“I may not remember everything,” she said in a husky voice that made Adam long to kiss her again. “But how could I forget a kiss like that?”
“My thoughts exactly,” he replied with a shaky laugh. “I’m mollified to hear you found it memorable, my lady.” Of course, she would no doubt slap him when she realized she’d just kissed a complete no one.
She stepped away from him and placed both palms against the stone balustrade, looking out into the darkened gardens. “There’s something else, Peter,” she whispered.
“What is it?”
A shudder snaked through her slim body, and she wrapped her arms around herself and rubbed her prickled skin. “I have the strangest sense that I’m in danger.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Adam had nearly torn the house apart this morning looking for the blasted pages. Maggie’s pages. Or were they Cecelia’s pages? The ones that had flown into the road when she’d been nearly killed by the coach. He lined up all the servants and asked them one by one if they’d seen the pages. One of the housemaids had seen them two days ago sitting on the desk in the drawing room where he’d left them, but she swore that she hadn’t touched them. None of the other servants admitted even seeing them.
After a frustrating morning, Adam ended up back in his bedchamber. He took a seat on the edge of his bed, his palms splayed against the mattress behind him. He considered who Maggie might be. Last night, as soon as she’d mentioned that she might be in danger, he’d quickly escorted her back inside, gathered Lucy and Derek, and ensured they made their escape. How could they have been so stupid, taking her out in public that way?
When she’d asked whether the coach had been purposefully trying to run her off the road that day, he’d dismissed it, assuming it was the ravings of a woman whose memory wasn’t fully restored, but now he realized it may have well been true. She had been alone, as if she’d been lost perhaps. And the coach had made no effort whatsoever to slow or to miss her. It was entirely possible that she was in mortal danger and he, like an idiot, had agreed with Lucy that they should trot Maggie out in public to find someone who remembered her. They’d never considered the fact that they might be placing her into worse danger.
Was she in danger? The only person they knew of who had recognized her was the young blond woman at the party who had called her Cecelia. They hadn’t been able to find her later, they’d been so preoccupied with leaving. But that woman might well tell others.
Damn it. He would never forgive himself if Maggie was hurt again because of his own foolishness. No wonder he’d never made it as a spy in the War Office. He didn’t deserve to fetch brandy for the spies, let alone be one. He shook his head. That line of thinking wasn’t helpful.
What the hell could have happened to the pages? Surely Derek wouldn’t have touched them. And Lucy … Lucy had taken Maggie shopping on Bond Street this morning, despite his insistence that Maggie remain in the house. In true Lucy fashion, the duchess had ordered four footmen and two groomsmen to go with them in case anyone should try to harm Maggie, and they’d left with barely a backward glance. He was still a bit riled by it, actually.
Did Lucy have the pages? It wouldn’t be right to go rifling through his sister-in-law’s rooms.
On the other hand …
It wouldn’t hurt to merely stick in his head and take a look.
He left his room and strode down the corridor to Lucy’s chamber, which was next door (with an adjoining door) to Derek’s. To be safe, Adam knocked, and when no sound came from the inside the room, he tentatively opened it and peeked inside. The grand room was decorated with violets and tasteful white lace; fresh purple flowers sprouted from a glass vase on a table in the center of the room. It smelled like Lucy’s perfume. Adam didn’t have long to search. There, sitting in a haphazard stack on her bedside table, were the pages. Every last dusty, crumpled one of them. He strode over to the table and pulled the first page of the manuscript from the stack. Apparently, Lucy had put them in order. He scanned the page.
Lady Magnolia and the Duke, it read.
Lady Magnolia? He caught his breath. That’s why the name had seemed familiar to him.
Once upon a time in London, Lady Magnolia Makepeace, of 123 Grosvenor Square, was pretty, popular, and titled. She had everything her heart desired, except, of course, a proposal from a gentleman. But Lady Magnolia was lucky, for she was about to meet the man she was going to marry.
After the first few lines, Adam found himself enjoying the story. It was entertaining and well written. But where did it come from? Did Maggie write it? Or Cecelia? If not, where did she get it? And why did she have it in her arms that day while walking alone through Mayfair?