“Nonsense,” Hart replied. “I’m not about to call for help like a ninny. I’m going to find this flintlock, light the candle, and open this blasted door.”
“Are you calling me a ninny?” she asked, but the lightness in her voice remained. He could tell she found it amusing.
“No. I’m saying I don’t need help from a servant to escape a silver closet.”
“Very well, I’ll wait here with my ripped bodice while you save the day. Please proceed.”
Hart shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him do it. He slowly lowered himself to the floor and on hands and knees scoured every inch of the floor of the silver closet while Meg quietly waited near the back of the small space.
“I don’t understand it,” he said, finally. He pushed himself up to sit on the floor, his back against the cabinet next to Meg. He drew up his knees. “I laid out the floor in a grid. I know I covered everywhere.”
“As did I ten minutes before you.”
“I touched every bit of space on the bureau, too.”
“As did I,” she said.
“It’s not in here.”
“My conclusion exactly.”
“How can that be?” Hart asked.
“It’s an excellent question and one I intend to pose to Lucy the moment I see her next, but for now, are you at all interested in calling for help?”
Hart sighed loud and long. He stood and made his way carefully to the door. He grabbed the handle and pulled it as hard as he could. His shoulder wrenched but he pulled again. He took off his coat and tossed it atop the bureau. This time he put his back into it. He tugged, strained, and pulled with every ounce of strength he possessed. Still nothing. All he’d managed to do was work up a fine sweat. He swiped his wet hair away from his eyes. “Blast. Blast. Blast. Sorry,” he said, remembering a lady was in the room.
“I don’t blame you,” Meg replied. “I said many similar things while trying to pry open that door. Let me know when you think it’s time to call for help.”
Hart sank back to the floor and propped up his knees, resting his arms atop them. He thumped his head back against the bureau behind him. Once. Twice. “Blast. There is only one problem with calling for help.”
“What’s that?” Meg’s voice held a note of surprise.
“We’ve been in here together, alone, for at least ten minutes and your bodice is ripped. If we call for help we could do irreparable harm to your reputation.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
There was no arguing with that logic. Meg bit her lip. It was true. Depending on who came to open the door, a scandal might well ensue.
“If Lucy comes, she won’t tell. We can simply explain what happened.” Meg desperately tried to think of the best possible outcome.
Hart’s voice was grim. “If one of the servants comes, the entire household may know before the night is through.”
“If the butler comes, I’ve no doubt he’ll be discreet. He’s a duke’s butler after all,” she countered.
“If it’s one of the maids, however, she may have no such compunction. And what, pray tell, if it’s one of the party guests?”
“Such as Sir Winford?” Meg asked, true panic beginning to set in. Hart was right. This was more than an unfortunate event. This was a potential disaster.
“Afraid your engagement might not happen?” Hart replied. His voice dripped sarcasm.
“Pardon?”
“What do you see in that man?”
“Sir Winford?” Meg could hardly believe her ears. Were they truly having this conversation?
“He doesn’t seem particularly … manly to me,” Hart continued.
Meg tried to quell the laughter in her voice. “Oh really? What do you consider manly?”
“I doubt he ever won the steeplechase in Devon,” Hart mumbled.
“You’re calling him a liar?”
“I have my doubts, that’s all.”
“Why do you care?” Meg’s voice was matter-of-fact.
“I don’t care for braggarts.”
This entire conversation would be much easier if she could see him, tell from the look in his eyes what he was thinking. “Is that why you challenged him to a race?”
“Never could pass up a challenge.”
“The race is a challenge? Is that it?” Why did he have to smell like that? Evergreen and soap. Just like his coat that fateful night in the gardens next to her father’s house.
“Of course it’s a challenge.” Hart’s voice was sharp, clipped.
“What do you care what I see in him?” She wanted to force him to admit to some bit of feeling, however small.
Silence ensued for a few moments before Hart said, “You could do a sight better in picking a husband.”
