Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance

by Osborne, Scarlett

  She climbed from the bed for a better look.

  Is that Miss Cooper?

  Harriet pressed her forehead against the glass. Yes, it was definitely Miss Cooper, dressed in her cloak and blue shawl. A bag was slung over her shoulder. What was she doing? Going to the market perhaps?

  If that was the case, why would she take her bag with her?

  Harriet clamped a hand to her mouth as the realization swung at her. Was Miss Cooper running away?

  It would be a likely thing, Harriet thought. After all, Miss Cooper was not really Miss Cooper at all. She was Letitia Caddy, daughter of the Baron of Mullins. She was a runaway.

  Harriet raced down the hallway and pounded on the door of her father’s office. She charged inside, without waiting for him to answer.

  “Papa,” she said breathlessly. “Miss Cooper is leaving.”

  Algernon frowned. “What?”

  “I saw her. She went out through the gates. She had her cloak and her bag and everything.”

  Algernon stood abruptly. Without another word, he raced out of his office and charged down the stairs two at a time. Out into the manor grounds he ran, Harriet hurrying behind him.

  They reached the front gates.

  “Miss Cooper!” Algernon called, his voice disappearing into the still morning. There was no response.

  Harriet pressed herself against his side and peered out into the street. “She can’t have gone far,” she said. “I just saw her leave. This very second.”

  Algernon ran his hands though his hair. He called Miss Cooper’s name again. Still, there was no response, just the rhythmic clopping of a passing carriage.

  “She must have hailed a cab,” Algernon said, rubbing his eyes. He looked down at her bare feet, exhaling in frustration. “Harriet! Shoes! For goodness sake!”

  Harriet planted her hands on her hips. “Miss Cooper is gone, Papa! We need to find her!” Surely such a thing was far more pressing than her shoes, or lack thereof.

  Algernon nodded. “You’re right. I’ll have the groom prepare the coach.” He looked at her pointedly. “You go back inside. It’s cold. And you’ve not been well.”

  Harriet’s eyes widened. “No Papa! I have to come! I have to help you find her!” The thought of Miss Cooper disappearing from their lives was a dreadful one. Harriet simply could not let it happen. And she knew Papa would never manage to find her alone. She gripped his coat impulsively and tugged hard. “Please Papa! Let me come!”

  Finally, he nodded. “All right. But you need your shoes and your cloak. And quickly.”

  Harriet raced back into the house and charged upstairs to her bedroom. She pulled on her boots and cloak, then ran back outside. She could hear the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves as the groom brought the carriage out from the stables.

  As Algernon opened the door of the coach, footsteps came thudding out of the manor. Harriet whirled around. Their house maid, Sarah, was racing out the front door, her cheeks flushed. Harriet knew the servants were not supposed to use the main entrance to the house, but her father looked too flustered to care.

  “Pardon me, My Lord,” Sarah said breathlessly. “Has something happened?”

  Algernon frowned slightly, as though taken aback by Sarah’s sudden appearance. For a moment, it seemed as though he was not going to say anything. And so Harriet said:

  “Miss Cooper has run away!”

  Sarah looked far less surprised at the announcement than Harriet had hoped.

  “I feared as much, My Lord,” she said.

  Algernon frowned. “Why? Did she say something to you?” His voice was sharp.

  “She asked me about leaving London, My Lord. Asked me where one would go to find a coach out of the city.”

  Algernon let out his breath. “And what did you tell her?”

  “I told her to go to Hatchett’s Hotel, My Lord.” Sarah clenched a fistful of her apron. “Told her that’s where the carriages left to go up north. I’m sorry, I never should have—”

  “It’s all right,” Algernon said, giving Sarah a ghost of a smile. “Thank you for your help.” And with that, he snatched Harriet from the ground and swung her into the carriage. The movement was so abrupt she couldn’t hold back a screech of shock.

  “Hatchett’s Hotel,” Algernon called to the coachman. Then he leaped into the carriage beside Harriet, leaving Sarah watching from the path.

  Harriet watched out the window as they rolled through the manor gates. She felt jittery with a mix of excitement and nerves. They had to get to Miss Cooper before she found a coach out of the city. They just had to.

  Harriet couldn’t bear to imagine how empty her life would feel without Miss Cooper in it. How had she ever gotten by without her? Their stolen moments of story-telling were Harriet’s favorite times of the day.

  She felt safe with Miss Cooper. Protected. Loved, even. Harriet had no memory of her mother, of course, but she imagined being with her might feel a little like being with Miss Cooper.

  And there was the other pressing issue, of course. Miss Cooper could not disappear on them now. Not now Harriet was in possession of the world’s most delicious secret about their new kitchen hand.

  “I know why Miss Cooper ran away,” she told Algernon.

  Her father didn’t look at her. “Yes,” he said, rubbing his eyes again. “So do I.”

