had recently purchased, and it ended, as it had begun, in the midst of a sentence.
“Clearly it’s a letter,” Sabrina said. “But that’s all there is of it. I’ve read it over and over, and I cannot glean anything from it. There’s no salutation, no signature. She doesn’t even say her aunt’s name. I suppose it’s from a friend or a relative, but why wouldn’t I have brought more of it? And why is the page torn in two?”
Again, the letter held a trace of Sabrina, but he also sensed another person, perhaps more. It could have been handled by several people, for all they knew. What Alex could sense, quite distinctly, bothered him. As soon as he’d touched the paper, he’d felt a brush of anger, even rage...which would fit with the paper being ripped in half.
He turned to the pocket watch. There was no inscription inside or on the back. It was clearly a man’s; both the style and the feeling that emanated from it told him that. There was also a whiff of emotion—sorrow? He wasn’t sure. But with it, far more than with the ring, Sabrina’s presence clung to it. He thought perhaps she had carried it for a long time.
A picture of a house flashed through his mind and was gone. Alex froze, his fingers closing around the watch. But across from him, Sabrina said, “What? Did you find something on the watch?”
“What? Oh, no.” He smiled and shook his head, setting the watch back on the desk. Later, perhaps, when Sabrina was not there to see it, he could hold it longer, concentrate on it harder. There had been something there, he was certain.
“I don’t think this will be any help,” Sabrina said as she handed him the last item, a card. “A boy in the train station handed it to me. I think it must be some sort of advertisement, though I’m not sure for what. A milliner’s, perhaps?”
Alex took one glance at the card, and his eyes widened. The piece of paper featured a photograph of two elegantly dressed young women in charming straw hats. They were facing away from the camera. On the other side was printed an address and the words “Come see us from the front.”
“Uh...no, not a milliner’s.” He cleared his throat, aware that his face was turning red.
“Oh.” She sounded a little disappointed. “I thought one of the hats was quite attractive.” She peered at him. “What is it? Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, of course.” He had the feeling his smile was unnatural. It would certainly fit how he felt at the moment. He tried desperately to think of some way to turn the conversation, but his mind was a blank. Well, not a blank, really, but what was there was completely inappropriate.
She waited for a moment, then asked, “Then what sort of business is it? I don’t understand.”
“It’s one that, um, well, isn’t the sort of thing a lady usually receives. It’s a...a man’s sort of, um...”
Her eyes widened. “You mean it’s a house of ill repute?”
“Well...yes.”
“Oh, my.” Her blush was even deeper than his as she snatched the card back and examined it. “They look so...ordinary.” Again she sounded disappointed, so much so that he had to smile. “I thought they would wear something more, well, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” It was bizarrely titillating to be sitting here talking about bordellos with this girl, all the while remembering how her springing curls had felt beneath his fingertips. The fact that she was dressed as a man somehow only made it more tantalizing. His flush had started from embarrassment, but it was quickly turning into something else altogether. “I believe the intimation is that if one saw them from the other side, they would be more alluring.”
“Oh. I see.” From the way she was looking at the card, he suspected that she did not, but he refrained from saying so. Sabrina went on, “Have you gotten cards like this, too?”
“Well, yes, now and then.” He cleared his throat. “Now, perhaps we might continue.”
Her eyes glinted with amusement as she put the card back into her pocket. “Oh, here’s the ticket.” She pulled her hand out of the pocket, extending the piece of paper to him. “But all it says is Newbury to Paddington.”
“Well, at least we know you came to London from Newbury.”
“I suppose that is where I live,” Sabrina said doubtfully. “It doesn’t seem familiar...though, of course, nothing does.”
“That gives us something to work with.” He leaned back in his chair, thinking. “I know nothing about Newbury, other than it’s west of Reading. I think. Wish Con was here—he’s a wizard with geography.”
“Who’s Con?”
“My brother.” Alex straightened suddenly, his eyes lighting. “That’s it. I know where we should go.” He turned and started for the door.
“Where? What are we doing?” she asked, following him.
“I’m taking you home.”
“WHAT?” SABRINA STIFFENED, her eyes flying to his. The nerves in her stomach had died down since she had been here; she felt safe. Until this moment. Now warnings about strangers and wild stories of white slavers darted through her head—and, really, why could she remember things like that and not have any idea of her own name?
“No! I didn’t mean that,” he said hastily. “It’s not my home—well, I mean, it is, of course, but what I meant is, it’s my parents’ home. My family’s. My mother and father will be there and...and lots of other people. I promise you, it’s perfectly respectable.”
He looked so flustered she had to laugh. “I see. Very well.”
“I do beg your pardon,” he went on as he ushered her out the door. He offered his arm, and she automatically reached to take it before both of them recalled the attire she was wearing and they moved apart. He continued, “I should have explained my reasoning first. I realized that we could get help at the house. Megan will know if there’s been something about you in the news or she can learn it. We’ll call on my sister Kyria—if you’ve gone to a party in London, she’ll recognize you. And, of course, the most important thing is that you need to be someplace safe.”
“You think I’m in danger?” Alarm rose in Sabrina again.
“I don’t know that you are.” Alex hailed a passing cab, and once again they went through the confusion of his reaching to hand her up, then remembering she was dressed as a man. Inside the vehicle, he went on, “Perhaps there is some other explanation for your bruises and your loss of memory and your disguise, but I don’t want to take the risk. Do you?”
“No, you’re right. But, Mr. Moreland—”
“No, please, call me Alex. Or Alexander if you would like to be formal. It seems wrong that I should call you Sabrina and you call me Mr. Moreland.”
“All right. Alex. But surely you don’t want to bring danger into your parents’ home.” Sabrina looked up at him. He grinned, and it lit up the angular planes of his face in a way that made her stomach flutter.
