She already had more than enough drama with her stepmother’s theatrics. Lawks, that woman should have becomean actress. God only knew how Lady Camilla had beguiled her father, but Louisa could see straight past that woman’s false smiles.
She took another sip of milk.
It wasn’t that Louisahatedher stepmother. Though she couldn’t claim she loved her all that much either. The woman was...
Scheming.
Greedy.
Controlling.
Nothing could be done without her approval. The duchess even dictated Louisa’s fashion. This was why when she, Lady Ophelia, and the heiresses rebelled and distributed copies of the pages of the betting book in a most public fashion earlier in the season, her stepmother’s fury had nearly set their household ablaze.
If her father, the duke, had not been present...
Louisa shuddered.
Camilla always wore the look of a sweet, doting wife whenever her father entered the room. When they were not in the same room, her entire demeanor turned rigid and disdainful.
Hah! If it hadn’t been for Papa, that woman would have married her off years ago. But Louisa refused to marry. Not while her brother Leo was still so young and easily influenced. Louisa couldn’t say exactly what it was, but the way the duchess stared at her stepson... it set off a clamor of concern in her heart.
So, Louisa had taken it upon herself to make sure that her brother did not fall under the influence of their stepmother. Whatever her intentions—and she could sense intentions—she would keep an eye on the duchess. Luckily, Papa and that woman were attending several house parties for the next fortnight and she and Leo were here on their own.
Exhaustion tugged at her eyelids.
Lousia swallowed the last of the milk and placed her cup on the table. That should do the trick, shouldn’t it? She reached for the candle and slowly made her way back to her room. Tomorrow, she had to decide whether she would keep that blasted betting book or send it to one of the other heiresses for safekeeping.
A sudden chill swept down her neck as she neared her chamber, sending the hairs at her nape to stand at attention. Then—a creak. A thud. A muffled oath.
She froze.
What on earth? Was someone in the house?
A servant?
No, the servants should be in their quarters.
Her fingers moved faster than thought, snuffing out the candle’s flame. The dark unsettled her, but she refused to let it rule her. She rubbed her singed fingers together, her grip on the candelabra tightening.
Someone was in her bedchamber.
Should she scream?
No.
That might rouse her little brother, and who could guess what he would do if he were startled awake and frightened. He was only ten years old—she needed to protect him. So instead of retreating, she inched forward, heart pounding, lifting the candelabra, ready to swing. Hardly an ideal weapon, but it would do in a pinch.
She couldn’t just leave. At the very least, she had to catch a glimpse of this intruder, even if just a fleeting one. Otherwise, she would never sleep again!
This is reckless, Louisa.
So be it. It wouldn’t be the first reckless thing she’d ever done. She peered through the crack of the door, and her breathcaught. A large, dark, male figure loomed over her writing desk, rummaging through the drawer. The very air stilled, her hands trembling slightly. The smart choice would be to retreat and hide with her brother, but her feet refused to move. They were rooted to the carpet as if some unseen force kept them there.
The dark figure suddenly straightened to his full height, pushing the drawer shut.
Tall.
So tall.
