Lord Averton’s lips moved down her neck and she lifted her chin, allowing him greater access. She wanted to feel those lips on every part of her. Wanted to know what it felt like to give herself entirely to another person.
We can’t.
Could they? If she and Lord Averton were to run away and escape the ton, what did it matter whether or not they waited until their wedding night? Edith couldn’t imagine loving anyone as much as she loved him. Couldn’t imagine giving herself to anyone else.
She wanted it to be now. And as the thought entered her head, her fingers began to work at the buttons of his coat, as though they had a mind of their own. Lord Averton unhooked her cloak, letting it fall to the ground with a sigh. And all this without their lips leaving each other’s, without parting for even a second.
And then the Baron stopped. Pulled away suddenly.
Edith fought back the urge to cry out in frustration. “What is it?”
“Someone’s there,” Lord Averton whispered.
Edith felt that all-too-familiar feeling of dread.
Just our imagination. We’ve never been followed. Never been caught.
And tomorrow this place would be a memory. Tomorrow they would be hidden in the glorious anonymity of London.
Lord Averton kissed her on the edge of her lips. “We will be together,” he whispered. “Just not tonight.”
In spite of her disappointment, Edith managed a smile. “I know,” she whispered. She picked up her cloak and slid it back over her shoulders.
There was another crackle in the undergrowth. Louder. This time, Edith was certain it was not her imagination. And it was far too loud to be a fox.
She shoved against Lord Averton’s shoulder. “Go,” she whispered. “No one can see us together. I can find my own way back.”
“Are you certain?”
She nodded. “Quickly.”
Before he turned to leave, he grabbed her and pushed his lips hard against hers. “Tomorrow night,” he whispered.
Edith smiled. “Yes. Tomorrow night.”
And then he was gone into the trees.
She pulled up her hood and began to walk quickly. She had taken this path to the river so many times now she could navigate its twists and turns on even the most moonless of nights.
A hand darted out of the blackness and snatched her arm. Edith swallowed a scream. She whirled around to find a man dressed in black, an untidy shock of orange hair hanging into his eyes.
She knew this man. One of her father’s footmen.
“Let go of me,” she hissed, trying to shake herself free.
The man’s grip tightened. She looked fiercely into his eyes. “I told you to let go of me,” she said, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. She knew her place. Knew well that a lowly footman had a duty to obey the Viscount’s daughter. But the harder she fought, the more his grip tightened. Edith felt her heart quicken.
“Did my father send you?” she asked hoarsely.
The footman nodded and began to walk, making Edith stumble behind him.
“Lord Chilson had his reasons to suspect you were up to no good,” he said darkly. “And it seems his concerns were justified.” He chuckled. “I can only imagine what you and that ruffian might have gotten up to if I hadn’t come by.”
Edith glared, sickness rising in her throat. “Ruffian?” she hissed. “He’s no ruffian! He’s—” She stopped abruptly, falling silent.
This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not when their escape was in sight. How could they have stumbled so close to freedom?
But the footman’s leering smile assured her that this horrid turn of events most certainly was happening.
“You’ve been following us all along, haven’t you?” she said bitterly.
The footman said nothing.
Edith felt rage flare inside her. “Tell me! When did my father send you out to spy on me?”
Still, the footman remained infuriatingly silent. Finally, he said, “Planning to run away then, are you?”
Edith’s stomach rolled. Her father could never know any of this.
“What do you want?” Edith asked desperately. “Money? Jewels? Whatever it is, I can get it for you.”
The footman chuckled. “What?”
“My father cannot know of this,” she spluttered. “He’ll force me to marry the Duke of Tarsington and I—” She stopped abruptly, realizing she had already said far too much. “I can get you anything you want,” she said again. “Just tell me what. You can never tell my father about any of this. Please.”
The footman glanced at her, and in his eyes, Edith saw a faint flicker of sympathy. “I’m sorry, Miss Wilds,” he said. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
He didn’t reply, just marched her through the dark streets.
Soon, the lights of the Chilson manor were blinking in the darkness.
Edith swallowed heavily. The footman led her through the gates and up the front stairs of the manor. The butler opened the door without speaking.
Edith yanked her arm free from the footman’s grip. “I know how to find my father’s smoking room,” she hissed. “That’s where you’re taking me, isn’t it?”
Not speaking, the footman finally let his hand fall. Edith let out a faint sigh of relief as the pain of his vise-like grip eased suddenly. He walked beside her as she stepped slowly down the hallway toward the smoking room; a prisoner on her way to the gallows.
The footman rapped on the door of the smoking room and entered without waiting for the Viscount to respond.
