Free Confessions of a Little Black Gown by Elizabeth Boyle Page B

ill digestion, but the man she’d spied in the study.
    Her heart hammered beneath her breast with a staccato tempo that seemed to announce, That is him. Him, Tally. The one you’ve been waiting for.
    Perhaps all her years of traveling with her father, of writing romantic plays, of sketching strangers and friends alike had had another purpose. To fix in her mind her ideal man.
    Tall and mysterious. Tense and aloof. And now here he was, standing across the lawn, no longer the esteemed and respectable Reverend Milo Ryder, but an entirely different sort of man.
    She blinked to make sure this time her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her, but when she opened them, she found him still there, pacing a bit, his quick, hard stride like a passionate tempo to her ears.
    But as suddenly as her awe had come over her, another question struck her.
    Whatever was he doing?
    He’d forgone the infamous Hollindrake vista, and didn’t appear to be contemplating a trip into the maze. And he certainly wasn’t walking for his health.
    No, instead the man was taking a survey of the entire south side of the house. Studying the windows, one by one. He wasn’t just studying them, nay, he was counting them, as if he was trying to discern which rooms were which.
    As she watched his finger wagging at the second-floor rooms, she saw him pause on the middle suite, where the curtains were drawn obscuring the interior.
    Whatever was he doing studying those rooms?
    Her rooms, to be exact. The ones she shared with Pippin and Aunt Minty.
    It was as if he was looking for something. Or someone.
    Tally covered her mouth with her hand, cutting off the gasp that threatened to give her away, for suddenly she found herself being tossed into something too akin to the second act in her and Pippin’s play, Lady Persephone’s Perilous Affair.
    Too close, indeed.
    Stooping down to catch up Brutus and make for the house in all due haste, her hands discovered only grass and an empty spot. Her vexing little dog had caught a whiff of something, or rather the sight of a familiar boot, and had taken off like a hare. A noisy, barking one.
    Tally had no choice but to follow her errant dog, but when Mr. Ryder whirled around, startled out of his silent reverie by Brutus’s noisy entrance, she came to a stumbling halt.
    The man she faced looked ready to do battle, alert and dangerous, his face deadly with murderous intent.
    Good God, Tally , she thought, leave Brutus to his fate and run for the house.
    Then she looked at the man again and shivered. Not because she was cold. No, because his wild gaze awakened a dangerous part of her heart. A wildness she’d always held closely in check. She should be terrified, but Thalia Langley found this man’s deadly scrutiny thrilling to her very core.
    Wavering and teetering atop her high-heeled shoes, she tried to breathe. Tried to find a voice to call Brutus back, not that it ever worked, but it might be enough to break the spell that held her in this man’s mesmerizing thrall.
    Go closer , a wicked voice whispered to her. ’Tis him. And he’s no vicar, no saint.
    As she took her first step forward, she nearly stumbled over her shoe, the strap having come loose, and so she knelt down to fix it, and when she arose, everything was different. Everything had changed.
    Oh, dear, goodness. I am going mad. To her horror, the only thing left of her rake was the bland features of Hollindrake’s dull cousin staring at her coldly.
    No. It couldn’t be , she told herself. Where did he go?
    Yet her next glance left no doubt that the man before her was a rather annoyed, yet dull-witted vicar with an overly-attentive Affenpinscher attached to his heel.
    “Off, you. Off!” he was saying in a wheezing voice, waving his hand in a motion akin to a benediction.
    And while she knew what she’d seen and she’d swear to anyone who would listen that there was more to Mr. Ryder than this unhappy vicar before her, who would believe her? It was as if