A Rogue No More - Lana Williams Page 0,35

gone? “I don’t see how it’s possible.”

“We’ll say I’m a distant cousin of yours. Or even better, I’ll be your aunt.”

“I hardly think you could pass as my aunt.”

“The earl won’t be able to see me to tell my age.”

Thomas shook his head, obviously displeased at the thought. “Why would I bring my aunt along to speak to him?”

“I’ll think of something. After all, I’m a writer. We shall meet at the same cab stand as the previous time.” Excitement filled her at the prospect of the outing. Or did it have more to do with being with Thomas?

“Miss Gold,” he began. From his tone alone, she had no doubt he intended to deny her request.

“Thank you for the dance, Mr. Raybourne.” She curtsied and turned toward her mother before he could say anything more.

“Another dance with Mr. Raybourne?” her mother asked even as her gaze shifted to look over Annabelle’s shoulder.

“Yes.” She knew the moment Thomas walked away. Her awareness of him was disconcerting, but she decided it might make an interesting detail to include in her next book. She’d had no idea a connection like that was possible.

“Your father told you to keep your distance from him.” Her mother studied Annabelle with a frown.

“Mother, you must know that isn’t possible since he’s involved in the publishing company.” She glanced about to make certain no one was near enough to hear. “Besides, I think Father would think differently if he met Mr. Raybourne. I have to wonder if his father’s treatment of him was ill-placed.”

“You will take care in your dealings with him. If even the smallest part of his reputation is true, that’s enough to require extreme caution.”

“Of course. I will be very careful.” Annabelle couldn’t resist turning to look for Thomas. What had it been like for him to grow up without his father’s approval? Without a pat on his back or a word of encouragement from the late earl?

She didn’t want to feel sympathy for Thomas. Not when she already had far too many feelings for him.

Chapter Eight

Thomas waited at the cab stand for the ‘widow’ to arrive, anticipation bubbling inside him. The pleasure of spending an hour or two with her countered the distressing task ahead of them. Speaking with the Earl of Arlingwood would no doubt be difficult. The lord had Thomas’s deepest sympathy, especially when he knew how upset he’d feel if he lost a brother, let alone to senseless violence.

He hated to bother the man in his grief, but if he were the earl, he’d be desperate to discover who had killed his brother and why. While there was only a slim chance they could actually offer assistance, they had to try.

He hadn’t waited long when he saw Annabelle walking briskly toward him. He’d nearly forgotten how much he detested the veil. Annabelle was a pleasure to look at, and he missed watching the various expressions cross her face. Most of all, he missed those dark brown eyes of hers, even if they often flashed a hint of annoyance. He couldn’t wait to hear what excuse Annabelle had come up with to explain her presence to the earl. The way her mind worked remained a mystery to him.

“Good day.” He offered his hand to help her into the hackney.

“And to you.” She straightened her skirts, then as the cab started forward, lifted the veil and tucked it along the brim of her bonnet.

“Is that wise?” He glanced out the windows, worrying whether she could be recognized.

“The veil is an encumbrance I don’t care for. I’ll sit back with the hope I blend in with the interior and will not be seen.”

Who was he to argue? He greedily drank in the sight of her as a parched man might enjoy a glass of cool water. Her long dark lashes swept down to cover those eyes briefly before lifting to meet his gaze. She seemed unaware of her effect on him.

“Any word from McConnelly?” she asked.

Trust her to dive directly into the issue. It was a reminder that their relationship needed to stay on the proper footing. The type that didn’t have him ogling her. “No.”

“Do you know if the earl and his brother were close?”

“From what little I know, they were relatively so. Joseph was a good seven years younger, so it’s difficult to say.”

“I propose we tell him I’m an acquaintance of yours, and my husband was murdered in a similar fashion in December. We want to speak with him as my