“There might be a plague of smallpox. Or the crown prince might fall truly, madly, deeply in love with a shallow eighteen-year-old ditz whose one redeeming feature is that she plays the violin, getting you off the hook.”

“Right.” He sounded more certain. “I need that number.”

“Or my uncle might fall down a staircase,” she added.

“Right.” He paused.

“A thought?” she asked.

“Only this.” She felt lips touch the top of her spine. “You’d better be sneaking back to your apartment soon, because it’s three in the morning and we can’t afford to be compromised—either of us. But I want you to know one thing. Something I kept meaning to tell Janice, but never got a chance to—and now it’s too late.”

“What’s that?” she asked sleepily.

“I know this is crazy and dangerous, but I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Somehow Miriam made it back to her rooms without attracting any notice—possibly the sight of disheveled and half-drunk maids stumbling out of an earl’s rooms and through the corridors at night was not one to arouse undue interest. She undressed and folded her clothing carelessly, stuffing cheap theatrical maid’s costume and designer gown alike into her suitcase. She freshened up in the bathroom, as much as she could without making the plumbing gurgle. Then, completely naked, she sat down in front of her laptop. Better check it before bed, she thought muzzily. Clicking on the photo utility, she spooled back through the day’s footage, back to her own exit—neatly packaged in a gray suit—en route to her appointment with the duke.

The camera was set to grab one frame per second. She fast-forwarded through it at thirty FPS, two seconds to the minute, two minutes to the hour. After ninety seconds, she saw the door open. Pausing, she backed up then single-stepped through the footage. Someone, an indistinct blur, moved from the main door to her bedroom. Then a gray blur in front of the laptop itself, then nothing. She had a vague impression of a dark suit, a man’s build. But it wasn’t Roland, and she felt a moment of fear at the realization.

But she’d gone into the bedroom safely. Nobody had tampered with her aluminium suitcase, and her chests of clothing were already stashed in the main room. So before daring to go to bed, Miriam spent a fruitless half-hour searching her bedroom from top to bottom, peering under the bed and lifting mattresses, checking behind the curtains.