Free Damsel in Disguise by Susan Gee Heino

been washed recently. She could only hope that meant sometime this month. Still, it would be worth it in the morning to slip into clean clothes. Their flight from London had been so sudden there’d not been time to pack any bags or grab extra clothing.
    Oh, but how on earth was she going to sleep? She’d found Anthony again. Bother, but she’d have to stop thinking of him that way. He was no longer her Anthony. He was a cold, unfeeling nobleman who had used her for his own purposes. He’d always been that; she’d just never realized it until that night Fitzgelder came to speak with Papa.
    She’d been hesitant to believe it even then. Surely Anthony would not have done that horrible thing, wagered her over a silly game of cards. Surely he’d show up to set things straight. Surely he wouldn’t be angry at her forever for misleading him as she had about her true identity.
    Of course she’d been hesitant to admit the truth—she was a mere actress, for heaven’s sake. She’d only hoped by the time he found out he might come to love her enough to see beyond what society would say. Well, she’d clearly been wrong.
    Still, he wasn’t all bad. He’d been quite amazing tonight, as a matter of fact. Without thought for his own safety, he’d tried to find that first shooter, then gone with her after Sophie. When they came upon those women in trouble, he hadn’t hesitated to get involved. She had, but Anthony hadn’t.
    No, he wasn’t Anthony. She must think of him as Rastmoor now. She needed to separate the present from the past. What had gone on between them three years ago was over and done. He was Lord Rastmoor, and she needed to remember he would always be that to her and nothing more.
    Still, she knew she wasn’t going to get any sleep for all the wishing.
    There was a soft knock at her door. She’d locked it up tight, though she’d never actually expected Rastmoor to pay any heed to it. She figured he’d likely end his night with one of the women patrolling the common room downstairs. That would be his way, to take what was easiest and get what he could from it. Yet who else would be knocking on her door at this late hour?
    Only one way to find out. “Who is it?” she called softly.
    No one answered, and she had just about decided she must have imagined that knock when she heard it again. Well, perhaps whoever it was couldn’t hear her. Or perhaps it was Anthony—Rastmoor—and he was choosing not to draw attention to himself by answering her. Indeed, if he felt there were danger of some sort, he would wish to keep as quiet as possible.
    She yanked the blanket off the bed and wrapped it around herself. What danger could it be? Heavens, was someone trying to kill him again? She hurried to the door and fumbled at the lock. Her nerves didn’t help things, but at last she got it open.
    It wasn’t Rastmoor. It was the older man from the common room. His face glowed redder than ever, and he smiled.
    “Good evening, sir,” he said cordially. “Mind if I step in for a moment?”
    Julia hugged the blanket tightly against herself. Heavens, this was certainly not what she’d expected! Apparently the man still believed her disguise, although how he could possibly now with her standing huddled under a blanket, she couldn’t fathom. Certainly she had no intention of inviting him in.
    But apparently he had no intention of waiting for an invitation. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he pushed past her and tottered into her room. She was too dumbfounded to protest. As a gentleman, of course, she could hardly get all missish over this. As a woman, though, she could hardly let him stay. She struggled to find a manly pose under her blanket and tried to be subtle.
    “I’m surprised, sir. It’s rather late, and I thought you’d likely be in your own room by now.”
    He didn’t get it. “Ah, sorry about that, lad. I just didn’t want to be too obvious about things with your friend downstairs. He seemed