Inside, Edith’s father was standing in the center of the room with a pipe in his hand. His cheeks were slightly flushed, his jacket and high collar buttoned, despite the stifling heat.
Edith looked down in shame, though she could still feel his eyes on her.
“I found her by the river, My Lord,” said the footman. “With a man.”
Still, Edith couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Couldn’t bring herself to look at anything but garish patterns on the rug. Her cheeks were blazing.
How will I ever explain this to my father?
“I see,” the Viscount said, after an excruciatingly long silence. On the other side of the room, Edith could hear an insect tapping against the window pane.
“And what exactly was she doing with this man?” The Viscount spat out the words as though they were poison.
Edith’s stomach turned over.
The footman didn’t speak at once. Edith tried to catch his eye. She had seen that flicker of sympathy in his face. Was it possible she could somehow convince him not to tell her father what he had seen?
But he looked away from her and said, “I’m afraid I found them in rather a compromising position, My Lord. But it seems I got to them before… any damage was done.”
Another eternal silence. Edith swallowed the sickness rising in her throat. She looked again at the footman. Willed him to keep silent about their plans to leave Bath.
“And?” the Viscount pressed.
The footman swallowed. “And what, My Lord?”
The Viscount folded his arms. “What are you not telling me?”
Edith gritted her teeth.
“I can tell you are keeping things from me,” the Viscount said, stepping closer to his footman. “And if you value your position in this household, I would suggest you cease to do so.”
After a long pause, the footman said, “I’m afraid I overheard some troubling plans of your daughter’s. She and this gentleman intended to run away. Tomorrow night.” He flashed Edith the briefest of glances.
A glance of apology?
She gave him a fierce glare in response.
Miserable coward.
“Leave us,” the Viscount said shortly, nodding toward his footman.
The man hurried out of the room, the door slamming noisily behind him. Edith stared at her feet. She felt a line of sweat run down her back. Was it fear, or the unbearable heat in the room?
&nbs
p; She heard her father’s footsteps come toward her and her heart hammered even harder.
Fear. Definitely fear.
She had betrayed her father’s trust. Tarnished his family name. And now the truth about her relationship with Lord Averton was known, it could put her marriage to the Duke in jeopardy.
“Who was he?” the Viscount asked finally.
“It doesn’t matter,” Edith said, unable to manage anything more than a whisper.
“It doesn’t matter?” her father repeated. “How dare you say it doesn’t matter? You are to become the Duchess of Tarsington! You are to marry one of the finest young nobles in this town! Does that mean nothing to you?!”
The iciness in his voice made Edith’s shoulders tighten. A part of her thought to drop to her knees and make her apologies. Beg forgiveness, tell her father just how much she was looking forward to becoming a Duchess.
But he would see through her lies, of course. This was her loving father, Edith told herself. Angry, yes, but loving, nonetheless. He was the gentleman who had read to her as a child. The gentleman who had torn across the manor grounds chasing her and her sister. The gentleman who had done nothing but care for her from the moment she had been born. Perhaps this might be her one chance. Perhaps if the Viscount could see the depth of her affection for Lord Averton, he might give them his blessing.
Perhaps.
But she had to try. Otherwise, all that lay ahead of her was marriage to a gentleman she cared nothing for. And so she sucked in her breath and said, “I do not love the Duke of Tarsington, Father.”
The Viscount moved suddenly, lurching toward her. And before Edith could make sense of what was happening, she felt white-hot pain course through her as his hand made contact with her cheek. Her teeth dug into the inside of her cheek and she tasted blood. She heard herself cry out, and stumbled backwards in fear.
She pressed a hand to her face, feeling the place his hand had made contact. She stared up at him, terror taking over her entire body.
Who was this person? Where had he been hiding?
“Who was he?” the Viscount demanded. His eyes were black. “Was it Lord Averton?”
Edith shook her head, unable to speak. She had no idea that rage might be hiding inside her father. What would he do to Lord Averton if he were to discover he was the one she had been with? The one she had planned to run away with?
She clenched her teeth. Chose silence.
“Tell me,” her father hissed. He lurched forward, snatching a fistful of her hair and yanking her toward him. Edith cried out again as pain seared through her.
“It was Lord Averton, wasn’t it,” he spat, looming over her. “I can tell by the look in your eyes.”
The Viscount let go of her suddenly and Edith stumbled to her knees. Her father strode toward the door.