  Harriet’s eyes widened as she looked at her father. “You know too? About Miss Cooper being a runaway lady?”

  Her father turned to look at her, his thick eyebrows raised. “What?”

  He doesn’t know!

  Harriet began to bounce on the bench seat with a mixture of excitement and impatience. She couldn’t wait to see the look on her father’s face when she told him the news. “Miss Cooper is really a lady! She escaped from her home and found me at the market! Then you offered her a job and she came to live with us!”

  Algernon let out his breath. “Please Harriet. I’m not in the mood for stories right now.”

  “It’s not make-believe, Papa! I swear it!” Harriet was sitting so close to the edge of the bench she had to grip the door handle to keep from falling. “The men in black coats we saw after the sideshow, they came right to our house. They were looking for her. The portrait they were carrying was of Miss Cooper, all dressed up like a lady! She was wearing jewelry and everything!” She kept bouncing enthusiastically. “I don’t know why she ran away. Maybe there were evil men after her. Maybe she was trying to get to the sea and find a ship to escape on. But she lost her way and ended up at the market instead.”

  Algernon gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yes,” he said dully. “I’m sure that’s exactly what happened.”

  * * *

  Algernon turned to look out the window. A fine rain had begun to fall, darkening the streets and glinting against the glass.

  He sighed. If only Harriet were right. If only Molly Cooper was a runaway lady, who had fled her unbearable, downtrodden life in a desperate attempt to reach the sea. It was far better than the alternative.

  Perhaps it was best that he let her go. She was ashamed, no doubt. Embarrassed at all that had happened between them. But Algernon knew the embarrassment, the shame belonged to him and him alone. He had tried to make Miss Cooper see that. Clearly he had failed.

  Despite his best attempts to stop it, his mind drifted back to the previous night. He could still remember, vividly, the way her lips had felt against his. Could still remember the soft warmth of her skin. Could still smell the faint scent of her honey soap on his hands.

  She had been responsive, eager. That had been the problem, of course. Had she rebuffed him and turned away, he could have stopped himself from taking things so far. This would have been nothing but a slightly shameful error in judgment. A regrettable slip caused by wine and lack of sleep.

  But no. Things had gone too far for that. This was far more than a mere regrettable slip. Perhaps wine and lack of sleep had a hand in what had happened, but the truth, Alger
non knew, was glaringly obvious.

  He had done what he had out of love for Molly Cooper.

  Love that was clearly not reciprocated. Her fleeing of the manor made that painfully obvious. He felt a deep, unplaceable ache.

  “I hope Miss Cooper’s cab driver knows how to find Hatchett’s Hotel,” Harriet said eagerly, her eyes fixed to the rain-splattered glass. “Because I don’t think Miss Cooper will.”

  Algernon glanced at her edgily. “What do you mean?”

  Harriet wound a strand of hair around her finger. “She doesn’t seem to know the city very well, Papa.” Her eyes shone. “Perhaps the evil men who were keeping her prisoner never let her out. Perhaps they kept her locked in her bedchamber for the past eighteen years!”

  “Harriet!” Algernon’s voice rose involuntarily. “Enough!” He closed his eyes, feeling a pang of guilt at the shock on his daughter’s face. He reached over and slid his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. “I’m sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to shout. I’m just worried.”

  Harriet shuffled across the bench so her shoulder pressed hard against his. “I know, Papa. So am I.”

  Chapter 16

  The moment Letitia had left the Radcliffe manor, she had felt lost and utterly overwhelmed. She had stumbled down the street in the direction of Covent Garden market— the only place in the whole city she knew how to find. And even that had taken some heavy focus and a few wrong turns.

  Still, she knew she would find a cab close to the market. She could ask the coachman to take her to Hatchett’s Hotel. There would be a coach leaving for somewhere today, surely. It didn’t matter where. The further away from the manor, the better.

  She had hailed a cab on the edge of the marketplace. Had been glad to discover the coachman knew the hotel well.

  “Leaving London, then, are you?” he’d asked good-naturedly, offering her his hand to help her climb into the cab.

  Letitia’s mouth had felt too dry to answer. She’d just nodded and tried for a smile. She sat in the back of the carriage with her fingers knotted and her heart thumping. She watched as the city she knew so little of rattled past the window.

  Here was that feeling she had the day she had climbed out the window of her childhood bedroom. That feeling of being trapped in a dream. This was her second attempt at running away, and still it didn’t feel real.

  And then she found herself hovering edgily outside Hatchett’s Hotel, a large red brick building that stretched three stories into the damp gray sky. People milled about her, dressed for travel in heavy cloaks and woolen bonnets. Wooden trunks sat at their feet.

  She asked at the hotel about the coaches and was told by a rather surly clerk that a coach was leaving for Leicester in an hour’s time.

  Letitia had heard of Leicester. Knew it was a town north of London. She knew nothing more of it, but surely all that mattered was that it was far enough away from this place that she would never be found.

