Free One Little Sin by Liz Carlyle Page A

expected. But will you ask Mrs. Finch to hold it for her? No matter when she might return?”
    The woman took the letter Esmée dug from her pocket. “I daresay she could forward it, if you wish?”
    Esmée shook her head. “That will take months, and I’ve already sent two, though I wonder if they got there at all.”
    The woman nodded sympathetically and returned her attention to Sorcha, who had already sunk her tiny teeth into the apple’s tender flesh. “Ah, such eyes!” she said again. Then she smiled at Esmée knowingly. “From her father’s side, I’m guessing?”
    “Oh, aye,” said Esmée a little wearily. “Definitely. From her father’s side.”

Chapter Three

In which Miss Hamilton is Taught a lesson
    Alasdair listened to the sound of Julia’s breathing, soft and regular in the night as it had been for the last several hours. He found it a pleasant, soothing sound. Sleep had not come to him so easily. Restless, he had left the bed and moved to the chaise by the windows so as not to disturb her. He was staring down into Bedford Place and watching a blue-uniformed policeman pace sedately through the gaslight when suddenly, Julia’s breath hitched.
    “Alasdair?” she murmured, rolling up onto one elbow. “Alasdair, what is the time?”
    “About four, I daresay,” he responded absently. “Did I wake you, my dear?”
    Julia rose, sliding into her wrapper as she crossed the room toward him. “What’s wrong, Alasdair?” she asked. “You usually sleep the sleep of the innocent.”
    He laughed. “God has finally rectified that error,” he answered. “I’ve been up half the night.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “Heavens, you’re smoking. Rather early for that, is it not?”
    “Or rather late, depending upon one’s viewpoint.” He caught her hand and drew her down beside him on the chaise. “I’m sorry, Julia. Shall I put it out?”
    “You know you needn’t.” She pulled her legs up and tucked her wrapper around her toes. Julia was plump, pretty, and good-tempered, and Alasdair had enjoyed every minute he had spent in her company since meeting her some months earlier.
    “Did you enjoy the play, my dear?” He rolled the ash off the end of his cheroot. “I thought your friend Henrietta Wheeler was magnificent.”
    “Pish, Alasdair!” said Julia. “You never even noticed her.”
    “What, when we went particularly to see her?”
    Julia laid a hand on his cheek. “Quick, then, which character did she play?”
    In the moonlight, he could not hide his chagrined expression. “I—oh, you are right, Julia,” he admitted. “I fear my mind was elsewhere.”
    Julia shrugged amicably. “It does not signify,” she answered. “But listen, dear boy. Before you slip out into the night, I have something I wish to tell you.”
    Alasdair gave up and stubbed the cheroot out. He had taken a sudden dislike to it. “I have something to tell you, too, Julia. Please, let me go first and get it over with.”
    “Oh, God, I’ve been expecting this!” Julia’s voice was tinged with wry humor. “What is her name? No doubt she is half my age and half my weight.”
    Alasdair grinned. “Not even a fraction of either, I’m afraid,” he admitted. “And her name is Sorcha.”
    “Ah, a Scot, then!” said Julia. “Well done, my boy. Stick with your own kind, I always say. Now tell me, how long have you known your Sorcha?”
    Dawn was flirting with the rooftops along Bedford Place by the time Alasdair finished answering that question. Early in his narrative, Julia had wisely gone to her side table and poured him a glass of his favorite whisky, which she always kept at hand. By the time his tale was told, she was pouring one for herself.
    “Good Lord!” she whispered, turning from the table. “You really do think—?”
    Alasdair propped his forehead in one hand. “Julia, I have just the vaguest of memories,” he said. “Memories of having done something I knew I would regret in the morning,