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imagine she would like to hear about your low morals.”
    “I wasn’t sniffing after him,”Sarah insisted. “I brought him some towels.”
    “A likely story,”Miss Dubois scoffed. “If I find you with him again, I’ll have you whipped, then fired. You won’t look quite so pretty if you’re living in a ditch.”
    “You are insane,”Sarah mumbled.
    The imposing woman raised a fist as if she might strike Sarah. Sarah blanched and hurried down the hall, Mr. Sinclair’s laughter ringing in her ears.

CHAPTER THREE
    It was nearly eleven o’clock. The moon hadn’t risen, so darkness provided a fine shield behind which mischief could be perpetrated.
    John glanced about, saw no one, and hefted himself onto the small balcony outside Sarah Teasdale’s bedroom suite. The French windows were open, the curtains rippling with a gust of balmy sea air.
    As he’d hoped, Miss Teasdale was present. She was seated at a table in the corner, eating a late and cold supper from a tray. There was no fire in the grate, and a single candle burned next to her plate. She was a lonely sight, locked away like a naughty child.
    Mildred hadn’t yet introduced him to Miss Teasdale. And Raven had mentioned that there was another female on the premises too, a buxom blond named Caroline who appeared to be about Sarah’s age.
    Why would Mildred hide them? Had she refused Miss Teasdale permission to dine with the company? Or had Miss Teasdale declined to socialize? For some inexplicable reason, he was desperate to learn the answer to that question.
    Women loved him and always had, starting with his mother and moving on from there. His handsome looks, illicit parentage, and scandalous familial history were titillating. But it was his aura of power and danger that drew them in and spurred them to recklessness.
    They swarmed like moths to a flame, but of course, it was impossible to get close. He never let anyone matter, because he was convinced his life expectancy would be very short.
    He would never bond with a female, just to have her widowed. From watching his own mother die a slow, miserable death, he was aware of how hard it was for a woman on her own. He would never allow a woman to attach herself, would never allow a woman to count on him. He’d only fail her.
    It was his way.
    But he was irked by the notion that Miss Teasdale might not have wished to socialize with him. Mildred Teasdale was laboring under the mistaken impression that she could charm him into mercy so she’d hosted a lavish supper. John had scarcely tasted the food because he’d been too busy wondering why Miss Teasdale hadn’t joined them.
    At the moment, she was ready for bed, wearing a nightgown and robe. The nightgown was a virginal white, with flowers stitched across the bodice and hem. The robe was a lilac hue that set off the blue of her eyes. Her feet were bare, and he grinned, delighted to note that her toenails were painted pink.
    Her beautiful hair was down and brushed out, and he’d never previously seen tresses in quite that shade. While most men preferred blond trollops, he considered himself a connoisseur of loose doxies. Red hair always tantalized him, but russet-haired doxies were difficult to find.
    He liked auburn hair. He liked her auburn hair.
    He still didn’t know why she’d been in his dressing room earlier in the afternoon. If Annalise hadn’t arrived, he wasn’t sure what might have happened. He’d kissed her as a lark, as a joke, but the chaste embrace had rattled him in ways he didn’t like. He was anxious to kiss her again, but more thoroughly, so he could discover what it was about her that was so alluring.
    Tired of lurking like a specter on the balcony, he parted the curtains and walked inside.
    “Hello, Sarah.”
    She jumped a mile, leaping up with such force that her chair toppled over.
    “What are you doing?”she hissed. “Are you mad?”
    “Yes, I’ve always been told that I am.”
    “You can’t just…just…come into my