At the landing, he turned down a hallway, and when he reached the first door, he paused, pressed his ear to the wood, and listened. Heavy snoring, male snoring. The next door revealed nothing but quiet on the other side. Probably the lady of the manor, but he needed to check. Slowly, ever so slowly, he released the latch and then inch by inch eased open the door. Fancy houses also tended to have silent hinges, the servants keen about keeping them oiled.
He was halfway to the bed when he gained a clear view of the occupant, a lady—her mouth unpleasantly open and folds of skin gathered at her neck—at least as old as his mum. He made a quiet but hasty retreat, closing the door in his wake. Picturing what he now knew of these rooms and the windows through which light had spilled into the darkness, he ignored the next three doors and slowly opened the fourth, knowing immediately he’d found the correct bedchamber, because it smelled of her: flowery but not sickeningly so. Something rare, a scent he’d only ever inhaled once, when he’d walked past her to get to her mare. The fragrance had haunted him ever since, until this moment when he could inhale it and feel a sense of calm.
On feet as light as a cat’s, he edged toward the bed, grateful it was summer, and she’d not drawn the heavy draperies around the bedstead. Carefully, he set his lantern on the table beside the bed, turning it just so in order to direct the flickering flame so it illuminated her face. Lost in sleep, she appeared more innocent and kinder than she had when they’d first met, when she’d smacked him with her ineffectual balled fist. Her injured arm was still encased in the splint, would no doubt be for a few weeks if his experience dealing with broken bones was a true indication of how things went. Her hand rested, palm up, on the pillow, her fingers curled. Her other hand was hidden away beneath the blankets. Her hair, a shade reminiscent of the brightest of moons, was plaited, the braid draped over her shoulder, the tail of it curled beneath her small breast, temptingly so.
With a silent curse, he tore his gaze from a spot where it should not be looking and cleared his head of thoughts he shouldn’t be thinking. She was a lady, an earl’s daughter. It was folly to think there might ever be anything more between them than a casualness brought about because of a need to reassure her. Folding his hand around her slender shoulder, surprised by how dainty it felt, as though it could easily shatter beneath a tighter grip, he shook her. “M’lady?”
Slowly she opened her eyes. They widened. More quickly she opened her mouth. Swiftly, he covered it with his hand before she could cry out. “Shh. I mean you no harm. I bring word of Sophie.”
She blinked. Beneath his palm, he felt her mouth relaxing. “Promise not to scream and I’ll remove my hand.”
She nodded. Cautiously, he lifted his hand slightly, prepared to drop it back into place rapidly if needed.
“You’ve come to tell me you’ve killed her,” she fairly spat, the sadness in her eyes belying the tartness of her words.
“Not exactly. But she is in heaven, of a sort. I thought you might like to go there yourself.” It had cost him a month’s wages to have the horse spared, and he wanted to see reflected on her face that it had all been worth it.
Furrowing her brow, she shoved herself into a sitting position and yanked the covers up to her chin. “I don’t understand.”
“I want to show you something, now, tonight. I have my wagon—”
“You expect me to go with you, a person I don’t even know? Someone who sneaks into my bedchamber?”
Fairly certain she was past the point where she might scream, he straightened, disappointed by her stubbornness and reluctance. He hadn’t thought this through. Just because he’d felt a connection, had been drawn to the green of her eyes, didn’t mean she was intrigued by him in the least. “I just want to show you that she’s unharmed.”
“Are you striving to trick me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re a commoner. You might be seeking to take advantage of me. Or, heaven forbid, kidnap me, and then make my father pay you an exorbitant amount in order to get me back.”
Nicking a vase was one thing, but nicking a person? Was her opinion of him truly that low? Christ. What the devil was he doing here?
“Never mind. This was a stupid idea.” He spun on his heel.
“Wait.”
