Her Scandalous Intentions by Sari Robins

Author:Sari Robins
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub, pdf
Published: 2009-04-09T03:40:47+00:00

Chapter 22

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They left two mornings later. At Charlotte’s insistence, James sent a messenger ahead to inform the Plankertons of their impending arrival. As the carriage carried the couple and their entourage north, Charlotte and James once again went over their strategy for interrogating Edgerton’s widow. They were firmly agreed that they would not show the widow the map, but were undecided on whether or not to show her the keys. They finally agreed that Charlotte would carry the keys in her reticule and would only bring them out if the need arose during the conversations. Both of them had spent a considerable amount of time trying to understand the odd, interlocking shapes that made up the keys, to no avail.

They hoped that they would learn their relevance soon.

The carriage pulled up in front of a dilapidated old house that looked as if its best days had come and gone. The garden was overgrown, the door looked as if it had not seen a paintbrush in years, and the one shutter still hanging appeared ready to drop with the faintest wind. The hodgepodge of flat 200

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stones assembling the walkway were loose, and some were missing. James escorted Charlotte toward the front door with his arm wrapped protectively about her waist. Even though it was a simple gesture to ensure that she did not stumble, her blood quickened excitedly at his touch.

As they walked toward the house, the curtain in the front window was thrust aside and an anxious face peered out.

James knocked and from behind the door came a rough woman’s voice, challenging, “State yer business.”

James looked at Charlotte, his eyebrow raised at the rude reception. “Open the door, if you please.”

The entry opened a crack and the top of a dirty blond head peeked out.

“What’s a gentleman an lady be wantin’ with me?” asked the voice, suspicious but not hostile.

“If you let us in, you will find out,” replied Charlotte assuredly.

The door edged open wider to reveal a large woman with dirty blond matted hair, light gray eyes, and sallow skin. She touched her hand to her disheveled hair as if to straighten it, but it did not look as if anything would help except a soapy scrub. Her rumpled gown, once dark blue, had faded to a pale imitation. The woman’s calculating eye narrowed slightly, in a heartbeat noting everything superficial about James and Charlotte—their clothes, the carriage, the attendants. Charlotte felt as if she were being sized up for auction.

“Mrs. Edgerton?” James asked.

“Who’s wantin’ to know?” asked the woman guardedly.

“James Morgan, the Duke of Girard, and Miss Hastings, my fianceé. Are you Mrs. Sylvester Edgerton?”

“No, she is not,” announced a soft voice, “I am.” A small woman stepped from the shadows of the dark hallway, gliding lightly on her toes. She reminded Charlotte of a child ballerina, except this little figure wore a high-necked long-sleeved dress in darkest black. The only thing not black in

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her ensemble was the white lace kerchief clutched tightly in her small hand.

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