She listened; not a sound.She snuck out into the hall, wincing as she stubbed her toe on a sinisterly placed chair. Hopping to her brother’s door, she ducked to peek inside the keyhole.The room was dim, lit by a pair of candelabra.And it was empty. No doubt William was out somewhere peeling off Violet’s clothes. In his carriage, perhaps, or maybe the stables. The way they were looking at one another tonight at dinner—heavens, it was a miracle the box hadn’t burst into flames.She let out a sigh of relief. At least William had not heard the exchange between Woodstock and Henry.At least their secret was safe. For now.Caroline crept into the bedchamber and closed the door softly behind her. Even with the windows open, the room smelled just like his chamber from childhood: like boy. A close, slightly musky, slightly sour smell that made her smile—he’d been so cute as a boy, and so naughty!—as she moved across its carpeted expanse.With shaking hands, she plucked a taper from the candelabra.