He shouldn’t. He’d been a fool to come here, to care what she thought of him, to have a need to show her he wasn’t a heartless bastard—just a bastard. He nearly laughed at the final thought. Swinging back around, he wished she didn’t look so delectable and earnest, leaning away from the headboard now, leaning toward him.
“Why not come during a normal hour?” she asked.
“Because what I’ve done has to remain a secret. Are they going to let you come with me? I sincerely doubt it, but even if they do, they won’t let you come alone. Chaperones and footmen will be tagging along. If your father catches wind of your horse not being disposed of as he’d paid for, do you think he’ll be happy?”
“No, he’ll be furious. He’ll have your head.”
“Precisely. So it has to be now, in the middle of the night. That’s when secrets are best made and kept.” When there was no one to see.
She hesitated another minute while he stupidly held his breath as though that alone would influence her to make the decision he desired more than anything else. Finally, she gave a quick nod. “Give me a few minutes to ready myself.”
“Be quick. I’ll be waiting in the hallway, but if I hear anyone moving about, I’ll have to make a hasty escape.”
“I’ll hurry.”
Grabbing his lantern, he headed out of the room, closing the door, then leaning against a wall to wait for her. It was madness, total madness, to be so intrigued by her. No good could come of it, and yet he was compelled to see his plans through.
Sophie wasn’t dead. She could hardly believe it, wanted to see for herself. She was probably a fool to trust someone who had broken into her residence, into her bedchamber, but if he were going to take advantage, he could have done it while she’d been asleep. Could have conked her on the head and made off with her. He was tall, broad, and she’d felt the firmness of his muscles when she’d punched him. He’d have no trouble at all hauling her away.
As she changed quickly into a simple frock that didn’t require any assistance from her maid in donning, she felt both a measure of excitement and terror. Never before had she done anything so risky. Not that she hadn’t thought about it, but whenever she’d fantasized about going off with a man alone at night, she’d always pictured herself with Thornley—or at least she’d tried to picture herself with him. In truth, in her dreams the man’s features had never been very clear, but to imagine her escort being anyone other than the man who would wed her filled her with shame. Guilt pricked at her conscience now, because without a chaperone attending her she would be in the company of a man she’d not marry. But with a great deal of effort, she ignored the nagging doubts. It wasn’t as though they were going to get up to no good. He was simply going to prove to her that Sophie was safe.
It wasn’t that she didn’t believe his words, but she was in the mood for a lark, a bit of adventure. And she was still rather put out with her father, which made her want to do something rebellious, even if he never found out about it. She could sit at the dining table with a cat-that-lapped-up-all-the-cream smile on her face, knowing she had a delicious secret. She’d never had any secrets.
She was the most boring of all her friends, never gleaning any juicy tidbits of gossip to share. She couldn’t share tonight’s excursion but could wear the very same smile at the balls she’d attend in the future and that would lead people to wonder what sort of mischief she might be up to. It would give her an air of mystique, make her more alluring, perhaps even to the point that Thornley would finally take proper notice of her.
As she opened her door, she realized it didn’t hurt that her escort was a handsome devil. He stood there with his lantern in one hand, his cap in the other. His s
hirt wasn’t wrinkled like the one he’d worn that afternoon, and she realized now that when he’d been so close to her earlier in her bedchamber, he hadn’t smelled of horses, dirt, and manure. He’d bathed before coming to her, possibly taken a razor to his face. His hair didn’t seem quite as long either. Surely a young man who had gone to such bother didn’t have any nefarious plans in store for her.
He settled his cap into place. “We need to be very quiet,” he whispered.
She nodded her understanding. Then he did a very odd thing indeed. He took her hand, as though by so doing he could transfer his skill at stealth into her. He wore no gloves, but she’d donned black leather ones because a lady did not leave the residence with bare hands exposed. Still, she could feel the warmth from his skin penetrating through the covering to heat hers.
He didn’t make a sound. Although she traversed on the tips of her toes, she wasn’t quite as accomplished as he at sneaking about, which became evident when they hit the marble staircase. Each of her steps sounded like someone hitting a nail into wood.
