Neither was Lord Torrington.
She crept a bit closer to make sure she could scan the entire space before stepping back.
A door closed above, and Edith pressed herself against the wall, waiting to be discovered when whomever it was above came down the stairs. She held her breath, fearing she’d be caught and questioned. Turned over to a magistrate and hauled off to a holding house long before she knew what was happening.
Edith hadn’t been successful in playing the detective outside Abercorn’s townhouse, and she didn’t understand why she thought she’d do any better in an inn. On a positive note, there was no chance of her falling from a tree.
When no footsteps sounded on the stairs, Edith sighed in relief.
The cold, rough wall bit into her back even through her many layers of clothing.
She was discovering nothing here, and only risking being caught if either of the men wandered from the taproom.
Hurrying up the stairs, attempting to make as little noise as possible, Edith rushed down the single corridor on the second floor. Room after empty room—a parlor, a library, and a dining room stood open for her scrutiny. The farthest three doors on the floor were solidly closed. She pressed her ear to each, heard nothing, and tried each respective lever. The first two opened easily on well-oiled hinges to reveal empty sleeping quarters. The third was tightly locked.
There was little chance Torrington was on this floor.
Edith hurried back down the hall and up to the third floor. The hallway looked exactly as the last had: several doors opened to a receiving room, an office, a dining area, and four closed doors at the far end. All entirely uninhabited.
He must be in one of the closed rooms. There was no other place he could be hiding, unless he’d entered the inn and departed out the back. Blast it, but Edith hadn’t even thought of that possibility.
No, Edith needed to have faith that Torrington hadn’t seen her trailing him, and that he was unaware she was searching for him at this very moment.
She tiptoed down the hall, once again placing her ear to one of the closed doors. Nothing.
She moved on to the next. Silence.
The third, however, proved fruitful. She heard male mumbling from the far side, and something solid hit the floor—a boot, perhaps? The sound was followed by yet another thud.
Images of Torrington undressing surged into her mind, followed quickly by visions of him bare-chested and pulling a carriage with his brute strength. She swallowed, suppressing the need to fan her heated face. She didn’t know what she wanted more, to giggle or scold Luci for introducing the foolish fantasy to her mind.
She pressed her ear more firmly to the door, trying her best to decipher his mumbling—or if another occupied the room with him. Damnation, she wasn’t even certain it was Torrington in the room.
Worse still, Edith couldn’t understand what was being said on the far side of the door, although she was fairly certain it was only one voice she heard. Her shoulders sagged with an unexpected release of tension. She’d truly thought to find him here—with a woman.
It was ludicrous she was concerned with what Torrington did or whom he did it with.
He was a stranger—an arrogant, demanding stranger.
Yet, still an Adonis among men.
She shook her head at the thought.
Edith was here to learn what dastardly secrets the man kept, not to spend her afternoon woolgathering over the man’s prowess—which she had little doubt was great.
Lucianna would be proud to know that at least Edith wasn’t a prude as her mind swirled around images of a certain lord’s bare chest.
The squeak of bed ropes sounded as the room’s occupant most likely either sat or laid on the bed. And now, Edith was thinking of Torrington’s massive frame strewn haphazardly across her bed as a pool of heat settled in her most private area. Dash it all, but she was not attracted to the man. And she knew she should not be attracted to him in any way.
She was here to explore his misdeeds, not his body.
“May I help you, miss?” a gentle voice sounded from behind Edith.
Chapter 7
Triston allowed his head to fall into his hands, and he scrubbed away the tension of the day. This was his safe place, where he could just be Triston—not Lord Torrington, not the marquis’ son, not the responsible brother of two hoyden sisters, and not a man marred by scandal. No one looked at him with question when he entered this inn. No one inquired as to his hardships. No one demanded anything of him. The place was quiet, and he went undisturbed and unknown to everyone—except his father and his man of business.
It was for this specific reason Triston had chosen the boarding house—and leased the entire third floor—when he could not stand living under his father’s roof a moment longer.
Here, he answered to no one.
And, in turn, the inn’s other occupants paid him little mind.
As long as no one ventured into his area—except the servants—Triston remained happy with his accommodations. That he did not reside in the most elite area of London only added to the Langworth Inn’s appeal. Coming and going, he crossed no one’s path unless it was his intention to do so.
A screech sounded outside his door, followed by the sloshing of water and a tin hitting the wooden floor.
Triston shot to his feet and started for the door.
Water cascaded under his door and reached his bare feet, the lukewarm liquid surely intended for the bath he’d summoned be brought to his room.
He hoped no one was injured.
Pulling the door open, his eyes widened at the spectacle in the hall. Molly, the upstairs maid, scattered to collect the tin she’d dropped, while also attempting to stop the water from traveling farther down the corridor and into other rooms. On her knees, Lady Edith Pelton used her skirts to halt the bathwater from flooding into his room.
The scene would have been highly entertaining if Triston weren’t shirtless and barefooted with his trouser flap hanging open in preparation for his bath.
He was indecent, and Edith was so distracted helping Molly, she didn’t realize her derriere was positioned perfectly for a pinch as it wagged back and forth as she soaked up the water.
