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was the sort to stand back and laugh while Moses broke bones and drew blood. And he had eyes like a hawk with a spyglass.
    She glanced down the other way, but there was no help there. A dead end, and nothing to hide her but the darkness. If he moved, she might get past him. But he had found himself a comfortable spot, it seemed.
    She would guess that he could see the front of the house from that position, which left her nowhere to hide. She drew back, a sour taste in her mouth. She was trapped. She closed the door and locked it as silently as she could, and crept back. She set the candlestick and the snuff box back in their respective places; she’d not be making it out tonight, and better they not turn up missing. She held herhand outstretched and willed it to stop shaking. She would find a way out. Hugh couldn’t be everywhere at once.
    She turned, and froze. A figure stood in the hallway, beside the door to the cupboard beneath the stairs. It was too dark to make out more than broad shoulders and a slight stoop. Her mouth went dry. Moses.
    But, no. The faint huff of amusement shattered the illusion. Martin stepped forward, straightening up and dispelling the stunted silhouette his pose had created. “Cousin Daphne,” he said. His voice was warm and rich. She could just make out his features in the dark, those bewitching eyes catching some stray glint of light. “Do you frequently wander through the hallways at night?”
    â€œYou startled me,” Joan said. The hitch of her breath in the middle of the words gave it truth. He couldn’t have seen her replacing the candlestick or he wouldn’t be so calm. He had no reason to be suspicious. Her fear vanished into a sharp excitement, leaving her feeling raw and light-headed. She stepped back, clutching her shawl about herself and hoping the shadows would hide the fact that she was fully dressed and ready to travel. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”
    â€œIt is a family affliction,” Martin said. At her confused silence, he waved a hand. “Insomnia. My father never slept more than three hours at a stretch, and as I recall, yours is not much better. I myself spend too many hours pacing the halls in the dark. Elinor says I should find myself a drafty castle, so I might become a tragic hero in some gothic story.”
    â€œThat wouldn’t work,” Joan said, before she could think better of it.
    He puffed himself up with feigned affront. “And whynot? I can brood as well as the next man, I’ll have you know.”
    â€œYou aren’t dangerous enough,” Joan said, and bit her lip. A brush with danger always did make her too bold. Something about him did, as well. She could not think of him as a threat—a foolishness that her father would have berated her endlessly for. “I don’t mean to insult you,” she added.
    He chuckled. His laugh was as warm as his voice. It seemed to twine around her. She curled her toes into the carpet to keep from stepping toward him. “Some men would take that as an insult. But I find I cannot be insulted by the notion. Although all men are dangerous to young women, Miss Hargrove, by the fact of their mere existence. We should not be here, alone in the dark.”
    â€œWe should not be
seen
alone in the dark,” Joan corrected him. The blackness seemed to shrink the space between them. He could have been inches away, close enough to touch, and she would hardly be able to tell.
    â€œI suppose that depends on what we are trying to avoid,” he said. His voice had an edge to it. He was all hidden edges, this man, afraid that he would cut someone. She was accustomed to those who sharpened their edges to fine points and delighted in setting them against her skin; his attempts to gentle himself disarmed her. He could be trouble for her, and she almost wished she had the time to let him. “You should be careful, cousin.”
    â€œCareful of