"How will you get back?"
Sarah gave the coachman what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "By coach. Through the park. And I suggest you use the same route, Mr. Birdwell. It's quicker."
* * * * *
Jarrod, fifth Marquess of Shepherdston, looked up from the stack of deciphered messages he was reading as his butler, Henderson, entered the study of his Park Lane town house. "I beg pardon for disturbing you, sir."
"What are you doing up?" Jarrod asked. "I may be cursed with the inability to sleep, but the staff needn't suffer with me. I thought everyone retired for the night hours ago."
"We did, sir, but I got up to answer the door. You have a visitor."
Jarrod glanced at the clock on the mantel and lifted an eyebrow in query. He had been so engrossed in his work that he hadn't heard the front bell. "At this hour?" Henderson nodded.
It was nearly four o'clock in the morning and although the hour was still early by the ton's standards, it was much too late to be paying a social call… unless one of the Free Fellows needed him. "Lord Grantham or either one of His Graces?"
"Neither, milord," Henderson replied. "Then who?"
"I'm afraid I cannot tell you, sir," Henderson answered. "Why not?" Jarrod demanded.
Henderson met his employer's disapproving gaze without flinching. "The young female wouldn't give her name."
"What young female?"
"The one dripping water upon the drawing room rug, sir," Henderson replied. "I would have refused her entrance," he explained, "but the forward creature insisted you were expecting her. Are we expecting a visitor this evening, sir?"
Jarrod frowned. "No, we are not."
"Shall I send her packing, sir?"
Jarrod glanced at the rivulets of rain on the window. "In this weather?" He sighed, then raked his fingers through his hair and stretched his aching shoulders before collecting his ciphers from the surface of the desk and locking them in the top drawer. "No, let's find out who she is and what she wants. Send her in."
Henderson raised an eyebrow but he didn't voice his opinion on the unusual turn of events. Unattended females did not pay calls on gentlemen and most certainly did not turn up on unsuspecting gentlemen's doorsteps.
Jarrod walked over to the drinks table, poured himself a glass of whisky, then moved to the fireplace and stoked the embers. If she was dripping water on the carpet, she'd be cold.
Henderson opened the study door and announced the visitor. "The female, milord."
Jarrod pursed his lips, then turned to face his visitor. The figure in the hooded black cape was tall and slim and, from the looks of it, soaked to the skin. "Good evening. Won't you come in and warm yourself by the fire?"
She walked over to the fireplace. Steam rose from the fabric of her cape as she neared it. "Thank you, milord."
Her voice was soft, deeply provocative, and hauntingly familiar. Jarrod took a sip of his drink, trying to recall where he'd heard it before, then suddenly remembered his manners. "Would you like something to eat? Drink?"
She gave him a mysterious smile. "It's kind of you to offer, milord, but I'm not a woman of the street — yet."
"Pardon me," he said. "But you have me at a disadvantage."
"I hope so," she breathed, flipping back her hood to reveal her face and her hair. "But I'm afraid it's rather unlikely. I don't think you've ever been at a disadvantage, Jays."
* * *
Chapter Three
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When a woman wants a man and lusts after him,
the lover need not bother to conjure up opportunities,