The urge to reach out toward her was strong—as was the need to laugh—but he kept silent and unmoving. Triston relished the opportunity to see how this would play out before him.
“I am dreadfully sorry,” Edith gushed. “My friends always speak to my clumsy nature. They will find much enjoyment once again, knowing they have been proven—“
Her voice cut off as Molly stood and stared past her, finally noting Triston’s presence.
The time to put the debacle to an end had arrived, accompanied by the stirring in his pants.
“Thank you, Molly,” he said with a smile. “I can get this tidied up. You may return to your other chores.”
“What—what—what—” she stammered, wringing her hands. “What about your bath, my lord?”
“I am certain it will take some time to heat more water. I can wait.” He kept his eyes trained on the servant, hoping she too did not focus on Lady Edith, still on her hands and knees, outside his bedchamber door. “Hurry along.”
“Are you certain, my lord?” The maid blinked rapidly, clutching the basin to her chest. What little water remained, dripped down the front of her uniform and pooled at her feet.
He waved her off with a nod. “I am certain, Molly.”
With one last glance at Lady Edith, the servant curtseyed and fled back toward the landing.
When Molly had disappeared down the stairs, Triston extended his arm to Edith. “Lady Edith, may I assist you to rise?”
Her shoulders slumped, and her head fell forward, but she did not address him.
“I must say, this is rather more shocking than finding you with your cloak and skirts thrown over your head.” He was teasing her unmercifully, and he damn well knew it; however, she deserved any jests he made.
H
is mind swirled with reasons why Lady Edith was in Langworth Inn, outside his bedchamber door—on her hands and knees. None of them boded well for Triston and his need to remain unscathed by the scandal sheets for the foreseeable future.
His teeth ground together, but he was unable to hold back his rising ire. “What in the bloody hell are you doing here?”
At his harsh words, her shoulders stiffened, and her head snapped up, her eyes moving around to meet his as she pushed to her feet unassisted.
“Do not play coy, my lord,” she seethed. “You know exactly why I am here.”
It was then she took her narrowed glare from his and moved it to his shirtless chest, her eyes widening. Things would have been safe had her gaze stopped there, but it traveled lower, and her face blossomed with the most fetching rose color as her lips pressed together.
It only made matters worse when his manhood decided to disobey him and harden further as her now wide stare locked on his undone trouser flap.
“I have many ideas why I would want you here.” He raised his brow in suggestion, though her eyes were still stuck far lower than his face…or chest…or waistband.
She snapped from her daze. “You are incorrigible, my lord,” she hissed as she pushed past him—into his bedchamber. Into his empty bedchamber.
He had half a mind to shout for Molly to return and act as chaperone until Lady Edith decided she was ready to depart. Because the way she plopped herself down on his bed, her saturated cloak and skirts clinging to her legs, told Triston she was not leaving anytime soon.
Looking from the blessedly empty hallway to his room and back once more, Triston slammed the door shut. He could not risk anyone happening upon her in his private space.
She’d be compromised.
And he’d be to blame.
“Allow me to ask again, what are you doing here?” No, he was not entirely to blame. Edith had made her own way here, though he hadn’t the faintest notion how or why, and she had willingly walked into his chambers and threw herself upon his bed.
All while he stood gawking, trying to remain angry even when his body wanted nothing more than to join her on the bed.
“Why are you here?” she retorted, crossing her arms.
“Bloody hell. I live here!”
Edith’s muscles went rigid, and she leapt to her feet as if someone had actually pinched her backside. Her head turned from side to side as if noting for the first time that they stood in a bedchamber and she had been sitting upon a bed—a man’s bed.
“You live here?” She gulped. “Right outside the gates of Vauxhall?”
“Langworth Inn is not so close to Vauxhall.” His father had had the same reaction when Triston had requested funds to secure his room and board at the Langworth Inn. He was aware the area was not known for much else but entertainment; however, Triston had sought distance and space—between him, society, and his father and the duke’s new bride. A little lane off Laud Street had given him exactly what he’d longed for. “And yes, I most certainly do live here. However, you do not.”
Even flustered with water dripping from her, she was captivating. Her blond hair was secured in a tight knot at the back of her head with several tendrils framing her face that had escaped her coiffure. He barely stopped himself from stepping toward her and pushing the wayward strands behind her ear.
“You are certainly correct, my lord. And I think it best I depart.” She took a step toward the door, keeping her stare on the floor at her feet.
Triston stepped into her path, blocking her exit.
As much as he wanted her gone and away from his private chambers, his need to know why she kept appearing wherever he was proved stronger than his good sense to allow her to pass.
A chill ran down Edith’s spine, whether from her water-soaked clothes or the intimidating figure blocking her way, she was uncertain. One thing she knew all too plainly was she’d made a dreadful mistake. She’d thought to spy on Lord Torrington, discover his secrets, and hand them over to Ophelia for exposure by way of the Gazette’s Mayfair Confidential.
She’d gravely underestimated Torrington, and overestimated her own skill. Spying on him was no easy feat. She was now certain he held some scandalous secret, but she would never be permitted to find out what it was. But, now, Edith doubted she would want to betray the formidable man before her.
