Page 69

Miss Hollis⁠—

If your intent was to break my heart, you have succeeded. It has not been too difficult to share your attention with others this week, for I knew our connection ran far deeper than any fleeting attachment you could make over the course of this house party. I endured their attentions with patience, certain my words had found a place in your heart.

I see I was mistaken.

Perhaps my letters were no more than a pleasant diversion to you. Perhaps I was a fool to imagine they meant anything at all.

But I will still be forever yours.

—Your ardent admirer

Lowering the letter, Millie looked at the open door. No other man had paid her the least bit of attention all week. Was this some sort of mischief? A joke?

She crossed the room at once and went directly to Wesley’s door, knocking at it. No one else stood in the corridor, and presently, she would not care if they did.

Wesley opened the door looking untidy. His cravat and jacket were missing, boots nowhere to be seen. He wore stockings, and his waistcoat was buttoned over shirtsleeves. He looked exceedingly manly, and Millie had to force herself not to reach forward and fix his hair or touch the collarbone that peeked from his open shirt. The image of him standing before the looking glass with no shirt on flashed in her mind, and her chest warmed.

“Did you have need of me?” he asked.

Yes. Back to the matter at hand. She needed to focus. Millie lifted the offending paper. “I have received another letter.”

Wesley took it, his brows drawing together as he read the words. When his green eyes settled on her once again, they were clouded with concern. “This is not romantic, Millie. It is frightening. This person does not value your privacy enough to remain outside your chamber, and they are determined to remain anonymous. I think it might be time to take the matter to Lady Dalmeer.”

“Lady Dal—you cannot be serious.”

“Has your maid been sleeping in your room at night? Perhaps you need to move to a different chamber.”

“No, but now that I know of the privacy lock, I have been engaging it.”

He nodded slowly, considering. “I do not think it is enough. What if the man is dangerous? What if it is a servant and no gentleman?”

“The writing is rather fine,” she reminded him. Even then, she considered Clara’s fine penmanship and agreed she could not discount the male servants simply because they worked at the house.

He shook his head, reaching for her hand. His thumb stroked the back of her knuckles. “What would you like to do?”

“Speak to this person. Or, short of that, compare handwriting samples from everyone in the house to these letters.”

Wesley snapped his fingers. “That’s it. We can do that.”

“How?”

“Stay here. I am going to dress for dinner, and then I will gather everything we need.” His determined expression brooked no argument. “Bring a few of the letters and meet me in the saloon. We do not want to be disturbed.”

Millie stepped back into the corridor, taking her letter with her. “Very well.”

Wesley followed her one step, his stockinged feet padding along the carpet on the floor. “We will find answers today, Millie. Do not fear.”

Before she could respond, he leaned forward and firmly pressed his lips to hers.

Millie practically floated back to her room.

“How did you obtain these?” Millie asked, looking at the table where Wesley had dumped out the basket of hopes and predictions from their game the evening before.

“Lady Dalmeer let me have them when I asked. She probably assumes I want to do something romantic with the one I wrote, and I let her think so.” He pushed in Millie’s chair, then sat beside her. “We must return them when we are finished.”

“She may certainly have them back.”

“Now we have a writing sample from nearly everyone at the house party and we can compare.”