To top it all off, she had outshot and outridden her male acquaintances at every local competition and charity event. Was it any wonder she had balked at her mother’s prissy tea parties with their bland conversations and the debutant balls where her only partners were bribed?

A dreadful future had yawned before her, filled with useless inanities. She had wanted more from life than to nibble on cucumber sandwiches and sip tea in party dresses. She wanted to matter—to make a difference.

In desperation, she had reached out to Uncle Roger, her uncle at the Home Office, the one with the hush-hush government job. Uncle Roger had suggested she put her unique brand of talents to good use.

Taking him at his word, she had done so, even changing her name to level the playing field when SIS hired her. Both moves had paid off. For the first time in her life, she was not an oddity. Successful, thinking-on-her-feet missions had earned the respect of her peers and had bagged her a star and several recommendations on Nigel’s wall.

Footsteps in the corridor jolted her back from the past.

“Lady Elise, Lady Elise,” a young female voice called outside the music room door.

A vein pulsed above Elise’s left eye. Why had that silly twit come down this hall to find her? She stared longingly at the exterior door on the opposite side of the room. If she rose to her feet, Maeve would spot her.

The gilded harp and grand piano, the only sizable objects in the room, provided no sort of cover. She flattened herself on the upholstery and lowered the electronic reader onto her chest, crossing her fingers that the maid would continue down the corridor.

Why Maeve had entered this wing of the castle baffled her. Everyone at Torwoodlee knew that Elise would sooner fly a one-winged plane than bang out a concerto on the piano’s ivory keys. As a child, her talent on the harp lay in over-stretching its strings and taking great pleasure when they popped.

Footsteps hesitated in the open doorway, then entered the room, stopping beside the chaise where she lay. Elise bit her lips to keep the colorful phrases that thickened her tongue from spewing out her mouth.

“Lady Elise, you must come at once. Sammy’s run off. I couldn’t catch him; he was too fast.”

Of course Sammy was fast. He was eight years old. “I take it you lost him again?” Elise lifted a brow, her tone dry as unbuttered toast.

“No, my lady. I know exactly where he is.”

“You do?” Elise sat up and stored her e-reader under the scatter cushion before she rose to her feet and started for the door. That was a new development. Usually, the staff hadn’t a clue where the boy had wandered.

“He took the dory out on the loch.”