Hunting
“Will you take this to Mr. Cresswell for me?” I asked the maid when she’d come to deliver my luncheon. She gulped and glanced at the letter as if it had teeth ready to bite her. “Este urgent.”
“Foarte bine, domnisoar?.” She reluctantly placed it on her tray. “Is there anything else you need?”
I shook my head, feeling terrible about involving her in my scheme but seeing no other way to pass the message along.
I paced and planned the remainder of daylight away, which was an enormous test of will.
Afternoon certainly took its time slipping into its evening attire, but once it pulled its cloak of night on, I’d never been more pleased to see the inky black sky.
As I marched around the sitting room, I became fearful that Thomas might not come after all.
Perhaps the maid hadn’t delivered my letter.
Or maybe he had been caught by a guard and was once again in the dungeon.
Of all the scenarios I’d envisioned, I hadn’t thought of carrying out my plan alone. When I’d convinced myself he wasn’t coming and it was time to move on to the next course of action, a soft knock came at my door. Thomas slipped inside before I had moved two paces, his gaze alight with interest.
“I have a feeling you haven’t invited me here for kissing.
Though it never hurts to ask.” He grinned at my ensemble and rubbed his hands together, mischief sparking like fireworks around him.
“You’re dressed for sneaking about Dracula’s castle.
Be still my thawing, dark heart. You certainly know how to make a young man feel alive, Wadsworth. ”