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“My carriage…” He shook his head and forced himself away from her. If only he could ignore his responsibilities for one night and take care of his own needs. But duty came first. “I must go. I can’t miss it.”

She gave him a wan smile, but the light in her eyes dimmed.

“I’d like to see you again,” he said before he could reconsider. “I have an obligation tonight, but tomorrow?” Surely he could sneak away from the manor for a night, especially if it meant sharing this woman’s company.

“Unfortunately, I will be indisposed.” She had the decency to look disappointed, and that was enough for him.

“Two nights from now?”

The sparkle returned to her eyes. “I’d like that. Of course, they’re calling for a storm.”

“A storm?” He scoffed. “Who told you that?”

“Everyone,” she said with a laugh.

He leaned close. “Perhaps it’s time for you to be more skeptical.”

He could have sworn he heard the proprietress chuckling from behind the bar.

The journey onto the street was far too short, and before long they faced each other, filmy fog swirling around their feet.

She grazed her hand down his sleeve, and the touch sent a pleasant shiver through his veins. “I hope your time in Ashveil is enlightening, Mr. Cavendish.”

“Phineas, please. And it already has been.” More than you know.

Assuming he gathered the evidence of fraud quickly enough, they would meet again, share another drink and perhaps more. He’d thought himself disinterested in an affair, but it seemed his body was more than ready. Benedict had been wrong—Phineas didn’t need a wife. What he needed was a good fuck.

The mysterious Bridget of Ashveil might be the start of a new phase of his life.

The clattering of hooves and wheels approached, and he looked up, peering into the distance, but could see nothing in the fog. “I think that’s my carriage,” he said absently. “I hope we⁠—”

He realized with a jolt that he was alone on the street.

She’d already disappeared into the mist, as though she’d never been there at all.

CHAPTER 4

Bridget straightened her turban as she rushed into the foyer. An obscenely long peacock feather arced from the bejeweled brooch attached over one ear. Between her headwear, the necklaces looped around her neck, and an abundance of flowing silk scarves, she looked like a child playing in an adult’s fancy clothes, not a grown woman. But the costume was necessary for the role, so she donned it every time.

Mrs. Keenan bustled up to her, her face twisted in concern. “Where have you been? Your guests are waiting!”

She held still as the housekeeper adjusted her feather. “I stopped at the Amity for a pint.” And conversation.

Mrs. Keenan’s eyes brightened. “Do you have a friend?”

Bridget sighed. She wished her loneliness wasn’t so palpable that even her elderly housekeeper encouraged her to find a stranger to cling to. In the rare times she escaped the manor, she enjoyed shameless flirtation.

Her conversation with Mr. Cavendish started that way. Interest in the Manor often led to a new customer, so a few minutes of teasing over a whisky wouldn’t harm anyone.

But the time flew by indiscriminately, and she’d raced up the hillside when she noticed the hour, grateful that her mare Lilith knew the footpath up the cliffs by heart.

“Why find friends when I have the spirits and you?” She fluttered her lashes playfully.

“And customers, in case you needed a reminder. I hope you enjoyed your little refreshment, because you have work to do.”

She heaved a sigh. At least when her work ended, Phineas would be waiting for her. An age had passed since she’d lain with a man, let alone someone as clever and kind as the stranger.

After a few days of being a spiritual guide, with several more pounds in her pockets, she’d find her way to the Amity Inn for a night of pleasure. Her future looked bright indeed.