It was over so quickly, and his expression never altered. Had she only imagined it?
Her hands fluttered to the knot at her throat that he’d just tied for her. Of course. Her Adam’s apple, or lack thereof. She smacked her forehead. Blast.
She’d never appeared in public without a properly tied cravat, but had merely considered it part of her costume, not part of a disguise. In the future, she would be more diligent about her cravat, in private as well as public. She headed to the door.
A footman knew her secret now. Her step faltered. If Wilford told anyone, her cravat and rolled-up stocking would be pointless.
“Wilford?” she called out. “Thank you for your, ah, assistance.”
The footman came back to the room. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Quincy.” He placed emphasis on the “mister.” His gaz