That made Meg laugh.
“What’s funny?” Hart’s voice sounded bothered.
“That you think I could do better than Sir Winford.”
“I only meant, he’s not particularly well connected or—”
“You do realize I’m the biggest wallflower the ton has seen in years, don’t you?”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration.”
“It’s not, really. I don’t exaggerate. Never seen the need for it. The circumstances of my life have been horrible enough.”
“Horrible?” His voice had changed completely. Now it was low, tense.
“My father is penniless and I have no dowry. You cannot pretend not to know the scandal surrounding my family. As a result, I’ve been unwanted and overlooked. If it weren’t for your sister, I’d have spent the last years completely alone.” She took a deep breath. “As it was, I’ve sat on the sidelines, ignored and … lonely.”
Oh, why was she telling him all of this? She must sound like the biggest ninny in London. Was she truly explaining to one of the most popular men in town what it felt like to be lonely? Hart Highgate didn’t even know what the word meant.
“I’m sorry, Meg.” The true regret in his tone made tears spring to her eyes.
“It’s nothing for you to be sorry about.” Her voice was sharper than she’d meant it to be.
“But still, I … never thought about how it must have been for you. How … difficult.” He took a deep breath. “You want to marry, then? Not because it’s expected of you?” Confusion lay heavy in his voice.
That was a surprising question. “Yes, of course. You don’t?”
A few silent moments ticked by. “I’ve tried to think about it as little as possible. The truth is, I’ve never considered before that it might actually be a choice someone made, not for duty or family, but actual desire. That’s a novel concept to me.”
Meg pushed her slipper along the floor. “I know,” she whispered softly.
“How do you know?”
“I mean…” Meg’s voice faltered. Why in the world had she blurted that out? Confound it. “Sarah and I have spoken about you, about your lack of desire to marry.”
“You have?”
“Yes, you know, ladies talk.” She did her best to sound nonchalant. Of late, however, that nonchalance did not come as easily as it once had.
“You and Sarah have spoken about me? I suppose it stands to reason.” He was silent for a bit while Meg decided that she should remain quiet because she was obviously saying idiotic things here in the dark.
“Why do you want to marry?” Hart’s words sliced through the darkness like a sharp knife through a fresh teacake.
Meg laughed again. His evergreen scent continued to fill the space, along with the tang of silver polish. She wished she could move away from his scent. All it did was make her want to … touch him. “What do you mean, why?”
“I’m quite serious,” he said. “Why do you wish to marry? For your family’s sake?”
“Not at all. I wish to marry because I want a husband and children and … love.”
“Love? Are you serious?” A scoffing laugh followed. “Blast. I hadn’t meant to say that aloud. Pardon my language.”
; “Of course I’m serious. Haven’t you ever wanted those things?”
Another moment of silence. “I’ve always known I must marry, but I cannot say I’ve wanted it. I’m resigned to the fact that it must happen. To secure the lineage.”
Meg took a deep breath. She anticipated and dreaded his answer to her next question. “And you’re … finally ready now?”
“Did Sarah tell you?”
“She mentioned it. And then there’s the fact that I’ve never seen you pay anyone as much attention as you’re paying Lady Eugenia.”
“You’ve noticed whom I’ve paid attention to?”
“No. I…” Drat. Honesty was the best policy. “Very well. I suppose I have. Ladies tend to notice these things.”
“Yes,” he replied. “I’ve decided it’s time.”
She was quiet for several seconds. “Lady Eugenia is to be the lucky bride?” Confound it. Why did her voice have to shake?
“It would appear so.”
At least he hadn’t been able to manage enough enthusiasm to simply say yes. Wasn’t that grasping at optimism?
“I almost married when I was younger.” His voice took on a hard edge.
“I remember.”
“You remember Annabelle?”
“Yes,” Meg replied. “Why didn’t you marry her?” The darkness was making her bold. She’d never summoned the courage to ask such a thing before.
