Language, chimed half a dozen female voices in his head, but he ignored them.

The sun was only now emerging, its tentative light barely illuminating the room. Hopefully this meant she’d left not too long ago. He checked the pockets of his own clothes and found money, switchblade knives, the maître d’s fob watch. So she hadn’t paused for robbery. Did that leave her under-resourced, or were her pretty lacy drawers already weighted down with coins and secret weapons? He should have checked last night. For that matter, he should have tied her to the bed.

That thought, mingling with memories of her drawers, and the bare calves beneath them, made him groan. He hastily pulled on his clothes, wondering what was the best plan for chasing after her. Would she continue to Lyme Regis with the hope of stealing Lady Armitage’s house on her own? Or would she ride back toward Blackdown Hills? If Ned guessed wrongly, he would be heading in the opposite direction while Cecilia got herself into more danger than even a girl trained by Jemima Darlington could handle.

“Let’s think about this clearly,” he said aloud as he sat on the end of the bed to put on his boots. “She’ll suppose that I’ll expect her to try for the Armitage house, and so she’ll go north instead—but she’ll know I’ll figure that out, so she’ll try to trick me by riding to Lyme Regis—unless she realizes I’ll guess that too, in which case she’ll be halfway to Blackdown Hills by now—and yet surely she’ll know that I know that she knows she can’t trust me, which means she’s heading for Armitage—although on the other hand—”

“Coffee?” she asked.

“No, thanks, I only drink tea.”

His brain laughed at him. Looking up, he found Cecilia in front of him with a mug in one hand, a book in the other, all her lovely hair bound neatly again, and no hint of emotion on her pale, beautiful face.

“I thought so,” she said, passing him the mug. He took it numbly and stared into the steaming milky tea. Well, damn.

“How did you walk in here so silently?” he asked.

“If ever I can’t open a door without being heard, I’ll quit piracy in shame, retire to the countryside, and take up a gentle lifestyle of raising poultry and blackmailing village parsons.”

“Fair enough.” He sipped tea, trying to regain some equilibrium. “Where did you go? I was a little disconcerted.”

“I needed a book in case of emergencies.”

“You mean like being attacked by foul-mouthed highwaymen?”

“No, I mean those moments when nothing important is happening, such as during travel. After supper. Before sleeping. Or whilst one’s opponent reloads their gun.”

“Ah. So you were in the hotel library?”

“Can you believe they don’t have one?” She shook her head incredulously, and Ned sipped tea again to hide his smile.

“Shocking,” he murmured.

“Indeed. Luckily, the local Young Women’s Christian Association has a reading room. It carries only religious tracts, but when I accidentally knocked over a stack of Bibles, I found this hiding behind them. Who would have thought young women in a small town would be interested in Gothic scenes of wild, dark passion?”