Free The Betrayal of the Blood Lily by Lauren Willig

and back again, as though he feared that sentiment might be theologically unsound, but didn’t dare to contradict a lady, especially not a lady who had already expressed an interest in taking up human sacrifice as a hobby.
    Penelope tossed down her napkin and pushed her seat back from the table. The men rose as well, the unfortunate young captain cracking his head on the sloping ceiling in the process.
    Penelope favored them with a sultry glance all around. “Enjoy your port, gentlemen.”
    She processed to the door in queenly fashion, head held high, well aware of the way that candlelight played against the fine muslin of her dress, offering the illusion of transparency that had entrapped more than one male fancy in the past. She held the pose until the door had closed behind her, giving the gentlemen time to recover from her presence and get back to suffering one another’s company. Then, with a quick look to either side, she slipped light-footed down the passage.
    It wasn’t merely tact that had prompted her to withdraw. She had another mission in mind, one best accomplished while Captain Reid was fully occupied. It would be rude for him to excuse himself without the ritual glass of port. There would be toasts to be drunk, rude stories to be told, all the usual sort of things men did once the women had demurely retreated to the drawing room.
    Penelope had a different room in mind, and there was nothing demure about it.
    Instead of stopping at the cabin she shared with Freddy, she fumbled her way to the next door down, pushing the portal open with one swift, decisive movement. A movement on the far wall caused her a moment’s alarm, but it was only the shadow cast by the lantern swaying on its hook. Cast in relief on the opposite wall, it looked like a condemned man swaying in a gibbet. Ugh. Penelope pushed the macabre thought aside. After all, it wasn’t thievery she was engaged in, just a spot of . . . inspection. That was it. A nice clean word for a somewhat dubious activity.
    Slipping into the room, Penelope eased the door shut behind her and took stock of her surroundings. Captain Reid’s quarters were smaller than the cabin she shared with Freddy, a narrow rectangle with space for little more than the basic amenities. The room already displayed all the obvious signs of masculine occupation. A shirt was tossed carelessly across the narrow berth and the Captain’s shaving kit jostled for space with a set of battered, wood-backed brushes on the narrow washstand. There was a book left open on the bed, something to do with irrigation and agricultural improvements. After shaking it vigorously to check for hidden letters, Penelope left it alone.
    There were more books in a narrow bookcase, which had been bolted to the floor, a motley collection of works, apparently abandoned by a series of occupants over time, unless they were overflow from young Captain Wheeley’s own library. He did seem the sort to wallow in Lyrical Ballads in his spare time. Penelope didn’t waste any time on them. She had found what she was looking for.
    On the warped table by the bookshelf, a portable writing desk lay open, several pages distributed across its surface, as though the writer had left them to dry before going off to dinner. They were closely written, in a tidy hand.
    They were also completely illegible.
    The hand might be tidy, but it was a script that Penelope had never seen before, all dots and curlicues like eyelashes scattered across the page. It was a letter to be sure—there was something that looked like a salutation at the top—but about what? And to whom? It felt like a cruel joke. On her.
    There were other pages beneath, though, pages that looked as though they might be written in English. Penelope had only managed to wiggle the first one free, one that began with the salutation, “Dear Lizzy”—a woman’s name, but not exactly a loverly beginning—when a horrible sound made her freeze like a rabbit in a