“Because she tried to force me into it.” Hart’s voice was unmistakably angry. “I detest scheming women.”
Meg gulped. Her discussions with Lucy marched through her mind. Guilt flooded her. She was scheming even now, wasn’t she? “Force you? What do you mean?”
“Annabelle employed a friend to find us in a compromising situation she’d invented. We’d only been outside alone for a few minutes. I hadn’t touched her. The entire thing was ludicrous. I learned that some young ladies will do nearly anything to secure a title and wealth.”
“That is horrible.”
Annabelle had left town, never to be heard from again. She had paid a steep price for her attempt at blackmail.
“Yes, well, that incident put me off marriage. That and my father’s endorsement of the institution.”
“After the Annabelle incident, I don’t blame you.”
A few moments ticked by in silence before Hart asked, “Are you truly leaving town?”
“Yes,” Meg sighed, hearing the sadness in that sound, but not knowing what to say. What else was there? She was leaving the country and he was marrying Lady Eugenia.
“Why?”
There was no use denying it. Hart would find out soon enough. “My father has decided we must move to the Continent.”
“Because?” Hart prompted.
Meg kept her cheek firmly between her teeth. She did not want to cry. “He owes quite a lot of money to a good many people.”
“Ah. Of course.”
“Apparently moving to the Continent is…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“One way to outrun his debtors,” Hart finished for her. “You’re going too?” Hart spared her from a reply to the debtors comment.
She was not going to be able to say this without tears in her eyes. Despite the fact that he couldn’t see her, she nodded. “Yes.” She forced the word past her dry lips, ashamed at the quaver in her voice. At least he couldn’t see her burning face.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Does Sarah know yet?”
“I told her this morning. Only Lucy hopes—” Oh, she couldn’t finish that awful sentence, either … what Lucy had instructed her to say to Hart should this subject be broached.
“Lucy hopes Sir Winford will offer for you before you leave,” Hart finished for her again.
Was the man a mind reader? More ridiculous nodding and then she said, “Yes.”
“Is that what you want, Meg? To marry Winford?”
She turned her head toward Hart in the darkness with tears cooling her cheeks. Her throat was closed. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t get any words past the huge lump that had formed there.
“A marriage proposal would keep me here,” she finally managed.
“I see.”
She couldn’t talk about Sir Winford anymore. All she wanted was get out of here and rush home and cry. Her skirts rustled as she stood. She brushed Hart’s leg as she moved toward the door slowly, carefully, feeling her way. She tried to ignore the warmth of him and the scent of him. So near. So close. She could reach out and touch him … if she dared. Her body shook with pent-up longing.
Steeling her resolve, she made it to the door and stood and tugged at the handle again. “Lucy knows we’re here. She’ll come in search of us. We’ll just have to hope she finds us and not some gossipy servant.”
“Don’t worry, Meg. Whatever happens, I’ll stand up for you.”
She snapped her head to the side. “What?” she asked breathlessly.
“If we’re found by the wrong person and a scandal ensues, I will do the gentlemanly thing and stand up for you.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Did he mean what she thought he meant? “What do you mean by ‘stand up’?”
“Marry you, of course. If the scandal is great enough, I’d have to. We’d have no choice. It would be the right thing to do.”
Meg had never prayed harder in her entire life. A fervent wish to the heavens that whoever found them would be an ally. She wanted Hart desperately, but she didn’t want him forced into an unwanted marriage. Never that. She could not bear it.
She didn’t have long to say her prayers before the door was wrenched open and the light from the corridor flooded their small prison.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“What in the world?” A female voice floated into the silver closet.
Hart blinked, adjusting his eyesight to the light.
It was Sarah’s voice. Thank bloody Christ it was Sarah’s voice. Was she alone?
“Sarah, is that you?” Hart stepped into the corridor. He had his answer. “Thank God you’re alone.”
