Silver Sea Read Free

are very odd. They love to send mysterious messages to amuse themselves, but it's just a game." With that, Adrienne tossed the bits of paper into the bottom of her father's fireplace, then sought to distract him with an embrace. "Do stop worrying about me and begin packing for your journey home to Mother. She needs you far more than I do!"
    Nicholai stood at the window, watching until she had emerged from the hotel onto St. James and climbed gracefully into a hack. When it started off into the crush of vehicles, Nicholai crouched in front of the sitting room fireplace and picked up the pieces of his daughter's note. Several minutes later he had fit the tiny squares together and read:
     
    Lock your doors, strumpet!
    I mean to make you pay, and you know how!
    * * *
    Oxford Street was jammed with the vehicles of well-to-do patrons who, attended by servants, were fluttering among the shops.
    From her open hack, Adrienne found herself staring at window displays of linen-drapers, haberdashers, silversmiths, and silk mercers. She cared little about fashion but adored objects of real beauty, and at that moment, she was desperate for a distraction. Adrienne felt as if her problems—the vengeful Walter Frakes-Hogg, her father's displeasure, and the impending interview with Lady Thomasina Harms—were coiling about her like a python.
    She shivered at the thought, "A python!" she murmured. "How hideous!"
    Deliverance intervened. Her eye was drawn to a tasteful display in the window of E. Ralna, Fanmaker, where Adrienne beheld a true work of art. The fan was an exquisite concoction of ivory, embroidered silk, and lace. One glimpse in passing was not enough.
    "Coachman!" she called, leaning out the window in a most indelicate fashion. "I must go into the fanmaker's—there!—this instant!"
    The fellow assumed that a crisis was in the offing and yelled to the phaeton that was approaching on the left, between his hack and the raised flagstone walkway. When Adrienne's coachman attempted to cut off the phaeton, its raven-haired driver would not give way, and the confused horses reared back, whinnying in confusion.
    "Are you trying to cause an accident?" the dark-haired man shouted angrily. "Get out of my way!"
    "My mistress desires to reach that shop!"
    "And why should that piece of news interest me?"
    Adrienne, perceiving the problem, interceded. "You there, coachman!" she addressed the phaeton driver. For emphasis, she leaned farther out, so he would be sure to see her, and pointed her delicate parasol at him. "Do be a good fellow and let us over, won't you?"
    One of his eyebrows flew up, then he gave a harsh laugh. "You have a very high opinion of yourself, miss, which I do not happen to share. This road is not your possession!"
    Outraged by his rudeness, Adrienne shocked her own driver by jumping out of the hack and pushing her way through the crush to reach the side of the phaeton. Still pointing the parasol, she stared up at the scoundrel, her cheeks hot with color.
    "You, sir, are horrid! Has no one ever taught you to show respect for ladies?" She didn't like the sound of her own voice, or the things she was saying, but he'd pushed her past reason.
    "Is there a lady present?" He caught her parasol and pulled it from her hand. "Stop aiming that weapon at me."
    In spite of her mounting temper, Adrienne noticed the driver's compelling sea-blue eyes and the crisp, expertly tied cravat that set off a deeply tanned visage. It was even more maddening to perceive the laughter that lurked just behind his reprimand. Was he really a common coachman?
    "I do not wish to waste another moment of my time with the likes of you, sir." Adrienne tried to salvage the scraps of her dignity. Head high, she turned and walked coolly to the fanmaker's window.
    Eugene Ralna himself came scurrying out to greet her. Spectacles bobbed on his long, thin nose. "Ah, it's young Lady Adrienne, is it not? I still remember the day last autumn when you accompanied your