“Ouch!”
Stephen froze, cocked his head to the side, and peered once again in the direction of the Hale town house. Nothing.
“Drat!”
He clenched his jaw. He might have mistaken an owl’s hoot for ouch, but owls didn’t say drat. Stephen peered at his neighbor’s town house again, and this time he saw her.
Hanging from her third story window. “Goddamn it!” He threw open the side gate and crossed the space between their houses in five long strides. “Miss Hale!” he hissed when he was below her. “What are you doing?”
She looked down at him and frowned. “Hush! My parents will hear you!”
He could see now that her gown had caught on something sharp protruding from the window, and she was having trouble freeing the gown and keeping her handhold. She had one leg balanced on the trellis and the other perched precariously on the window casement. She tried to free herself and pinwheeled her arms when she lost her balance.
Stephen felt all the blood in his body drop to his toes. “Miss Hale!” he shouted, trying to get under her. “What the devil are you about?”
“Shh!” she hissed back. “What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to sneak over to your house.”
Stephen began climbing up, using the tree and the trellis he’d availed himself of the night before.
“Don’t come up here!” she shouted.
He ignored her and continued climbing. His arms protested. It had been some time since he’d climbed into a lady’s window, and his muscles were still sore from the activity of the night before.
“I thought I told you no windows,” he said. His breath puffed out as he pulled himself up to a higher limb. Why didn’t anyone grow trees with branches close together?
“And I would have been more than happy to oblige,” she said through clenched teeth. “Believe me.”
He could hear the fury in her voice. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to point out that she’d made a mistake.
“But how do you expect me to sneak into your house without using windows? I can’t walk through walls.”
Stephen groaned and pulled himself up again. He was within three feet of her now. If he’d stretched, he could have touched the hem of her gown.
“No one”—he hauled himself up again—“expects you to”—he scooted out on the tree limb, faltering for a second then regaining his balance—“walk through walls. You could”—he held out his hand and fumbled with the trapped piece of her gown— “use the door.”
She smacked at him, and he almost lost his balance.
“Hey!”
“Hey, yourself. Do you not think I would have used the door—any door—if I could have? My brothers just came in, and the servants are in the kitchen. This was my only option.”
“Lovely option,” Stephen muttered. Finally, he located the obstruction. Her gown had ripped, and a nail pierced the thin muslin fabric. He leaned out farther, teetering on the edge of the limb, and yanked at the material.
“You’re going to rip it,” she said.
He peered up at her. “Do you want me to free you or not?”
“Fine. Just hurry up.”
“At your service, madam.” And he tugged rather viciously, loosing the material and ripping it a bit more than was probably necessary. Bossy woman.
She started to move down, her slipper on the window casement finally finding a foothold on the trellis. Her hand followed, and she wobbled slightly as she found a place to settle.
Stephen held his breath, watching her negotiate the descent. He could just see the headline in the Times when she fell: “Westman finally takes vengeance on Hale.” He shuddered. Killing Josephine Hale would not bring him the respect he desired. He doubted even India would be far enough to recover from a scandal of that magnitude.
“Miss Hale,” he hissed when she was steady again. “I’m going to climb down. I want you to watch and then follow. Place your foot where I do. Place your hands where I do. Understand?”
“I can climb down on my—”
