Page 12 of His Sinful Touch

“Well, we were also known as the Terrible Two, I’m afraid. Mother will tell you we were simply bright and inquisitive. But we did tend to be a little noisy. However, I think what made them want us at a distance was our boa.”

“Boa? As in constrictor?” Sabrina’s eyes widened, and she could not keep from casting a quick glance around the room.

“Yes. But don’t worry. Augustus isn’t here. After he got out and caused something of a riot in the streets, Mother made us leave him at the house in the country permanently. And we haven’t any of the rabbits or guinea pigs or rats anymore. It’s just Rufus and Wellie now.”

“Wellie? Another dog?”

“No, not a dog.” He shook his head, grinning. “I’ll introduce you.”

Sabrina began to smile. “You’re a very odd man, Alex.”

“Ah, but how do you know? Perhaps I’m quite usual, and you simply don’t remember.”

Her smile turned into a laugh.

At that moment, Megan swept into the room, carrying a stack of clothes, followed by a maid with an even larger armful of dresses, which she laid across the bed before leaving the room.

“Look,” Megan said cheerfully. “Prudence found some things in Olivia’s room as well as Anna’s. They’re not as simple as many I wear.”

“I like your dress,” Sabrina told the woman, meaning it. The lack of ruffles and bows let the elegant lines of the bodice and skirt shine.

“It’s useful. People tend not to take a woman in lace seriously.” Megan turned to Alex. “Time for you to leave, my boy.”

“Oh.” He looked startled, then embarrassed, his eyes flickering to the pile of white chemises and petticoats in his sister-in-law’s hands. He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.” He started toward the door, then turned back. “Sabrina...I’d like to look at some of those items in your pockets again if I may.”

“Of course.” Sabrina slipped off the jacket and held it out to him. It was a relief to get rid of the encumbrance, but it felt somehow even odder to be standing here clad in trousers and a shirt, with only the vest over it. Her womanly figure was much more obvious without the concealing jacket.

Alex’s eyes swept down her in a swift, encompassing look, confirming her opinion and making her flush with a heat that was only partially from embarrassment. She turned aside and found Megan watching her speculatively.

As soon as Alex closed the door behind him, Sabrina said, “You distrust me.”

Megan laid the clothes in her arms out on the bed and turned to her. “The Morelands are a very friendly and open family. They believe in the basic goodness of people.”

“But you don’t,” Sabrina ventured.

“I wasn’t born a Moreland. I’m a hardheaded Irish girl from the Bronx.” She came closer, and her brown eyes were no longer warm. “I won’t let you hurt them. If you try to, I will make you pay. Ask anyone—Megan Mulcahey never gives up ’til she finds out the truth.”

“I hope you do find the truth about me,” Sabrina told her evenly, looking the other woman in the eyes. “My story sounds mad, I know. I probably wouldn’t believe it, either, if it hadn’t happened to me. But it’s the truth. I have no idea who I am or why I came to London or where I belong. It scares me to death. I want to know who I am. Almost anything would be better than living in this void, even if it means finding out I’m a terrible person.”

“Do you think you are? A terrible person, I mean.”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel as if I am, but I suppose one wouldn’t. People usually think they’re right, don’t they?”

“Generally, in my experience.” Megan gave a little half smile and stepped back, her manner, if not warm, at least open-minded. “Come on, I’ll help you try on these clothes while you tell me all this again. First, why do you think you might be a terrible person?”

“Look at my face. Something dreadful happened.”

“You could have been the victim.”

“Or someone could have been angry at me for a very good reason. Or I could have attacked someone and they fought me off. Any number of things, and they’re all just speculation. But it doesn’t denote a peaceful, ordinary life, does it?” Sabrina had shed her waistcoat as she talked and now started on the buttons of her shirt. “Why do men button their shirts up on the wrong side?”

“It’s a wonder, isn’t it?” Megan sat down on the stool in front of the vanity table.

“And then there are these clothes. Dressing up as a man isn’t one’s first thought, is it? If I was merely traveling, I would go as myself, surely. And why do I not have luggage?”

“To me, it speaks of a hasty flight from someplace or someone—in all probability, whatever caused the damage to your face,” Megan agreed.

“Exactly. What ordinary young lady would do that?”