“What could be important enough to risk being found before you have even left?”
She seemed to wrestle with telling him. The longer she was silent, the more he wanted to know the answer. Finally, she sighed. “It’s my manuscript. I won’t leave it behind.”
“Your manuscript?”
“I have written a novel. Don’t ask me for details, because I’m not ready to share it, but I won’t leave it behind. It’s the only copy I have.”
He nodded. “No, I won’t, and I understand why you wouldn’t leave it.”
He was possibly the only nobleman in England who would be willing to allow her to pursue her writing. He was the only one who did not give a damn what Society had to say about it, because his finances were not reliant on his connections. The club’s clientele were discontent younger sons, aristocratic cousins, merchants, and foreign money—all snubbed by the Society clubs. His cooperation was a rather large mark in his favor, if he could simply convince her.
“Thank you for understanding.” Her gaze settled on him again. Her eyes were all things hopeful and good as she watched him, and then an eyebrow quirked upward. “How did you know that I was retrieving a bag from Lady Helena’s?”
Naive, but not unintelligent. He would have to remember that about her. “Did you not mention it was a bag?” he asked.
“No, I’m certain that I did not.” Her gaze narrowed.
He cursed inwardly. The last thing he needed was for her to find out he’d been all but spying on her. His conscience, long in its death throes, was once again pricked. “An assumption, Miss Crenshaw. Who would make a grand escape without a change of clothing?” He gave her what he hoped was a bland look.
She regarded him a moment longer and then nodded. “Forgive me. I’m too anxious.”
She appeared so trusting of him that he had to fight himself to not confess to his own nefarious intentions. He looked away instead. “I did not know you are a writer.”
“If my mother had her way, no one would ever know. Another reason why I must leave if I’m ever to pursue it seriously. It’s why I’m going where I’m going.” She took a breath, and from the corner of his eye, he saw her silently castigate herself for saying too much.
“Where? You’ve leased a quiet country home somewhere?”
She shook her head. “I won’t say. It’s best if you don’t know in case you’re ever questioned.”
He fell silent as he considered her destination, curious now in spite of his own intention that she never reach the place.
“I noticed your trunk on the back of the carriage. Where is your destination, my lord?” she asked.
“Scotland. I have an estate there. Unfortunately, there was a fire there recently, so I’ve decided to go and oversee the refurbishment.”
“I am sorry to hear that, but this is a happy coincidence. Perhaps we might share a train. I am going north myself, though not that far.” She smiled again, all doe-eyed and happy.
Guilt churned in his stomach. “Perhaps we might.”
Before he could say more, the carriage swayed as they turned a corner near Berkeley Square. “I believe we have arrived at Lady Helena’s residence,” he said as they pulled to a stop, and he peeked around the curtain at the row of elegant town houses. “I shall go in and retrieve your bag.”
She was already moving from her seat and had the door open before the coachman was there. “Thank you, but no. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll only be a moment?”
At her questioning glance, he nodded and watched as she hurried up the steps of the townhome. The door opened before she could even knock, and she swept inside out of his view. A large part of him wondered if she would come back. She was a very young woman on the verge of doing something outrageous. It would take only the slightest provocation to make her change her mind. How many women in her position would choose marriage to Ware over a future of uncertainty and social censure? Nearly all of them.
The oak and leaded glass door with its intricate ironwork stayed closed. His heartbeat counted out the seconds as he imagined her finding Lady Helena inside after all and the woman doing her best to talk Violet out of her plan. He had been a fool to allow her to go in. He should have insisted. His own guilt had prevented it. Perhaps he wanted her to escape his clutches. Perhaps he wanted . . . The door opened, and a relief like he had never known moved through him when she came down the steps bearing her portmanteau.
Her smile was so big as she climbed back inside that he found himself smiling, too.
“You came back.”
“You doubted me?” Her teasing grin mocked him.
“Never,” he said as the carriage lurched forward.
“Liar. You clearly have not been introduced to the Crenshaw stubbornness. Once we decide on something, it has been decided.”
He could not help the laugh that escaped him. “Sadly, I have not been properly acquainted.” Sobering slightly, he said, “I’ve been thinking of something and have a proposition for you.”
“Yes?” Her brow rose.
“Let me take you north. In the carriage. We can avoid the train stations and travel in anonymity.”
“Why?”
“Because where there are trains, there are telegram lines. Once it’s known you are gone, a single wire is all it will take to find your location by train. You said it yourself.” He indicated her clothing. “You are hardly able to blend in with your attire and accent. I bet you were even planning to travel first-class.”
When she frowned, he knew he was right, so he pressed his case. “We can stay on the smaller roads. Give assumed names at inns. No one will know who we are. You will be gone without a trace, only to be found when you decide to be found.” His heart pounded as he waited for her to speak.
