Harriet looked up. Harriet gathered her papers and left. They had been cut. And she knew who. George Chervil.

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Harriet looked up. Harriet gathered her papers and left. They had been cut. And she knew who. George Chervil. Anne felt herself blanch. How had he found her here? And how could he have known— The posting inn. She and Lord Winstead had been inside at least half an hour. Anyone who had been watching her would have realized that she would be riding home in his curricle. The death of a governess would most likely go uninvestigated, but an earl?

George was insane. There could be no other explanation. It was a clear act of sabotage. Worn leather does not snap in an even, straight line.

She was going to have to lie. There was no other— But Lady Pleinsworth must have been engaging in a bit of galows humor, because she did not wait for a reply. And maybe Lady Pleinsworth was right. Maybe this had nothing to do with Anne, and the vilain was indeed the Marquess of Ramsgate. And he certainly would not care if he took the life of a governess in the process.

He thought he would be safe. Lord Hugh went all the way to Italy to tell him that his father had promised to put an end to all this nonsense. Three years he was in exile. It was just a wound. But then Lady Pleinsworth turned and looked at her directly. The girls would have told you everything. It nearly kiled her before when he left the country. Anne had not known her given name. Anne shook her head.

It would have been inappropriate to ask Lady Pleinsworth to give her regards to Lord Winstead. Or if not that, then unwise. Lady Pleinsworth took a step toward the door, then paused. It was not like her employer to leave such silences in the middle of conversation. It did not bode wel. She held up a hand, instructing Anne to wait as she gathered her thoughts. I believe this is one of those times.

You are quite the finest governess I have ever employed. You have been well brought up, that much is clear, but beyond that. It is possible he might marry a girl from the gentry. But she would have to be most exceptional.

Do you understand? Lady Pleinsworth walked to the door and placed her hand on the knob. She had been warning her to stay away from Lord Winstead, or rather, to make sure that he stayed away from her. But it had been bittersweet. But of course that was impossible.

Could you imagine? Teling Lady Pleinsworth the truth about her background? And my name is not really Anne Wynter. Or maybe she cried. After a while, it was hard to tell which was which. Chapter Fifteen The folowing morning, before any female member of his family could put a stop to what Daniel knew was improper behavior, he strode down the hall and rapped sharply on the door to the blue guest bedroom.

He was already dressed for traveling; he planned to leave for London within the hour.


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He was a little bit drunk, but he thought someone had just accused him of cheating at cards. But no, he was Winstead, or rather Winstead was he, and. His head did a bob and then a weave. What was it he had been thinking? Oh, right. In fact, after that last bottle of wine, it was possibly the only thing he was certain of. In fact, he was barely able to hop out of the way when the table came crashing toward him.


A Night Like This

Hugh was dying, right there on the grass, and he had done it. It had been an accident. Hugh had shot him. And the grass had been wet. Good God, did they know that he had slipped? And then he fainted.


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