Free The Forbidden Lady by Kerrelyn Sparks Page B

travel to faraway, exotic lands.”
    “It is hardly exotic, but you should consider visiting Dorset. I stand to inherit a sizeable estate there.”
    “Oh, how nice.” Perhaps she should tell him she was not impressed. “I have no plans at the present to go anywhere.”
    He leaned toward her. “I fear Boston is not the safest place to be at the moment. As much as I enjoy your company, I would prefer to see you safely elsewhere.”
    She was tempted to tell him the tense atmosphere in Boston would disappear if he and the army would simply go away. To her relief, the concert began.
    Most of Tory society was in attendance, along with a number of British officers—some in scarlet uniforms like Captain Breakwell, some in the black uniforms of the cavalry or the red and blue of the Royal Marines. Several of the highest-ranking officers quartered here in the Ashfords’ home in grand style. Virginia hoped to acquire more information, but it would be difficult with a redcoat captain dogging her every step.
    Her attention drifted to the tall man seated in the row in front of her. Quincy Stanton wore the lavender silk again with the lavender-tinted wig. To one side of him sat the young Miss Higgenbottom and on the other, the slender, silver-wigged Mrs. Ashford, tonight’s hostess.
    Virginia watched, aghast, as Mrs. Ashford burrowed a gloved hand under Quincy Stanton’s coat. The woman was old enough to be his grandmother. What was she doing to him?
    He calmly removed the lady’s hand from his coat and kissed her gloved fingers. She winked with a grin that threatened to crack the paint on her face. He patted her hand and held it through the rest of the performance.
    Virginia noted he wore gloves again. Did he wear them purposely to conceal hands that were as tanned as his face?
    He lounged back in his chair. The silk of his coat stretched across his broad shoulders, shoulders that must have experienced some sort of physical labor in the past. Curiously, her fingers itched to touch him, to slide across the taut silk in search of hidden padding.
    Applause interrupted her thoughts as the concert ended. She asked Captain Breakwell to fetch refreshments so he would be occupied. She then surveyed the room, hunting for the most likely target for information gathering. A glimpse of a lavender-dressed man exiting the parlor caught her eye. Quincy Stanton on his way to a rendezvous with the elderly Mrs. Ashford? He should be ashamed.
    She continued her perusal of the room, aware of the anger building inside her. Blast that Quincy Stanton . It was becoming difficult to concentrate. Why should she care if he met women in secret? She spotted Miss Higgenbottom flirting with a cavalry officer and the grasping Mrs. Ashford besieging an embarrassed young lieutenant. So, where was Quincy Stanton?
    She ambled out of the parlor and into the empty hallway. Was he in the room across the hall? No light appeared at the bottom of the shut door. She pressed her ear against the door to listen, crushing her ringlets against the wooden surface.
    She heard voices—low, whispering voices. Then, the sound of muffled footsteps drew near. She stepped back from the door, alarmed to see the latch slowly moving.
    She dashed into the parlor and stood next to the entrance, her heart beating fast. Faint steps sounded in the hallway. She caught her breath, leaning against the wall for support.
    Slowly, the footsteps faded away. When she peeked around the doorjamb, she spied Quincy Stanton ascending the last few steps of the staircase.
    She darted into the room across the hall and noted that the drapes at one window stirred with a light breeze. Whoever had been talking to Quincy Stanton had exited through the open window.
    Another breeze of autumn air fluttered the curtains. She shivered. If she wanted to know what Quincy Stanton was doing, she would have to follow him up the stairs.
    Her cautious nature rebelled as she ascended the first step. The second step creaked.