“It wasn’t Lord Averton,” she spluttered. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “It was…”
The Viscount looked back at her. Stood over and looked down at her with flashing eyes. “I know you, my child,” he said evenly. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.” He grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet. “Get to your bedchamber and don’t even think about coming out until morning. I’ll make sure all the staff know to keep a close watch on you.”
He shoved her forward, making her stumble. Unable to bear the sight of her father, Edith hurried upstairs to her bedchamber, unable to stop the floods of tears that were cascading down her cheeks.
She began to pace back and forth across the room.
I have to warn Lord Averton. He needs to know my father knows about us.
What would the Viscount do in retaliation? After her father’s actions in the smoking room, she knew there was no chance he would let the matter slide. She would be punished severely. And so would Lord Averton.
The door clicked open and Edith whirled around in fear. But this was just her lady’s maid, standing before her with concern in her eyes. Edith burst into a fresh rush of tears.
“Miss Wilds?” Annie rushed up to her and grabbed her shoulders. “Whatever has happened?”
Edith shook her away. She rushed to the window.
“I’ve got to get out,” she said desperately. “I’ve got to get out.”
She peered down at the dark garden, two storeys below. Had her father warned the rest of the household to keep watch on her, just as he had threatened? She knew in all likelihood, the answer was yes.
Annie came to stand behind her at the window. “What do you mean, Miss? You’ve got to get out of where?”
The thought came to her suddenly.
I need a weapon.
Something to fight back with should any of the household try and stop her from leaving. She raced over to her writing desk and rummaged frantically through the drawer until she found a small pair of scissors. A meagre weapon, to be certain, but it was better than going out there empty-handed.
“Miss Wilds,” Annie pressed, her voice thickening with concern, “whatever are you doing? What’s happening?”
“I’ve got to get out.” Edith hurried back to the window and worked at the catch until it burst free. She shoved the window open. “I’ve got to get out of this house. I’ve got to get to him.”
The scissors in her fist, she lifted one leg over the window sill. Annie pulled her back sharply. “Miss Wilds! What are you doing! You’re going to get yourself killed!” She held Edith’s arm firmly. “Calm down. Just tell me what’s happened.”
No. There was no time for that.
“Let me go,” Edith hissed. “This second. And lock the window behind me. If my father asks, you’ve not seen me all night.”
The wildness in her voice made Annie release her grip. “Where are you going?” she asked, her voice hushed. “Is this about Lord Averton?”
Edith shook her head. “Best you don’t know.”
Before Annie could speak again, she swung her other leg out of the window and nodded to her lady’s maid to close it behind her. She stood on the rooftop, the inky darkness of the grounds stretching out before her. She could see Annie’s terrified eyes on the other side of the glass.
Heart racing, Edith gathered her skirts and cloak in her hand and edged slowly across the roof. In the darkness, she could barely make out the edge.
Her urgency kept her moving. One step. Another. Another.
She reached the edge and lay on her front to peer down to the ground. She could just make out a thin pipe that ran down from the second storey.
She didn’t think. Just grabbed at the pipe and launched herself forward, her feet springing from the safety of the roof.
Edith heard herself gasp, heard the pipe move beneath her weight. She slid down, crying out as the skin on her palm tore beneath a sharp protrusion in the metal. She fell heavily to the ground, her knees planting into the mud of the garden bed. Pain jolted through her knees.
She scrambled to her feet, ignoring the hot blood she could feel gathering at her palm. She clutched her skirts in her fist and ran.
Out the gates she charged, along the street, through the village. It was not late yet, and the town was still dotted with people. They turned to look at Edith as she charged breathlessly through the street.
She didn’t care.
Let them see me. Let them draw their own conclusions.
Nothing mattered but getting to Lord Averton. Warning him of her father’s rage.
Nothing mattered but protecting the gentleman she loved.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had run like this. As a child, if ever. Her legs were wild, her breath frantic, her mind tangled with terror.
Who was this monster her father had turned into? Where had he been hiding? Seeing the reality of who the Viscount of Chilson was had caused Edith’s world to tremble on its foundations.
She kept running. She had little idea where she was going. She had never visited Lord Averton’s manor. The Baron had been far too conscious of protecting her honor for that. But she knew it lay up over
the hills beyond the river.
It must be somewhere in this direction.
But the night was thickening, with only pale shafts of moonlight slicing through the trees. Edith’s mind was racing. Her urgency to get to Lord Averton was causing her thoughts to knock together, stealing any chance of coherent thought.
She had lost the path, she realized, hurtling through a tangle of trees and knotted scrub. Her shoulder slammed against a tree trunk, knocking her backwards. She did not slow down.
Guilty Pleasures of a Bluestocking: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel Page 21