After half a dozen clicks, he halted and held the lantern toward her. “Hold this.”
She took it, then nearly screeched when he lifted her into his arms. Such strong arms, so powerful. Thornley’s holding of her paled in comparison to being cradled by this strapping young man as he hurried down the stairs. The comparison was unfair to Thorne, who had held her as a gentleman would, with a certain amount of distance because it was the proper way to do it, and in their world doing things properly was of the utmost importance.
Once they’d again reached a carpeted hallway, he lowered her feet to the floor, took the lantern from her, grabbed her hand, and led her in a mad dash to the kitchens.
Before she had time to ponder that no servants were about, he opened a door and escorted her outside. After quietly closing the door, he picked up a satchel and headed toward the path that led to the mews.
Glancing over her shoulder, she noted no light coming to life in any windows. They’d done it! They’d made a successful escape. Funny how the realization filled her with such joy that she wanted to leap in the air and kick her heels together, as though she’d accomplished something truly remarkable. She’d never before thought about doing something she shouldn’t, and here she was about to make an entire night of it.
In the alleyway was the ugly cart, the one that had taken Sophie from her. After slinging his bag into the back, he blew out the candle on his lantern and placed it inside. Taking her hand again, he led her to the front, placed his hands on her waist, and hefted her with ease onto the hard, wooden bench seat. Then he climbed up the side of the wagon, scrambled over her, took the reins, and urged the pair of horses forward.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice low and deep in the quiet of the night, calling forth all manner of secrets.
She nearly laughed, only then realizing they’d never been properly introduced. She shouldn’t have even spoken to him, much less clambered into a wagon with him. Unexpectedly, she was hit with an unwelcome feeling she wasn’t the first girl to do so. “Lady Lavinia.”
“Fancy name.”
“I’m a fancy lady. What’s your name?”
“Finn.”
She suspected he was far too complex for so simple a name. “What’s your surname?”
“Trewlove.”
She furrowed her brow. “I overheard my brother talking with a friend this afternoon about a Trewlove and a gaming hell. Is that yours?”
“My brother’s. Aiden.”
“He said it’s a secret place.”
With the occasional streetlamp guiding them, she could make out his shrug.
“It’s not exactly a licensed gentlemen’s club.”
“But if people can’t find it—”
“Oh, they find it. It appeals to the swells because it’s not quite proper. Makes them feel as though they’re bad and mad and living dangerously.” He chuckled low. “When they haven’t a clue what living dangerously is truly like.”
She suspected he knew, suspected he knew very well. She was probably a fool for trusting him, and yet for some reason she’d never felt safer in her life. “Why didn’t you kill Sophie?”
He tugged on the brim of his cap, bringing it down lower as though the half-moon in the black velvety sky would blind him. “Dunno. Seemed a waste of good horseflesh. But you can’t tell your father, ever. My boss would see me in prison.”
“You did it without his permission?”
“Nah, I had his permission, but he’d say I didn’t in order to protect his business, his license. Like I told you earlier, if we don’t do the job, we get reported. They’d close us down, find someone else more trustworthy.”
She studied his profile, limned more by moonlight now than streetlamps, the latter becoming fewer. She didn’t want to consider that he might be taking her out of London, out of England entirely. Why wasn’t she feeling some unease? What spell had he cast over her? She seldom spoke to servants, much less commoners, and yet here she was, intrigued by a man who’d only recently left boyhood behind. “Why do you do such a cruel thing?”
“I don’t see it as cruelty, but mercy to put a beast out of its misery. I have a way with horses, of talking with them, calming them. I send them to horse heaven without them even knowing they’re going to take the journey.”
“But there are other ways to earn a living.”
“Someone has to take on the unpleasant tasks, so folks like you aren’t even aware they exist.”
