoughts were straying? What if he was thinking the same thing himself ?
“There.” Royce gave a final pull, and the ribbons fell apart. He reached up and took off her bonnet, turning to set it on a nearby table.
“Thank you.” Mary hurried over to the mirror.
What she saw there was not reassuring. How had he looked at her and not burst out laughing? Her face was shiny and her cheeks beet red, and her eyes were still bright with anger. Mary dug in her pocket and brought out her handkerchief, wetting it in the washbowl and wringing it out, then smoothing it across her face. She picked at her hair and repinned a few strategic pins.
“Mary! Do stop primping,” Camellia told her. “Tell us what happened.”
“We are all dying of curiosity,” Rose added.