There would be consequences—dire consequences.
Edith notched her chin higher, not in confidence but to glare at Torrington straight in the eyes. How dare he deny her departure! “Do step aside, my lord,” she hissed, placing her hands on her hips. “I find I wish to leave.”
“I think our acquaintance has progressed beyond the ‘my lord’ formalities.” He made no move to allow her escape. “You are in my bedchambers, after all. My given name is Triston.”
Triston? Edith wasn’t sure why the name surprised her. She’d known his title, but it seemed his given name was an intimacy she was unprepared for, nor had any right to possess.
Hell, at this juncture, she’d half expected his given name to actually be Adonis.
“Oddly, the name suits, my lord.” Edith hadn’t meant to vocalize her musings, and she quickly looked away to the washstand to his left. If her eyes dropped back to the floor, her perusal would travel all the way down his hulking body—his barely clothed body. And Edith did not need to linger on the way his muscles flexed when he tensed or the speckling of dark hair that covered his chest. Far darker than the hair atop his head. And she most certainly did not want to think about what lay beneath the flap of his undone trousers—for she already suspected it fought to gain freedom. The image caused her face to flush with heat, and her legs to quiver unsteadily.
She shouldn’t want to look, but despite her best efforts, her eyes returned to his bare midsection.
Luci would likely whistle at the glorious sight.
Ophelia would swoon into a dead faint, and smelling salts would be needed.
But Edith…Edith hadn’t any notion what to do or what to think. In fact, to her horror, she was frozen. She could not move past him, nor would she retreat farther into his personal chambers. Even now, she was helpless to look away from his muscular shoulders, so wide he could easily carry a fallen carthorse across them. Or maybe rescue an entire schoolhouse of children in one fell swoop.
“Do you enjoy what you see?” he said with a chuckle.
Yet she hadn’t actually taken in his form at all, but avoided settling her stare on his finely built masculine body.
She wanted to push him aside and flee, but that would put her hands in contact with his bare skin. Instead, Edith crossed her arms and leaned in close, making it obvious she inspected every inch of him, from his trousers, which hung loosely about his hips, up over his stocky midsection, and finally across his chest and to his face.
“I have seen many oxen with broader shoulders,”—she smirked, pulling back and leaning to the side as if to get a glimpse of his backside—“and far more accentuated hindquarters.”
She gulped.
No laughter remained as he narrowed his eyes on her. “Did you just compare my physique to that of a farm animal?”
Edith took a step back—damnation, she would not cower to him. “If you prefer, I can select another animal. A donkey, perhaps? They are well-known for their obstinacy. Or better yet, an African lion, I have read they are intimidating creatures.”
“You think me intimidating?” It was Torrington who took a step back this time, as if her words had wounded him. “Wait, do not answer that question—I have a far more important one: why do you keep appearing everywhere I am?”
“It is not I who keeps appearing,” Edith corrected. “I was minding my own business outside of Abercorn’s townhouse. You are the one who scared me from the tree. And you were the one who caught my eye in the ballroom. And I was enjoying an afternoon in the park when—“ She clamped her mouth shut.
“Enjoying an afternoon in the park until…you saw me and decided
to follow?” he demanded. “I may very well be as large as an ox, or as stubborn as a donkey, or even as domineering as a lion, but at least I am not a snake—slithering and sneaking about, ready to bite and poison when the mood strikes.”
Edith gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, you find it belittling to be compared to a bloody animal?” he sneered. “Well, I find it insulting to be lied to, followed, and scrutinized by a woman I do not know.”
Edith sighed. “I have not been following you, I swear to it.”
Not a complete lie, or at least she hadn’t been at Lord Abercorn’s townhouse to spy on Triston—she allowed herself to think of him by his given name—nor had she attended the ball with Ophelia and Luci expecting to see him. And the park, well, that was rather serendipitous. She had decided to keep an eye on him, but she’d never thought to follow him out of London proper.
Edith glanced to the window, but the drapes were pulled securely shut. “The day must be growing late. My parents will surely be wondering where I am when I don’t arrive home on schedule.”
“I know what you are up to, Lady Edith Pelton.” His stance widened as he surveyed her from head to toe.
It was odd because, Edith was baffled at her bravado in following him and sneaking into the inn; however, she still considered Torrington a friend of Abercorn’s, no matter he hadn’t admitted as much. He hadn’t denied his association with the duke either. She could not allow him to discover her ultimate goal for being outside Abercorn’s townhouse, nor her interest in him at the ball. Could she?
No, she needs must distract him from the entire mess she’d created.
It was not only Edith’s safety in jeopardy, but also that of Ophelia and Lucianna if the duke found out they persisted in proving his guilt in Tilda’s death. He would no doubt seek vengeance if he discovered the truth.
“Why do you not live with your father?” Edith hoped to throw him off guard. “He has a lovely townhouse in a fashionable part of town. It is certainly closer to the more favored parts of London. I imagine it is inconvenient to journey all the way to Surrey for your lodging.”
The Disappearance of Lady Edith (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 1) Page 6