She heard a bit of disgust in his voice, knew she might be deserving of it because she was sheltered and protected. If she was honest, she would go so far as to say she was spoiled. Her father had announced at dinner that he’d already managed to purchase another horse for her and it would be delivered by the end of the week. She never went without for long.
“How is your arm?” he asked, the genuine interest in his tone taking her by surprise, and she imagined him whispering to the horses with the same amount of caring.
“It hurts a bit.” The jarring of the wagon added to the discomfort, not that she was going to complain to him about it. “I was given a dose of laudanum before retiring. It puts my mind in a fog, no doubt the reason I came out with you tonight.”
“You came out with me because you want to see your horse. Did the bone break?”
“Yes, it was ghastly. Pierced the skin. I didn’t swoon though. I was quite brave about it.” She was rather proud of that fact, even if the truth was that the sight had dulled her senses to the point she’d scarcely been able to believe it was her arm, in spite of the pain throbbing through it reassuring her that it was.
In near total darkness now, he flashed a grin, captured by the moonlight, and she thought it the most magical thing she’d ever seen. The laudanum was having a strange way with her, drawing her toward this young man with his gentle charms. “You’re a brave one,” he said.
“Not really. I’ve never been out this late, never been alone with a man, practically a stranger at that. I’m beginning to get a bit anxious that my father is going to find out.”
“He won’t. I can slip you back into the residence without anyone the wiser.”
She thought of his bag, knew the residence had been locked up tight for the night, yet he’d managed to get in. “Are you a thief as well?”
Something she should have thought to ask earlier.
“Once. Until my mum found out. Now I make an honest living.” Grinning, he glanced over at her. “It’s not as exciting.”
“But safer.”
“It is that. I’ll never end up in prison doing what I do now. As long as you keep our little secret.”
“I will. I promise.” Besides, his secret was now tied in with one she needed to keep for herself. Although her father had never taken a strap to her as he had her brother, if he found out about tonight’s little excursion, he very well might take action that would prevent her from sitting for a week.
“Why’d y
ou goad her?” he asked unexpectedly.
She lifted a shoulder, embarrassed to admit the truth. “Why does any girl do anything unwise? I wanted someone’s attention.”
“One of your many swains?”
His tone was a bit confusing, as though he was irritated by the notion she might have beaux. For some reason, she was reluctant to confess that Thornley was a suitor, probably because he wasn’t really, not yet. Besides, it lessened her guilt about being out and about with this young man if she labeled the duke as merely a friend. “I haven’t any admirers. At least not yet. I’m only fifteen. I haven’t even had my first Season.”
“Fifteen,” he muttered beneath his breath. “A child.”
That irritated her. “I’m not a child. I’m very nearly fully grown. How old are you?”
“A good deal older than you.”
“How much older?”
“I’m one and twenty.”
“That’s not so old.”
“Old enough,” he murmured.
He turned the wagon onto a road much narrower than the one they’d been on. Ahead loomed a large building. Across the front, huge white letters that spelled Trewlove reflected the moonlight. “What’s this?” she asked.
“My brother’s brickworks factory.”
“Aiden owns a factory and a gaming hell?”
The amused grin again. “No. My other brother Mick owns this, fancies himself a builder with plans to take the worst parts of London and make them posh.”
“How many brothers have you?”
“Three.”
“I can’t imagine it. There’s only my brother and I. He’s nine years older and seldom wants anything to do with me.”
“Do you want him to?”
She laughed at his bluntness. “No, not really. When he does find time, he teases me unmercifully.”
“It is a law that brothers must tease their sisters.”
“Have you sisters?”
“Two.”
She assumed his teasing of them wasn’t nearly as irritating as Neville’s of her. She actually welcomed the occasions when they went months without seeing each other, when he’d either been off at school or was seeing to one of the family’s estates in their father’s stead, learning all he needed to know in order to be a proper earl when the day came.
The Scoundrel in Her Bed (Sins for All Seasons #3) Page 3