Page 17

Closing her eyes, she pictured the path she’d traversed to get to this room. It was simply a matter of reversing course.

Wasn’t it?

No time like the present to test her sense of direction. Faith had always enjoyed a challenge. Prayer couldn’t hurt either, even for a trivial matter such as finding the kitchens and then searching out Lord Constantine.

A little help would be much appreciated, Lord.

All went well until Faith descended the first flight of stairs and nothing looked the least familiar. Glancing over her shoulder, she skewed her mouth to the side.

Those were the stairs she’d climbed yesterday with Lady Edyth.

Weren’t they?

Botheration.

She continued down the corridor in the direction she thought she needed to go, then took a left. Nothing but a row of doors on either side met her inspection. Likely guest chambers.

Clearly, she’d taken a wrong turn.

A door opened somewhere nearby, and she hurried to catch whoever it was and ask for their assistance. Even she couldn’t be persuaded that the Duke and Duchess of Landrith would appreciate their son’s employee creeping about the house when she had been told—quite specifically, in fact—to remain out of sight.

I’m not creeping, she told herself as she hurried along the passage. I’m simply disoriented.

Rounding the corner, she caught sight of a gentleman dressed in the first stare of fashion striding in the opposite direction. He whistled as he strode along, his pace casual and unhurried.

“Excuse me, sir.” She hurried forward with the cumbersome tray. “I fear I’ve become turned around and cannot find my way.”

He slowly pivoted and, after taking her measure for a trifle too long to be entirely polite, flashed her a rakish grin. “Easy to do in this monstrosity.”

Perhaps in his late thirties, he wasn’t particularly handsome but possessed interesting features and cool gray eyes. Assessing eyes. Shrewd eyes. There was something familiar about his features too.

Faith would vow he didn’t miss anything, and she unexpectedly regretted the impulse to seek his help.

He bent an arm over his abdomen and bowed while giving her a disarming smile.

A tremor of disquiet skittered up her spine.

He might not be as handsome as Lord Constantine, but this man was a practiced rake.

“Martin Kellinggrave, at your service.”

Martin Kellinggrave?

One of the dreaded cousins.

Unexpected and unwelcome, genuine disquiet caused Faith to search the corridor behind him.

He hadn’t said or done anything untoward, yet Faith wished someone else would come along. In a house supposedly filled to overflowing, servants and guests were unaccountably absent.

Mr. Kellinggrave gave the tray an exaggerated stare. He obviously couldn’t figure out why she carried the tray when she wasn’t dressed like a maid.

Faith wasn’t going to answer his silent question.

“And you are?” he probed, his gaze sliding to the silver cross—a parting gift from Mrs. Shepherd—pinned at her collar before dipping lower.

A shudder reverberated through her.

“I saw you arrive with Constantine yesterday.”