A Kiss in the Dark by Joan Smith Page B

around. First light tomorrow we shall go, before Dauntry is up and about.”
    “Excellent thinking, Beau. Next time we shall go by daylight, and take a pistol, if you have one.”
    “I always carry one in the side pocket when I travel. Well, shall we hit the tick, then? I fancy I shall dream of the mysterious lady in white.”
    Cressida just smiled. She knew what she would dream of. The dashing Frenchman who had kissed her in the dark and called her chérie. It had been a very nice kiss. Overpowering, but not roughly so. He could have harmed her had he wished. But he only kissed her, rather playfully really, as if demanding a forfeit for her transgression into his business. Perhaps they would see him tomorrow at the chalet....
     

Chapter Eight
     
    Cressida awoke in the morning with a sense of tingling excitement. The ennui of isolation had been blown away by the interlude at the cottage. Now that she had a mystery—and a dashing Frenchman—to amuse her, she did not bother posting her letter inviting her friends to call. Beau was in a similar mood.
    “I dreamed of her last night,” he said with a wobbly smile. “I have already been past the cottage once. I think I saw a movement in one of the attic windows, but I could not be sure. I have been thinking about Jennet’s taking a tray to the cottage yesterday. She might have been taking it to the lady in white, eh?” he said.
    “I begin to think there really was a lady in white, although I did not see her. Tory is up to anything.”
    “True, she could teach the Jesuits a thing or two about ratiocination.” When Cressida frowned at this heavy word, he translated it for her. “Reasoning,” he said.
    “I’m glad to learn your expensive education was not entirely wasted.”
    “Devil a bit of it. I had a lovely time at Oxford. When I go to the cottage this morning, I mean to do a thorough search. I only peeked into the bedrooms last night. The lady might have been hiding in a clothespress or some such thing.”
    “What will you do if you find her, Beau?” sheasked, just making conversation. The question ofmore interest to her was what would she do if shemet her handsome Frenchman? He was no roughsmuggler; he had been wearing a well-tailored superfine jacket. Probably one of the aristos who hadsought safety in England during the revolution inFrance. One occasionally came across them in London. And there was no stigma attached to marrying one....
    Cressida was too impatient to make a proper breakfast. She nibbled idly on a piece of toast and sipped a cup of coffee. As soon as she put her cup down, Beau was on his feet.
    “Shall we go? I have my pistol right here.” He patted a bulge under his jacket.
    “I wore my riding habit to fool Muffet. We shallleave by the back door; he’ll think we are going tothe stable,” she replied. It was her newest, mostfashionable habit that she wore, the burgundy one.Before leaving, she perched her hat over her eyeand caught it under the chin with a ribbon. Thewinds were strong by the sea.
    They skirted around the rear of the house and clambered down to the beach beyond sight of the dower house. The cottage, perched on the cliff, looked innocent in daylight, with the windows reflecting a golden sun instead of pale moonlight. No lady appeared at any of the windows.
    “We shall knock at the door like regular visitors,” Beau said. “If there’s no answer, we'll go in. The door was not locked last night.”
    They did as he suggested. Three rattles of the brass knocker brought no reply. Beau tried the doorknob. “It’s locked!” he said. "We left it on the latch last night when we left. Someone is here right enough. Shall I knock the door down?”
    “Let us try the back door. And, Beau, best have your pistol ready.”
    The path to the rear was overgrown, not with poison ivy or poison oak, but with harmless English ivy that formed a green carpet over the stone and clambered up toward the land above. The back door was reached