“I . . . I suppose you’re right. My father could send a wire, and some train official is bound to have seen me. But I’ll be at my destination by the morning. Surely, it won’t matter.”
“I cannot say, Miss Crenshaw. Do you have a guard at your destination willing to stand between a father and his daughter? Do you think your parents will be calm enough to listen to you by the time they arrive to retrieve you tomorrow afternoon, because they will certainly set out right away once they know where you are.”
Twin lines formed between her brows. “I suppose not. I thought I would have a few days before they found me.”
“If we drive, it will take about a week or so to reach Scotland, less to your destination, I presume. This way would ensure you have more time, and no one who can identify you is likely to see you arrive. No train attendants or officials.”
“Why would you do this for me? You were planning to travel by train. Surely, you don’t want to be delayed.”
He shrugged, hoping she didn’t notice exactly how unbothered he was by this supposed delay. “As you so helpfully pointed out, the life of an earl is boring and tedious. I need this little bit of intrigue. Besides, you’ll be Rothschild’s sister soon. What sort of friend would I be if I didn’t offer my assistance?”
Her smile returned, but it was tentative. “Okay, let us do it.” Nodding, her smile gained in conviction until it lit up her entire face again. “Let’s drive.”
His breath caught. If all went well, this woman would become his wife before the trip was finished.
Chapter 9
For the first time, Rose understood the danger before her. The difference between a man and a boy was as subtle as that of a wolf and a hound.
V. Lennox, An American and the London Season
She was in a carriage alone with Lord Lucifer. The thought made Violet’s lips twitch, but she managed to quell the smile. She could not, however, stop her errant gaze from going back to him far more than was prudent for her state of mind. After they had left London, he had tied back the curtains to allow in the light and had spent the past several hours reading
over a few ledgers while occasionally marking entries with a pencil. As best she could tell, they were accounts for an estate, and they were of far more interest than her company.
The realization had made her feel dispirited. She was quite unworldly compared to a man such as him. He owned a club, had likely traveled extensively on the Continent, and had seen more of the world than she probably ever would. Why would he find her company of interest?
He had been gentlemanly enough as they had ridden through the streets of London. They had exchanged remarks on a couple of mutual acquaintances, discussed the abysmal rain that had seemed to have fallen for days on end and a few of the exhibits in the Egyptian room of the British Museum. Her initial worry that he might have been so willing to help her because he harbored some interest in her had given way to disappointment, and then mild embarrassment that she had kissed him at the ball. To be fair, he had kissed her back, but he had not so much as glanced her way in the hours that had taken them far away from London.
Perhaps he found her girlish attention tedious. He was nearly a decade older than her. He had shallow creases at the corner of his eyes that shone vaguely the few times he smiled. Now that it was evening, his valet—had he been traveling with one—would probably have given him a stern look at the fine shadow that had begun to darken the lower half of his face. His eyes were always serious. She found that she liked that. He was the opposite of Teddy in every way.
Teddy with his ready smile who was hardly ever serious about anything. Teddy who sounded like a proper goose when he laughed. Teddy who had allowed Papa’s money to sway his affections for her. A tender pang sliced through her at that memory. She had never properly mourned the loss of him, and now she knew why. It was not his loss that she regretted. He had been a friend, and in her ignorance, she had tried to make their relationship more than it was. She had never once longed for a deeper connection with him, nor had she ever sought out his touch.
Their kisses had been full of excitement because the idea of kissing had been exciting. His boyish charisma had been charming because she had wanted to be charmed. The idea of marrying had been more appealing than the actual state would have been because she had wanted control.
Control. The thought came from nowhere, but the force of it made her sit up straighter. Yes, that was why marrying Teddy had held any appeal at all. She had wanted to choose her husband because she hadn’t wanted her parents to do it. Even then, some part of her had known that she would not like their interference. Teddy had been the obvious choice. They had the same circle of friends, and he had made her laugh, but there had never been any sort of real attraction to him on her part. Not like with Lord Lucifer—er, Lord Leigh.
“Everything all right?” He glanced up at her and raised a brow. Had his voice become deeper in the hours since he last spoke?
She nodded. “Yes, fine.”
He gave her a quick once-over before glancing back down at his work, then sighing at the lack of adequate lighting, he closed the ledger. “You are having second thoughts,” he said, as he tucked the books into a leather satchel on the seat next to him.
“No. I am a little worried for my parents. They must know that I’m missing by now. I hope they find my note soon. I wouldn’t want them to worry needlessly.”
That brow rose again. “You left a note regarding your whereabouts?” He sounded alarmed.
“I merely told them that I had left of my own volition, and that I would not marry Lord Ware or anyone like him. I didn’t want them to think that I had been taken away.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he went back to casually perusing her face. Despite her best effort, her face warmed from his attention. What did he see when he looked at her? A girl running away from her troubles, or a woman taking control of her life? She hoped the latter.
