“Who-who are you?” With trembling hands, Rupert held the blanket up to his chin. His emotions swung between anger at the audacity of an intruder in his rented chambers, and terror that this was no mortal burglar.
Rupert heard a faint hiss as the apparition shifted and something, maybe an arm, pointed toward the window. “I am the shadow on the moon at night.” The words were uttered slowly, as though dredged up from the depths of hell. The arm swung toward him. “I am what you fear is under your bed.”
“What—” Rupert stopped to clear the squeak from his voice. “What do you want?” He could barely hear over the pounding of his heart.
“The women of London aremine,” the intruder rumbled, his tone dropping so deep on the last word that Rupert felt it vibrate like a massive stone being rolled in front of a tomb. “I curse you to never find a bride until your intentions are honorable.”
Rupert whimpered.
“You should leave London.” There was another hiss as the figure shifted and his appendage dropped. “Leave England.”
Rupert gulped. “Whoareyou?”
The figure took a step forward, becoming somewhat human in appearance as moonlight outlined his black-clad figure. He wore a tricorn hat and black cape that absorbed what little light fell through the gap in the curtains. His face was a pale blur, and where his eyes should be there was only blackness. He tipped his head back and opened his mouth wide, baring teeth, to utter a demonic laugh, rattling Rupert’s bones with the subterranean tone.
“I. Am. The Bogeyman.” He lunged forward, reaching for Rupert.
Rupert shrieked. Light flashed, blinding him, and Rupert fell back on the bed, senseless.
When he opened his eyes again, the apparition was gone.
Rupert stumbled out of bed, his hands shaking so badly it took several tries to light the candle on his bedside stand. He held the candle high over his head, his gaze frantically darting about the room, searching the chamber for any sign of the intruder. He quickly lit the candles on the mantel, lit every candle and lamp in the chamber, as his gaze flicked over each shadow in the room. Trembling at the prospect of what he might see yet desperately needing to know, he dropped to his knees to look under the bed.
Nothing there but dust.
He stood in the middle of the chamber, his heart pounding, limbs quivering, the only sound his harsh breathing and ticking of the clock. He checked that all the windows and doors were closed and locked, and jammed a chairback under the knob of the door to the hallway.
Clearly, he’d get no more sleep this night. Before he sat in the armchair to keep vigil until dawn with his pistol in hand, however, he needed to change into a clean, dry nightshirt.
* * *
Friday evening while preparing to attend Lady Bristol’s soiree, Ashley changed her gown no less than four times. Sally, bless her, patiently helped her change and suggested different wraps and slippers for each ensemble.
Her only outing since being drugged and assaulted had been the family dinner with her new friend, Georgia. In fact, Georgia and her parents were coming to collect Ashley and Aunt Eunice in their large coach in, oh dear, less than an hour.
Clad in only her shift, stockings, and stays again, Ashley looked over the gowns in her dressing room.
“May I suggest the cream silk with blue trim? Your red and blue paisley shawl would look a treat with it.” Sally poked through the stack of folded shawls. “Though I don’t know where it’s got to. It’s not here with your others.”
“No!” Ashley held her hand to her chest to calm the pounding. “That is, perhaps the yellow sarcenet will do after all. And the dark blue wrap.”
“Yes, miss.”
She hated the paisley shawl because Sir Rupert had touched it. And loved it because her mysterious rescuer had kept it safe for her.
Would she see him tonight? Either man.
Would she be able to maintain her composure if she saw Sir Rupert? Should she behave as though nothing had happened? Give him the cut direct? Slap him?
Ooh, that would feel good. So, so satisfying. She could almost hear the crack of her palm on his face, feel the sting in her hand, see his cheek turning red.
Everyone would stare.
People would want to know why she’d done such a thing. Behaved so outrageously.
“Miss?”
“Hmm? Oh!” Ashley unclenched her fists so Sally could slip her arms into the sleeves of the gown.
