You can do this, Violet.
She could, because she was prepared. She had spent her time in solitude poring through newspapers and books and writing directions for herself that planned for all sorts of contingencies. Train canceled? She had another route written down. A delay? Then she knew the major towns along the route and could arrange accommodations. If someone wondered why she was traveling alone? Well, she was a governess on her way to her first family in Windermere. She even had a lovely letter of introduction that explained everything, should it be needed. So while she was anxious, she was also prepared.
She was almost twenty years old. It was high time that she stopped waiting for others to solve her problems. With resolve straightening her spine, she forced what she hoped passed for a pleasant smile and offered her hand to the groom when he opened the carriage door. Together, Violet and her chaperone hurried into the museum beneath a sky that was horribly gray.
They barely had enough time to get themselves to the crowded room before the lecture began, which was a blessing, because Violet could not engage in polite discourse any longer. Her mind was whirling with her plans. Only a handful of seats remained near the back of the room, so they quickly settled themselves there. Egyptology was of particular interest to Mrs. Barnes, being the one subject the woman could talk on for hours—aside from idle gossip. It was no time at all before her complete focus was on the lecturer at the front of the room. A sarcophagus was displayed to his left, and when the speaker gestured to different parts of it as he discussed them, the older woman raised a pair of mother-of-pearl opera glasses to her eyes.
Violet’s heart was pounding too loudly for her to pay attention to the man. She forced herself to count to five hundred, and then she leaned over. “I have to step outside the room. It’s rather stuffy.” She knew she didn’t have to force herself to appear unwell; the color had probably leached from her face all on its own.
Mrs. Barnes pulled the glasses far enough away to glance over, clearly torn between following her charge out and staying to hear the entire lecture. Violet smiled and put her out of her misery. “Please stay.” A lump rose in her throat at the lie she was about to tell, forcing her to swallow before she could finish. “I’ll be only a moment.”
The woman nodded once and brought the glasses back to her eyes. Violet did not waste any time on relief. She rose and forced herself to take measured steps to the door. A museum steward quietly opened the door for her, and she hurried through it. She kept up her pace all the way to the entrance of the museum. Only when she stepped outside did another wave of doubt sweep over her.
What are you doing? Your parents will never forgive you for this. You’ll cause a scandal, and then where will you be?
No. She could do this. If she let the risk of a little scandal dictate her future, then how would she ever manage the ramifications of her novel? Its content, with its scandals and slightly biographical characters, wasn’t precisely of the Austen variety. Besides, she would face censure if it meant avoiding a husband like Lord Ware.
Stepping between a pair of columns, she hurried down the stairs. The moment she cleared the overhang, a fat raindrop fell right in the middle of her forehead. Luckily, she had prepared for rain. Opening her umbrella, she proceeded toward the gates and in the direction of the hansom cab stand they had passed on the corner. True, respectable ladies did not ride in hansom cabs, especially alone, but she was a governess now. Miss Emily Smith, to be precise.
Her umbrella was black to match her boots, and she had chosen one of her darkest afternoon dresses, since it would have to make do as a traveling dress for a time. The skirt was vertically striped in charcoal and gray with a smart charcoal coat. It was likely too stylish for a young governess, but it was the best she could come up with.
A single hansom waited at the stand on the corner, and her heart gave a little leap of anticipation. She had made a plan and was following it through. She could do this. Except when she was little more than fifty feet away, the driver climbed up onto his back perch and picked up the reins, making a clicking sound with his mouth. The horse jolted into action.
“Wait!” She called out to no avail. The driver spared her a quick glance as he went past her, his eyes wide and focused as if he were late for something. It was a little dark with the gray clouds overhead, making it difficult to see inside clearly, but it didn’t appear as if he had a fare. “Damn and blast,” she muttered to herself, smiling as she realized she could say the expletive without anyone reprimanding her. This was true freedom.
She couldn’t savor the moment, however, because she had to get away from the front of the museum. If Mrs. Barnes came looking for her, and a helpful person mentioned she had stepped outside, then she would be caught, and this would all be over before it had even begun. The heels of her boots crunched over the bits of gravel that had loosened. The sprinkles of rain became a nearly constant drizzle: a warning that more would be coming soon and that she should find refuge. Turning the corner, she hurried down the street lined with townhomes. Bloomsbury was a middle-class area with pockets of wealth, so not everyone owned a carriage. There must be another hansom stand somewhere nearby, or perhaps she could hail one.
Ahead, a single carriage was parked along the curb, and a few pedestrians—all middle-aged men—strolled on the opposite side of the street. Perhaps she could ask one of them where the next stand could be found. The idea filled her with some trepidation, as a lady did not simply approach strange men on the street. Would a governess? She didn’t know for certain, but probably not.
Before she could decide whether or not to cross to them, the carriage door swung open, and a masculine leg stepped out. It was encased in trousers made of a fine gray stripe. There was nothing about it, except for the fact that it was long and lean perhaps, that should have made her heartbeat trip over itself. But it did, and then the man stepped out completely. Her heart took off as if it were being chased by wild horses.
