Free Wicked Widow by Amanda Quick

however. The Greek was simple enough, but the words she had translated made no sense. The hieroglyphs were a great mystery, of course, although she had heard that Mr. Thomas Young was developing an interesting theory concerning Egyptian writing based on his work with the Rosetta stone. Unfortunately, he had not yet published his analysis.
    When it came to the ancient language of Vanzagara, she knew herself to be one of a very small handful of scholars who stood any chance of translating even a portion of the text. Very few people outside the family were aware of her skill. The study of Vanza and its dead tongue was considered to be the province of gentlemen. Ladies were not admitted to the Society, nor was it considered suitable to instruct them in subjects connected to it.
    Even if they had been informed that Winton Reed had taught his daughter everything he knew, few members of the Vanzagarian Society would have believed a female capable of comprehending the complexities of the strange language of the old books.
    Madeline had been working on the small volume in her spare moments for several days now. The project, difficult and demanding as it was, had been a welcome distraction from her other concerns. But this morning it was not proving effective.
    She found herself looking up frequently from her work to check the clock. It annoyed her to realize that she was counting the minutes and hours since her message had been sent off to Artemas Hunt, but she could not help herself.
    “It’s here!” Bernice’s voice rang out in the hall. “It has arrived!”
    “What on earth?” Madeline stared at the closed door of the library and listened to her aunt’s footsteps hurrying along the corridor.
    A few seconds later the door was flung wide. Bernice sailed triumphantly into the room, waving what appeared to be a white card. “This is so exciting.”
    Madeline peered at the card. “What is it?”
    “Mr. Hunt’s response to your note, of course.”
    Relief poured through Madeline. She leaped to her feet. “Let me see that.”
    Bernice handed the card to her with the air of a magician producing a dove out of thin air.
    Madeline tore open the note and read it through once, quickly. At first she thought she had misread the contents. Stunned, she went back to the beginning and went through it again. It made no more sense the second time around. She lowered the card and stared, bemused, at Bernice.
    “What is the problem, dear?”
    “I sent Mr. Hunt a message informing him that I wished to pursue a discussion of our business arrangement. He sent back this . . . this …”
    “This what?” Bernice took the note from Madeline. She whipped out a pair of spectacles, plunked them on her nose, and read the note aloud.
    “I request the honor of escorting you to the masquerade ball that is to be held on the grounds of the Dream Pavilions on Thursday evening.
”
    Bernice looked up, eyes widening with glee. “Why, dear, it’s an
invitation.”
    “I can see that.” Madeline ripped the note out of Bernice’s fingers and glared at the bold, masculine script. “What the bloody hell is he up to?”
    “Really, Madeline, you are entirely too suspicious for a woman of your age. What is so odd about being invited to a ball by a respectable gentleman? ”
    “This is not a respectable gentleman we are discussing, this is Artemas Hunt. I’ve got every right to be suspicious.”
    “You are becoming somewhat overwrought, my dear.” Bernice frowned. “Have you had trouble sleeping again? You are using my special elixir, are you not?”

    “Yes, yes. Very effective stuff.” She saw no reason to tell Bernice the truth. She had poured the elixir into the chamber pot last night, just as she did every night, because she dared not use it. The last thing she wanted to do at night was fall asleep. The dreams were getting worse.
    “Well then, if it isn’t lack of sleep that is affecting your nerves, perhaps it is something else,” Bernice