“It is beyond me how you can fret for them when they would have fed you the wolves.” There was a thread of steel in his voice.
“I love them very much.” Something made him breathe in sharply through his nose. The word love, perhaps?
“Touching.” His glance moved to the window where it was now almost fully dark, though the moon was bright.
“Did you not once love your parents, my lord?” She knew very little about his family. He seemed to have none.
Without looking at her, he said, “My father was more concerned with raising horses than children. My mother only sometimes remembers she has any offspring.”
His mother was alive, then. Interesting. “I am sorry to hear that. Every child should have a loving family.”
He glowered at her. She was certain now that he saw her as a girl running away from her troubles. Her heart sank in disappointment. “Yes,” he said. “Look what a loving family has done for you.”
“Touché.” She inclined her head but refused to back down to him. “However, I have many good memories of my parents. They are simply misguided in their plans for my future. They can love me and still make mistakes. Both are possible.”
His scowl softened slightly, though it was difficult to tell in the poor lighting. After a moment, he said, “We shall stop for the night up ahead. The last inn for a bit is in the next town, and if we miss it, God knows how long until we find the next one.”
“But is it too soon? Can they find us?” She was suddenly afraid that her plans could come to an end before they had even begun.
“Not likely. They have no idea where to look, but we should leave very early in the morning. It is best to make good time tomorrow. We can discuss the route tonight if you like—you still have to tell me where I am taking you.”
“Yes, I suppose I must tell you my destination. It’s too late for you to back out of our deal now.”
“Did we make a deal?” She heard a smile in his voice.
“Of sorts. Though we never settled on how I could repay you. Perhaps we can do that over a meal tonight.” Her own words made her face flame hotter than it ever had before. They had sounded rather like a proposition. Who was this person sitting so casually across from an earl in his own carriage and flirting? She didn’t recognize herself, but she liked this new person.
“Let us do that.” That gravelly husk was back in his voice. It sent a thrill of anticipation right through her.
* * *
• • •
The White Horse Inn was a well-kept, picturesque establishment in a small village outside of Cambridge. Violet seemed to regard the thatched roof along with the white plaster and stone exterior with all the enthusiasm of a proper tourist, smiling and pointing out the weather vane with a metal horse perched on top. Christian smiled to himself as he ushered her through the misting rain and the front door. Traveling with her was proving to be an entertaining experience.
The innkeeper, a small, round man, seemed pleased to see them when they walked inside. He jumped to his feet and hurried around his desk to greet them. “Good evening, Lord . . .”
Before Christian could reply with a name, Violet offered, “Rochester.”
He glanced at her with a raised brow, and she offered a gentle shrug.
The innkeeper gave a short bow. “Milord, would you be needing a room for yourself and your wife?” His smile was eager as he leaned forward. He was obviously pleased to be entertaining a nobleman. Christian had directed his coachman to leave the Great North Road some miles back to avoid the main coaching inns, so he doubted the quaint establishment had seen more than local gentry.
“I’m his sister,” Violet offered.
The man stared at her, obviously surprised by her accent. Christian stood silent for a moment, having forgotten that they would need to navigate this particular issue with care. “Two rooms. I also need accommodations for my coachman.” The innkeeper’s pink-rimmed eyes had stayed wide in surprise, so Christian felt the need to add, “My sister has been abroad for some time.”
“Of course, milord.”
“Yes, milord.” The man gave Violet a dubious glance as he led them to a small room off the main dining room. He bowed and fussed over them, helping Violet out of her cape, before seeing them settled at a small table. A maid hurried in and set the table for the two of them, and then they were left alone with a bottle of Bordeaux and a candelabra lighting the room. Rain tapped gently against the diamond-paned window.
Violet smiled at him, the light catching the pink apples of her cheeks. “I’ve never been to a proper English inn.”
He gave her a bland smile and filled his wineglass very nearly to the top. “Have you not traveled outside of London?”
“Yes, but only by train. Even when our family traveled to Rothschild’s estate in Hampshire there was no need to use the services of an inn.”
“Then here’s to your first night at an inn.” He held up his glass in a mock toast before taking a swallow. “How lucky I am to share the evening with you.”
Actually, a fit of conscience had been bothering him ever since they had left London behind. When they were found—if his plan worked and marriage resulted—there would be no escape from the gossip. She would no longer be viewed as the innocent and beautiful American heiress. It wasn’t a terrible fate, but it bothered him more than he had anticipated. Christian had never despoiled an innocent. Married women, yes; widows, for certain; but never an innocent. But had her plan been successful and she eventually made it to her destination under her own guardianship, similar talk would have happened anyway.
The Devil and the Heiress Page 9