Lord Leigh stood beside the carriage, his gaze halting her in her tracks. What was he doing here? Would he thwart her plans? Tell her parents? A quick glance at his carriage confirmed that it was not marked with his family crest.
“Miss Crenshaw,” he called, raising his voice only slightly to be heard across the distance. His coachman, dressed all in black instead of livery, continued to stare straight ahead as he had obviously been trained to do.
“Lord Leigh.” She walked closer with caution. “Strange to find you here.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up in that way that she had begun to associate with him. “Perhaps I could say the same for you.”
It was true. He was the one allowed to traipse about town as he pleased. She was the one who had broken with decorum. She didn’t know what to say to make him not suspicious.
As if he sensed she might run—and she very well thought she might—he said, “Montague Club is only around the corner.” He nodded toward the other side of the museum. “I was leaving, on my way out of town actually, when I thought I spotted you.”
“You always drive in an unmarked carriage?”
“Not always. This one belongs to Montague. All of our carriages are unmarked. It makes it more discreet when a member has indulged too much and needs to be driven home.”
He stood there with his silver-tipped cane and smart frock coat, making sense, but something in the back of her mind warned her away. He was dangerous for her. She knew that because he was a lord and she was interested in him in a way that no man had ever interested her. That alone was enough. But she had gone the extra mile and kissed him. A single moment of indiscretion that would be burned into her memory for eternity. Heat stained her cheeks just thinking about it.
She was leaving. He was not for her.
“It is good to see you.” She gave him a curt nod and continued on her way.
He had other plans and stepped in front of her, heedless of the drizzle we
tting the shoulders of his frock coat. He really was quite broad up close. How had she already forgotten?
“You shouldn’t be out here all alone.”
“I am fine.” She hated how there was a slight quiver at the end of that statement.
There was a brief pause in which his gaze narrowed on her, and she imagined the gears of his mind churning, the pieces of machinery clicking into place. “Run away or marry,” he whispered, and then his eyes widened in sudden clarity. Louder, he added, “You’re running.”
There was no reason to deny it. Out here in the rain on the sidewalk all alone, it was hardly a secret. “I was, but you have hampered my progress. Good day, my lord.” If she got herself to the train station quickly enough, then it wouldn’t matter if he found her parents or not.
She attempted to go around him, but he moved with her. “Where are you going so fast in the rain?”
“I have to find a hansom cab to take me to the train station—” She bit off her words before she could tell him more.
“Let me drive you.”
She was immediately grateful for the offer, which made her pause in accepting it. Wasn’t she supposed to be doing this on her own? Proving to herself that she could solve her own problems? Could she trust him?
“It would hardly be proper to be seen with you alone in a carriage.”
“That is true, but who will see you? The shades are drawn.” His argument was entirely too reasonable. A quick glance confirmed that the windows were blackened by the lengths of heavy cloth. The rain had transformed from a near-constant drizzle to a very constant drizzle. She shifted her umbrella so that it shielded him as well.
His eyes flared subtly, as if he were surprised by the move. Though they were not standing any closer, the shelter of the umbrella stilled the air around them, bringing an immediate sense of intimacy to their discussion. “You would take me to King’s Cross Station?”
“Of course.”
“You would ensure that no one saw me alight from your vehicle?”
“Yes. There is an alley nearby. My coachman can walk you to the entrance if you prefer.”
“And you would not tell my parents of my escape?”
“Certainly not.” He appeared offended she would ask.
Still she felt suspicious. “Why would you do that?”
“I told you I would help you.” He grinned again, giving her a glimpse of his white teeth. Strange, but somehow that seemed very intimate as well. She had hardly ever seen him smile with teeth visible. The fact that he was showing that smile to her made a very pleasant sensation tighten in her belly. It softened his good looks, making them appear less forbidding but somehow more beautiful.
“Why?”
“Because I would despise it if you were to marry Lord Ware.”
“Why?” she asked again.
His smile widened and he shrugged. “Because I do not care for the man, nor do I care for the idea of him attaining you.”
She laughed at his honesty. She had sensed a tension, perhaps even a rivalry, between the two of them. If his help was given to simply thwart Lord Ware’s plans, then she trusted it more, but she would still tread warily with him, especially since it was her own reactions to him she didn’t trust. “All right, then, but I will not tell you where I am going.”
He held up a hand. “Understood.”
“I will allow you to take me to the station. However, I need to make one stop first.”
“I am yours for the day.”
Chapter 8
Upon occasion the simplest way forward was the right path, even if it was littered with temptations.
V. Lennox, An American and the London Season
After telling Peterson, his coachman, to take them to Lady Helena March’s townhome in Mayfair, Christian joined Violet in the carriage. Shaking the rain off her umbrella, he cast one last glance along the street to make certain no one watched them, before closing it up and settling himself across from her. She smiled her thanks and laid the umbrella on the floor.