Meg remained in the shadows. Sensibly, she wasn’t about to leave the closet with her ripped bodice.
“What in heaven’s name is going on here?” Sarah’s face was a study in shock. “You were both in there in the dark? Alone? Meg, are you coming out?”
“No,” Meg squeaked.
“What? Why not?” Sarah’s voice rose in alarm.
Hart cleared his throat. “I will allow Miss Timmons to explain the situation. Being a gentleman, I must take myself off, but allow me to assure you that absolutely nothing untoward happened here. I’ll return to the dining room and tell everyone I got lost on the way to the silver closet and never made it. I’ll say you helped me locate Meg and she has a megrim and is leaving immediately.” He glanced at Meg. “Meg can explain the rest.”
“What? Why?” Sarah asked but Hart was already striding toward the dining room.
As he went, he considered what had happened in the silver closet. His throat had tightened when Meg told him she was lonely. Lonely. The word stuck in his chest like a knife. He’d never considered it. He’d known Meg was a wallflower. Everyone knew that. He’d give his right arm to be able to go to events and not be mobbed by marriage-minded misses looking to become the next Lady Highgate. He’d never considered it from her position. A young woman who was overlooked by everyone, due to her circumstances. He’d felt like an arse after bringing up her marital prospects. After she’d said she was lonely, he felt like an even bigger one.
Meg actually wanted to marry. She was looking for love of all things. It had both surprised him and softened him. Did she love Sir Winford? Was that possible? Hart didn’t want to contemplate it. His gut ached.
He pasted a false smile on his face before opening the door to the dining room. “I never found the silver closet,” he announced. “When Sarah came to look, she showed me where it was and we located Miss Timmons. She is fine but has been overcome by a megrim and Sarah is
helping to call around her coach. I’m afraid she won’t be joining us for the remainder of the evening.”
He didn’t mistake the obviously peeved look on Lucy Hunt’s face.
* * *
“Come in, Sarah.” Meg gestured with her hand from her safe spot inside the darkened silver closet. “But whatever you do, do not close that door behind you.”
Sarah plucked a candlestick from a side table in the corridor and entered the closet. Five minutes later, Meg had explained the entire debacle to her. She left out the part where Hart had said he would stand up for her. She couldn’t bear to think about that. By the time Meg had finished relating the story, her heart was pounding. Had the events of the evening truly happened to her? She’d come so close to causing a scandal. With Hart. That was the last thing she wanted.
“Don’t worry. Don’t worry.” Sarah patted her shoulder. “I’ll go and grab my shawl and call for your coach. We’ll cover your bodice and I’ll explain everything to Lucy and the others. Like Hart said, I’ll tell them you weren’t feeling well. There is nothing whatsoever to worry about.”
Meg sighed a breath of relief. “Thank you, Sarah. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate it. I’ll wait here.”
Sarah paused, her hand on the doorjamb. “May I ask you something, Meggie?”
“Of course.”
“The key was in the lock when I came. There was no reason for the door to be stuck. Lucy wouldn’t by any chance be trying to help you win Hart’s favor, would she?” A disapproving look shone in Sarah’s eye.
Meg was relieved that she’d left out the part about Hart standing up for her. She, too, suspected Lucy was behind tonight’s little drama. It was time to tell her closest friend the truth. She nodded slowly. “I’m afraid I’ve got in over my head, Sarah. I never expected Lucy to go to these lengths.”
Sarah moved back into the closet, sighed, and shook her head. “I knew it. We are talking about the infamous Lucy Hunt, are we not?”
“I had no idea she’d conspire to lock me and Hart in a silver closet together!”
“I agree. It’s a bit much even for Lucy. When I announced I would go in search of you two, she nearly tackled me trying to send Sir Winford instead. That’s when I became suspicious. Well, I was somewhat suspicious before that, if the truth is told, as I’ve never heard of silver polish removing a soup stain from a shirt. Have you?”
The Right Kind of Rogue Page 11