The Making of a Gentleman by Shana Galen Page B

exactly how it would all work, but he had no fear instinct would show him.
    And then another instinct kicked in—one he was familiar with from long years in prison. The hackles on his neck rose, and his body tightened, wanted to crouch. Something or someone was watching him.
    He yanked himself away from Miss Bennett, tearing his mouth from hers and whipping around to scan the garden.
    “What’s wrong?” she breathed. “What—”
    He saw it then. Saw the eyes watching him. Human eyes. No animal.
    And he knew those eyes. Remembered them from another time, another life. With a howl, he charged.

Eight
    Felicity jumped back in surprise as the comte released her and charged toward the garden’s gate. “My lord, where are you going? What’s—”
    And then she saw him—the small, gnarled man she had seen out of her window only last night. He was at the gate, at least until the comte charged him. She had to give the comte credit. He was quick and agile, and he almost caught the small, wrinkled man, but the intruder was quick and crafty himself. He ducked under the comte’s arm, circled behind him, then darted back out the gate at a full run. The comte went after him, and Felicity, hand to her heart, hesitated between running to the gate and running inside to fetch the duc and duchesse.
    Finally she pivoted and raced for the town house, entering through the first door she found open—a small, feminine parlor. Once inside, it was only a moment before she encountered a startled servant and made her request known. She bent to catch her breath and still her pounding heart, and then the duc threw the door open.
    “Where is Armand?”
    “He’s—” Felicity tried to breathe, couldn’t, and pointed at the garden. Without waiting for further direction, the duc slammed through the French doors and disappeared into the night. A moment later, the duchesse floated into the parlor. She was wearing a white silk robe, and her hair was a thick chocolate wave across her back. “Is something wrong? Where is the duc?”
    By now Felicity had her breath back and was actually anxious to return to the garden. “His Grace went after the comte. There was an intruder in the garden.”
    “An intruder?”
    “Yes. I must take my leave, Your Grace.”
    As she stepped back outside, she heard the duchesse call, “If there’s an intruder, stay inside!”
    But Felicity could not bear to stand idly by if something exciting was happening elsewhere. She raced to the garden gate, reaching it just in time to encounter the two brothers. Both looked winded, but neither seemed harmed. She looked at the duc. “Did you catch him—the intruder?”
    The duc opened his mouth to answer, but the comte was the one who spoke. “Bad man,” he said, his voice considerably less hoarse than earlier that day. Felicity blinked in surprise, and she and the duc exchanged a glance.
    “I didn’t teach him that,” she said.
    The duc was looking at his brother. “Who was it? A thief?”
    The comte seemed to think for a moment, and then he repeated, “Bad man.”
    The duc sighed, looked at Felicity. “Did you see this man?”
    “Yes. In fact, this was the second time I saw him. The first was last night. I saw him from my bedroom window. He and another man were digging in the garden. I thought they were the gardeners. I suppose that was a rather foolish presumption, now that I think of it. It was far too late in the day to be gardening.”
    But the duc was nodding. “The holes we found.” He glanced at his brother, and Felicity felt her cheeks grow warm. Obviously, the duc did not know she had been present at the comte’s discovery of those holes. But the comte had not seen the man that night, only his handiwork. Did he somehow recognize him from an earlier meeting?
    She almost opened her mouth to speculate, then realized doing so would indicate that tonight was not the first time she and the comte had shared a stroll in the garden after dark. And