FURIOUS that he’d allowed himself to be so uncharacteristically distracted, Simon quickly replaced the book then glanced around the room. The only two exit possibilities were the door-not a viable option, or one of the two windows, offering at least a thirty-foot drop to the ground-not a healthy option. Besides the potentially fatal fall, he’d have to leave the window open and she’d know someone had been in her chamber. Of course, unless he moved his arse-immediately-she was going to discover that anyway.

Bloody aggravating woman. Why couldn’t she have a nice balcony off her bedchamber? And have stayed away for several more hours?

Ignoring the screen and the wardrobe-both of which she’d undoubtedly use in the course of readying herself for bed, he moved swiftly toward the statue in the corner. He’d no sooner secreted himself in the deep shadows behind the marble woman than the bedchamber door opened.

Inwardly cursing the rotten luck that had brought Mrs. Ralston home so early, he remained still and prayed that she’d get into bed quickly and fall asleep immediately. From his hiding place, he watched her close the door behind her then move to the bedside table where she lit the oil lamp. Surrounded by a soft golden glow, she pushed back the hood on the dark cape she wore.

Simon blinked in surprise. Mrs. Ralston was much younger than he’d imagined. Based on the meager information he’d been able to gather in the short time he’d had to investigate, he’d discovered she’d retired from the life of being a mistress a year ago when Ridgemoor had ended their arrangement. That news had led Simon to assume she’d aged and lost her beauty. Between that and the fact that the earl was over fifty and she’d been his mistress for a decade, he’d envisioned a woman in her forties, at the least. But this woman didn’t appear much older than thirty, if she was that.