Free Scoundrel of Dunborough by Margaret Moore

the side of the bed, she glanced again at the embroidered gown. When she returned to the convent, she would likely never see such a garment again. She would certainly never have the chance to wear a gown like that, or even try one on.
    She was alone. No one except God would see if she tried it on for a few moments. Surely He would forgive her this little indulgence. After all, it would be just this once.
    She went to the chest and ran her hand over the lovely, soft silk fabric, noting the details of the embroidery, certain Audrey herself had done it. She was very skilled at needlework and could have earned a living at it, if she hadn’t considered that beneath her.
    “Me? Work like any peasant?” Audrey had demanded when Celeste suggested it. “Never! I am made for finer things!”
    Such as this gown, and a rich husband. Not for Audrey the austere but peaceful life of a convent, where everyone wore the same plain garments every day. Celeste wished that might have been possible, but she knew her sister too well to hope that it could ever have been so.
    She picked up the gown and quickly stepped into it before she changed her mind. She pulled it up and reached back to tie and knot the laces.
    It fit surprisingly well.
    Smiling, she tried a curtsy, as if she were being presented to the king.
    She spotted a white silken veil, a wisp of a thing very different from the heavier linen one she had taken from the convent. There were lovely bronze hairpins on the dressing table, too.
    With the speed of long practice, she braided her hair and fixed it around her head before attaching the silken veil. She twirled around, letting the full skirts blossom out while the veil fluttered about her cheeks like a butterfly’s wings.
    What was that?
    She stumbled to a halt and listened. Something had made a noise below.
    Or someone?
    Gerrard had said there might be thieves who’d heard about her father’s money.
    And she was all alone.

Chapter Six
    S wallowing hard, Celeste told herself it might simply be a mouse or a rat or the ginger cat.
    But she couldn’t remember if she’d locked the doors. She never had to do that at the convent. Maybe she’d forgotten.
    Perhaps it was another tradesman come to ask for payment. At this hour, though? Not likely!
    What was she going to do? She could go below and see if it was vermin or the cat, or stay up here and hope whoever—or whatever—it was remained below.
    Footsteps! Footsteps coming up the stairs!
    Her heart racing, she hurried to the large chest and pushed it against the thick wooden door. She ran back across the room and grabbed another, smaller chest and put it on top of the larger one. Panting, she picked up the stool by the dressing table, holding it at the ready.
    “Celeste? Are you there, Celeste?”
    Her arms shaking, her heart still beating like a galloping horse, she put down the stool. “What do you want, Gerrard?”
    “Lizabet tells me you plan to stay here by yourself, and that I cannot permit,” he answered through the closed door.
    He’d sounded anxious before. Now he seemed annoyed.
    Gathering up her skirts, Celeste moved closer. “I’m quite all right.”
    “I insist,” he returned, his voice more impatient. “I will not have your safety jeopardized while I am in command of Dunborough.”
    “And
I
insist that I’m quite all right.” She didn’t want to go back to the castle, where he would be. She didn’t want to risk a repetition of the previous night’s...encounter.
    “Open the door or I’ll break it in!”
    “You wouldn’t!”
    The door shook as if someone had struck it with a battering ram or a shoulder, knocking the topmost chest to the floor. The lid broke and the bottom shattered, spilling veils and pieces of cheap jewelry onto the floor.
    “There was no need for that!” she cried with frustration.
    “Open the door!”
    He would break it down, of that she was certain, so she shoved the chest out of the way. “You’ve bent the latch,” she