He didn’t stop to think that for the first time in many months, he was running to something, rather than away from something.
Chapter Six
Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the double bed she shared with her sister, Carolyn brushed out her hair. “What a divine time! I don’t believe I have ever had a finer night in all my born days. And I didn’t step on too many toes, either.”
Julia sat at their vanity table, also brushing her hair, though her strokes were not as vigorous as Carolyn’s. Her head throbbed with a dull ache—the champagne’s aftereffects. When she stared into the looking glass, it was not her face that she saw, but that of the handsome Major Robin Goodfellow, or whomever he was. She wished she knew his real name. She chewed her lower lip. No, it was better that she didn’t, since she had made such an idiot of herself. At least, she would never see him again.
As if reading her thoughts, Carolyn asked, “Who was that Yankee you spent the whole evening with?”
Julia shrugged and massaged her neck. “I have no idea. We traded names from Shakespeare, not our own. I thought it was safer that way.”
Carolyn shook her head. “Julia, you are a caution! Even at a party, you can’t forget all that heavy reading. You think too much to enjoy yourself.”
Julia smiled ruefully at her reflection. What she was thinking would shock Carolyn to fits, and it had nothing to do with English literature. Her cheeks grew warm. He said he would kiss me many times and in many places.
Carolyn persisted. “It is a good thing that Mother didn’t see you. She would have locked you in here for a month of Sundays for being so free and easy with that man.”
Julia turned around and stared at her sister. “Me? And who was dancing and flirting—and drinking champagne—with flocks of the enemy?”
Carolyn stuck out her tongue at Julia. “Pooh! I had to let those poor boys see what they are missing by living up North. I hear that Yankee girls are sour in looks and disposition. They wouldn’t know how to have a good time even if it came knocking on their front door.”
Julia only half-listened to Carolyn’s explanation. She preferred to muse over the devastating smile of her mystery man. And his lips! The ones that refused to ruin her. She tingled with a delicious thrill at the idea of his mouth pressed against hers. But it would never happen, she reminded herself. No proper girl should be kissed like that until she’s engaged, and Julia would never consider engaging herself to a Yankee.
Carolyn tossed her brush on the daybed, then slipped under the satin eiderdown quilt. “Well, I am going to sleep. All those Yankee boys wore me to a frazzle. Ooh, my toes will ache so in the morning!” She giggled as she snuggled deeper into the covers.
“Good night, sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Julia intoned absentmindedly, reciting the little rhyme that had been their bedtime ritual since both girls were small children.
“’Night,” Carolyn murmured from under the quilt.
Julia returned to the mirror. Once again, Rob’s face rose in her mind. Again, she recalled his firm, sensual lips. She ran her finger over her own, then sighed. She wished there had been more time at the ball. He might have tried to kiss her if he had drunk some of that eggnog. She shivered, not with the night’s cold, but with the speculation of forbidden delights. She sighed again. I should have thrown myself at him….
Rob studied the front of the Chandler house. The dark windows facing the street indicated that the family had all retired. Much to his surprise, he felt a sharp stab of disappointment, though he had no firm idea what he would have done had the lights still been on. A gentleman didn’t make social calls at midnight.
A large cat, silver-gold in the street’s gaslight, brushed against his boots, then ambled down the narrow cobbled alleyway that ran between the Chandlers and their next-door neighbors. Rob watched the animal disappear around the corner of the house, drawing his attention to a faint glow in the rear garden. His heartbeat accelerated. Without considering the consequences, he followed the cat’s path down the alley. In a brick archway of the rear garden wall, a narrow wrought iron gate opened to a brick path that led up to the Chandlers’ back door. Sitting on the kitchen steps, the cat licked its paws with an air of ownership.
Rob traced the glow to one of the second-floor windows; its light fell gently on the garden. His sense of adventure stirred. He pressed down the latch and swung open the gate. The cat looked up, but did not hiss or give any other sign of alarm. Drawn by the light, Rob stole into the garden, and closed the gate behind him. He slid along the high brick wall and stopped when he came to the privy house in the furthermost corner. From this darkened vantage point, he could just make out the indistinct shape of a woman sitting before a mirror with her back to the window. An oil lamp flickered beside her; the looking glass caught the light and reflected it out—to him.
Rob gave a slight start. The woman looked like Julia. Her hair color was unmistakable. Yet there could be other members of her family who bore her resemblance. “Turn around,” he whispered in the darkness. “Come to the window.” What would he do if she did look out?
The chill of the ground seeped through the soles of his boots. Rob gave himself a shake. What a damn fool he was to loiter in a girl’s garden like a lovesick swain!
As he turned to leave, his sudden movement startled the cat. With a low yowl, it hopped from the stoop to the side lattice that supported a dry, brown vine. Displaying swift agility, the cat climbed up the lattice like a ladder to the windowsill above—the same window where the oil lamp still burned. Once perched on his place of safety, the cat scratched at the glass pane like a dog. Holding his breath without realizing it, Rob waited to see what would happen.
Julia cocked her head; again she heard the sound that had disturbed her musings. She smiled to her reflection. The scratching at the window signaled Tybalt’s impatience. Outside on the ledge, the orange striped cat stared in at her with wide amber eyes. He lifted his paw and scratched the glass again. Julia unhooked the latch then lifted the sash. A wedge of cold air blew in through the opening.
“Hello, Tybalt,” she greeted him in a low voice. “Too chilly for you tonight?”
Mewing an answer, the cat slipped inside and landed softly on the floor. Julia started to lower the window, then stopped when she saw something flash in the darkness below. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Warning spasms of alarm erupted in the pit of her stomach. She had the instinctive feeling that someone was down there, though she could see no discernible shape in the garden’s shadows. Her first impulse was to wake Perkins. The bounty of the holiday season was enough to tempt many a burglar, especially now that Alexandria was full of louts from the North.
Something flashed again. A man stepped out from the overhang of the large magnolia tree, took off his hat and bowed to her. Covering her mouth, Julia swallowed her scream. Replacing his hat, he stepped closer.
Julia gripped the window frame. “Who…who’s there?” she whispered through the opening.
“What light from yonder window breaks?” the man asked in a low, but distinct voice. “It is the east and fair Julia is the sun,” he continued, improvising the opening lines from the balcony scene in Romeo and Juliet.
Julia released her breath. Though the speaker’s face was in deep shadow, she instantly recognized his Northern accent. Her heart leaped to her throat and blood pounded against her temples. Casting a quick glance at the sleeping Carolyn, she knelt on the floor by the narrow open window.
“You have changed your identity, Major Robin Goodfellow. Are you now Romeo?” she responded, praying that her sister would not wake up.
He