Taking her had been almost too easy. Either her parents were incredibly naive about the lure their daughter presented, or they seriously underestimated her independent spirit. Probably both. As she settled her skirts around her legs, her scent washed over him. Though it was mild, he detected the sophistication of a French perfume. It was the same scent she had worn at the ball when she had kissed him. Despite his intentions to not allow his thoughts to go in that direction, his gaze drifted down to her lips. He had thought of that innocent kiss much more than he would have liked. Her inexperience had been obvious, but something about the kiss had hastened him to arousal quicker than he had anticipated.
Her lush mouth tipped up in a smile, and her brown eyes held a soft golden tint as she observed him. Her pale and flawless complexion glowed with health. She was as fresh and pure as a daisy in a field of manure. That meant he was the manure. No, worse. He was the loutish farmer who would crush her beneath his boot. She deserved better. Guilt dared to raise its unwelcomed head.
“You’re scowling.” Her voice was soft with just the right amount of husk to rake over his senses. The skin on the back of his neck tightened in awareness. “I fear I’ve inconvenienced you.”
“No, you haven’t.” His gaze dropped to the attractive curve of her bosom before he could stop it, forcing him to drag it back up to her face. “I do not mean to scowl. My face does that from time to time.”
She laughed. “I have noticed you rarely smile.” All serious with concern now, she added, “Is it because of your leg? Does it pain you?”
No one brought up his limp, not ever. It wasn’t discussed in polite circles. He had almost decided that most people assumed the cane was a mere accessory. She was a decidedly outspoken woman. Her question reminded him that the rain had made it ache a bit, so he stretched it out, his calf brushing her skirts in the process. She did not move them away as propriety dictated. “It is because I am an earl and looking serious is part of the title.”
“Being an earl sounds tedious and tiresome.” She smiled again, settling back into her seat as the carriage turned a corner. “Thank you very much for the ride. I’m not sure I can ever repay you, considering I am leaving town for the foreseeable future, but if you ever have need of me, I assure you I will be happy to assist you in any way.”
The coil of desire that seemed to always possess him in her presence made itself known, tightening deep in his gut. A vision of her on her knees in the carriage repaying him ran through his mind. She was entirely too naive to have meant those words the way his body had taken them. A quick glance at her innocent face assured him that he was every bit the lecher in this scenario.
He would not seduce her innocence away from her, not until they were married. That flicker of guilt returned, putting a fine edge of pain on his desire for her. The gossips would have told her that he was not some bastion of virtue. She must know that men like him were to be avoided. He had even heard Lady Helena warn her away. She should have run from him, or at least made him chase her down the pavement, forced to prove his good intentions. But no, she had put her small hand in his and allowed him to help her into his carriage. The wolf leading the innocent astray.
“A gentleman never requires payment from a lady for a good deed.” His voice came out like gravel, forcing him to clear his throat. Christ. They had been in the carriage for only a handful of minutes. How would he survive days with her on the trip to Scotland?
“Nevertheless, I don’t aspire to charity.” She leaned over and pulled the thick curtain back to peek out at the museum as they passed the front. “I hope to repay my debt.”
“Who are you running away from today?”
“My chaperone,” she answered a bit absently as she scoured the courtyard, which was all but empty as the rain came harder. “She doesn’t seem to have noticed my absence yet.” She gave him ano
ther smile as she let the curtain drop.
“Something must have happened since I spoke with you at the ball to send you running. Did Ware propose?”
“Not to me, no, but my parents have already accepted on my behalf.”
“Did you speak to them, then?”
She shook her head. “There’s no need. Past experience tells me it won’t work to change their mind, and I didn’t want to give them any hint of my plans to run away.”
He nodded at her sound reasoning. “You should consider going directly to King’s Cross. If you make a stop at Lady Helena’s, you could be seen or potentially delayed. The moment your chaperone notices you missing, she can have people out searching for you. If anyone sees you on the street, or even if Lady Helena herself sees you, then it might be too late to leave.” The truth was that he was worried she would encounter Lady Helena and the woman would talk her out of leaving. If she found out that Violet would be in his company, then there would be no question of the woman allowing her to leave with him.
“Lady Helena is not at home, so she won’t see me. She was leaving early this morning for her cottage in the country. I already let her know I would retrieve my things today. Unfortunately, I’ll simply have to take the risk of someone else seeing me.”
He hid his relief. “Your bag isn’t important enough to risk being seen. You can acquire ready-made clothing at a shop along your way. Actually, I would advise it. You need more common clothes to blend in with other travelers. As soon as it’s known that one of the Crenshaw heiresses has run off, you’ll be noticed in no time.” She appeared very much the heiress as she was dressed now. “How many wealthy American women are traveling alone?”
For the first time she appeared to be in distress as her brow creased. “I am concerned about the state of my clothing, but there is no help for it. I’ll arrive at my destination by the morning . . .” Her voice trailed off as she realized she let slip that bit of information. “I will arrange for more suitable clothing there. But I still have to stop at Lady Helena’s. I’ve left something very important to me there, and I have to take it with me.”
The Devil and the Heiress Page 8