  She gripped the strap of her cloth bag. This was the sum of her life now, she thought dully. A stolen wool dress and a few worn underskirts. Coin enough to get her out of the city. At least, she hoped it would be. She had forgotten to ask the clerk how much a ride to Leicester would cost.

  She had been paid by Lord Radcliffe at the end of her first week. Letitia had taken the money upstairs and sat with it in her palm for a long time. What a strange sensation it was to have money of her own. It was a stark reminder that she was in charge of her own destiny now. A reminder that her father was no longer here to navigate her life for her. The thought was both thrilling and mildly terrifying.

  Letitia looked edgily at the other travelers around her. They were talking and laughing, lurching after children as they dove towards puddles. None of them seemed nervous to be leaving London.

  She dug a hand into her pocket, feeling the solidity of the coin pouch.

  I’m in charge of my own life now. This is a fine thing.

  But in spite of her best attempts to reassure herself, she felt her heart thumping edgily against her chest.

  I can go where I wish. Be who I wish.

  Marry who I wish…

  The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth. There was only one gentleman in the world she wished to marry, and that, of course, could never be.

  She began to pace, partly out of nerves and partly out of cold. The fine, misting rain was growing heavier, the droplets clinging to her cloak and making it glimmer.

  Leicester. So this will be my new life.

  She would be alone. But at least she would be hidden. No one would ever think to look for her in Leicester.

  The thought did not bring her anywhere near as much satisfaction as she had hoped.

  She would be hidden from everyone. Her father. Her mother. The Duke of Banfield.

  Lord Radcliffe.

  Though she was certain running away like this was the best thing to do, she couldn’t stop the ache in her chest at the thought of leaving him. Though she had so little experience with such things, Letitia knew what she felt for the Marquess was far more than just a powerful physical attraction.

  She longed to know more about him. Longed to hear tales of his life, longed to hear his dreams for the future. She wanted to hear all about his passions, his desires, his loves, his hates. She wanted to know everything there was to know about Algernon Fletcher.

  How might things have been different, she found herself wondering, if they might have met under different circumstances? What if they had met at a nobleman’s ball, and Lord Radcliffe had known her at once as a Baron’s daughter? What if they had danced a waltz together? What if she had given him her calling card at the end of the night?

  Letitia almost laughed. She had never met anyone as a Baron’s daughter. She had never danced with a gentleman at a ball and she had certainly never given anyone her calling card. As Letitia Caddy, she had been content to hide away in her rooms and let the world pass her by.

  Perhaps Letitia Caddy had the right idea. Letitia Caddy certainly never felt as wretched as this…

  She tried to force thoughts of the Marquess from her mind. Her time with Lord Radcliffe was gone. Soon this carriage would leave and her time as Molly Cooper, kitchen hand would fade into memory. Dwelling on it would achieve nothing. Now was the time to be practical. Would Leicester be a town large enough for her to find work?

  Such a thing would have been far easier if she had managed to ask the Marquess for a reference. But such a thing was impossible, of course. She could just imagine how it might play out:

  “Molly Cooper is a dreadful cook, burning almost every meal she touches. She has also been known to roam in the halls in her undergarments and engage in inappropriate activities with her employer…”

  Her cheeks colored at the thought.

  And then, there he was, as though she had willed him into being.

  Letitia stared. Perhaps she really was dreaming.

  Lord Radcliffe was climbing from a cab on the opposite side of the road. He swung Harriet out after him. And then he turned to scan the crowd milling outside the hotel.

  His eyes alighted on her at once. He dug his hands into the pockets of his greatcoat and turned his collar up against the wind. His eyes were large and apologetic, his face darkened with a faint frown. Harriet hovered at his side and clutched his sleeve, a small smile on the edge of her lips.

  Lord Radcliffe came towards Letitia slowly.

  Her lips parted. “How did you find me?” The moment she spoke, she knew the answer. “Sarah.”

  “She was worried for you,” said Lord Radcliffe. “As was I.”

  There was such intensity in his eyes it was all Letitia could do not to throw herself into his arms. She stood motionless, several feet away, knotting her hands into her cloak.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I just…” She faded out. There was no need for an explanation. Lord Radcliffe knew well why she was leaving, Letitia was sure.

  “Miss Cooper,�
�� he said stiffly, “you don’t have to do this. Truly.”

  Letitia kept her eyes down. She knew that if he looked at her the right way, she would either cry or agree to return to the manor. She couldn’t bear to do either of those things.

  “I think we both know it’s for the best that I leave,” she said, her voice trapped in her throat.

  “What happened last night was a mistake,” Lord Radcliffe said, his voice low. “One for which I am deeply sorry. More than you could know. I wish I could take it back. But I can only give you my word that I will never disrespect you that way again. Nothing like that will ever happen again.”