Free A Dangerous Madness by Michelle Diener Page A

again?”
    He crouched on the window sill. “I don’t think they’re going to stop trying because of one miss. However, I have the impression the intruder from tonight plans to leave town rather than inform his employers of his failure, so we have some time before they send someone new after you, I hope.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “You had a conversation with the man in the garden?”
    He sent her a wicked grin. “Just a quick one. Between bouts of him shooting at me.”
    She couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped her. His sense of humour delighted her. “I admire your daring.”
    The look on his face changed, and as she watched him watch her, she suddenly remembered she had a man in her bedroom and that she was only wearing a night shift.
    “Good night, Miss Hillier.” He didn’t flinch from looking directly at her, but his voice was rougher than it had been. Deeper. “Remember, keep inside.”
    She swallowed. “I can’t stay indoors indefinitely. My aunt will wonder what’s wrong.”
    Wittaker swung a leg over and tested the lattice. “I’ll think of something. And I’ll stop by tomorrow.”
    “Will you be calling at the front door?” she asked as he disappeared from sight, desperate to claw back the light-heartedness between them. What had replaced it a moment ago was intense. Hungry. Too out of control.
    The soft rumble of his laugh drifted up to her, and she grabbed her drapes with relief at the sound.
    “I don’t know. I’m becoming quite fond of climbing walls.”

Chapter Thirteen

    Wednesday, 13 May, 1812

    J ames couldn’t remember when last he felt so well. He’d gone to bed at midnight, quite the earliest he’d had his head on a pillow in some time. He’d tried to find Dervish at their club after he’d left Miss Hillier’s magnificent house, but he’d been nowhere to be found, and short of trawling London for him, James had been forced to send him a note and go home.
    His good night meant he was up early, and as he came down the main stairs he could hear laughter from his kitchens, two deep male voices and a low, musical, feminine one.
    Miss Barrington, Aldridge’s fiancée, must be visiting his chef, although why she should do so at seven in the morning, he had no idea.
    He hesitated near the bottom of the stairs, debating whether to interrupt them.
    He wanted, in a way he couldn’t explain, a piece of the unfettered joy he could hear.
    He’d had a thin slice of it last night, laughing with Miss Hillier in her bedroom, with its rumpled bed and scented bath standing full to one side. For a moment they had both forgotten she was in her night shift and they were alone.
    And then they had remembered.
    He gripped the bannister hard and heard the laughter from his kitchens again.
    He took the last step and turned towards it, entering a part of his house he very rarely had cause to go.
    “Your Grace!” Completely at his ease, and obviously delighted to see him, Georges Bisset, James’s chef, waved him in, as if it were he who was the host, and not James.
    Which, James decided, was quite true in this particular place. Georges ruled here, and no one, not even James, could deny it.
    He walked towards the small group, noticing other kitchen staff scuttling about, far more nervous than their commander at his presence.
    The scent of lemon and bread hung heavy and delicious in the air.
    “Your Grace.” Giselle Barrington gave him as warm a smile as Georges had. “Forgive our early morning visit, but Pierre and I met Georges at the market this morning, and he told us he had come up with a special brioche. We had to come back with him to see it and try it for ourselves.”
    “You know Pierre Durand?” Georges asked him, waving his hand at the older man standing next to Miss Barrington. “He was my mentor. I was his sous-chef when we worked together for Giselle’s mother and father, many years ago.”
    Which meant the man before him, still in Giselle Barrington’s employ, although