“Do you think I allow you to live here and still collect an allowance because of my kind nature?”
Edith shrank back from the opening when footsteps sounded on the wooden floor, coming in her direction.
“Would you prefer I live under your roof and have to see the woman who betrayed me”—the door slammed shut, muffling his response, yet she could still decipher some words—“…did you…my betrothed…seducing her.”
“I fear you should not gain too much familiarity with your accommodations, Triston.” The other man shouted loud enough to penetrate the thick wooden door separating Edith from the confrontation in the next room. “If you are unable to fulfill my demands, you will be living under my roof once more. Unless you have some source of income I am unaware of.”
Triston said something in response, and from the lowering of Lord Downshire’s voice, Triston must have conceded to his father’s edict.
Edith moved deeper into the dressing closet to think over all she’d heard thus far. What had Triston meant by his utterance regarding the betrayal by his betrothed and someone else seducing her? Maybe he did have secrets, and Edith just hadn’t known where to look or what questions to ask. The story certainly revolved around why Triston resided in a boarding house and not his family home.
Edith hastily spilled her hand into the sewn-in pocket on her skirt, but it was empty but for the nub she used to write. Blast it all, but Edith wished she hadn’t given the journal to Triston, or left it in his possession when he’d rushed her into the dressing room. These were all things she need remember and ask about later.
The door swung open and crashed into the frame, casting muted light on the small space. Edith let out an unladylike screech as she nearly leapt out of her skin, her foot knocking a stack of boxes over, spilling their contents on the closet floor. As quickly as the light flooded into the room, it was blocked once more when Triston stood in her path, his large body framed by the doorway.
With the fire from the hearth lighting his back, he appeared truly fearsome, yet Edith refused to shrink in terror.
He’d had plenty of opportunities to harm her, and he hadn’t.
She snatched her journal from his hand and pushed past him. “What was all this about?”
Edith didn’t turn to see his reaction but moved to the window and pulled the drape aside to view the front of the inn as Lord Downshire entered his carriage and sped off. Edith made certain to keep behind the heavy window covering to shield herself from sight. Surprisingly, her horse was still tethered to the post where she’d left the mare. Not surprisingly, the sun had set, and the street was dark, except for the light coming from the windows of the inn.
The afternoon had passed, and her parents must be worried about her. Not to mention Lady Lucianna and Ophelia.
“It is time you leave, Lady Edith.” The words were whispered near her ear, and a tingle traveled down her back.
She’d asked Triston a question, but with the feel of his breath upon her neck and his heated body so close to her back, she couldn’t remember what it was she wanted to know.
He shouldn’t be standing so close to her.
He shouldn’t have allowed her into his bedchambers.
He shouldn’t have attempted to trick his father into an argument.
He shouldn’t be surprised that he longed to wrap his arms around the petite, determined, headstrong woman before him. If he were completely out of his mind, he would turn her toward him, take her into his arms, and lay her gently across his bed, showering her entire body with kisses, evidence of the need he hadn’t realized he felt for her until now.
A thirst he hadn’t felt for any woman since Esmee’s betrayal.
Triston needed her gone, immediately. He couldn’t worry about her future plans for ruining Abercorn, nor what she’d overheard about Triston’s past.
He grasped her hand where it pulled back the drapery, revealing the street beyond and his father’s departing carriage. Unfortunately, the movement brought her even closer. Her hair smelled of jasmine and honeysuckle. He knew the fragrances well, they were the same scents his mother favored and were what he’d gifted to his dear sisters the prior Christmastide morning.
His mother was a fine woman. His sisters, even though they didn’t share the same mother, were also noble and kind.
Trustworthy.
Jasmine and honeysuckle reminded Triston of trust.
Esmee’s preferred aroma had been dark—berries and bergamot.
The last person he wanted to be thinking of while Edith was so close was Lady Downshire.
Triston leaned closer to Edith’s neck and breathed deeply once more, allowing the scent to overtake him. He’d never thought the fragrance a woman chose could speak to their nature.
“I should go.” Edith pulled her hand from the drape—and his touch—and turned.
In that moment, they were body-to-body, her bosom pressed securely to his abdomen and her head tilted back so far it could not possibly be comfortable.
“That would be wise, Lady Edith.”
“Before anyone sees me here.”
“There is most certainly risk of that,” he breathed as his arm circled her waist.
“And then we would be in far more danger than we are at present.”
Odd, but Triston could not imagine a more dangerous position than this very moment with Edith pulled tightly to his chest. All he need do is lean down and take her lips, but that would cause him to step back, putting distance between their bodies.
Triston wanted nothing between them.
She stared up at him, her eyes begging him to hold her close even as he noticed her body pulling away from him.
“Bloody hell, Edith.” He stepped away, intending to let her go, bid her to leave with all due haste, but his body did not listen. His head dipped, and his lips met her soft, plump mouth at the same time his arms wrapped around her once more and lifted her to meet his great height. She weighed no more than a feather in his embrace. “Edith,” he moaned against her lips, scared to pull back and have her float away from him.
Her fingers threaded through his hair, tightening and tugging as he deepened their kiss, he dared to drag his tongue along her bottom lip. Her entire body tensed before she quivered in his arms.
Triston released her and pulled back, staring down at her.
Her fingers, no longer entangled in his hair, now pressed to her reddened lips.
“I think it best I depart,” she mumbled, her free hand finding her hidden pocket and the journal most likely within once more. “I am sorry for keeping you from your sisters, my lord.”
“Allow me to change, and I will accompany you home.” His heart nearly beat from his chest. It would be a cold day in hell before he allowed her out of his sight, especially to travel about darkened London streets. He was a gentleman, after all. And if it had to do with anything deeper, Triston wasn’t willing to think of that now. “It will only take me a moment.”
“We both know that is unwise.”
She stepped away from him, toward the door, and an entirely new void opened within him.
“I cannot, in good conscience, allow you to leave unchaperoned.”
“And I cannot, in good conscience, allow anyone to know I was here.”
Was that sorrow in her eyes? Did she want to stay with him as much as he wanted her to remain?
With one final look, she hurried to the door and slipped out.
The sound of her riding boots could be heard running down the hall and taking to the stairs.
Triston sprang into action and was out his door and turning the opposite way Edith had fled. Bloody hell, but she was right. She could not risk being seen alone with him—he understood that much; however, that did not mean he’d allow her to flee into the night without someone to watch over her.
Pushing the door at the end of the hall wide, he shouted, “Ames!”
“Are ye ready for ye bath, m’lord,” his manservant asked from the depths of the servants’ stairwell
. “I can be right up with a basin o’ water.”
“Ames, have Molly bring the water,” he commanded into the darkness below. “I want you to follow the woman who is departing out front. Make certain she arrives home safely.”
“I will, m’lord.” Ames’s feet could be heard shuffling into his boots before a door slammed, and Triston knew his manservant would not disappoint him.
Triston’s father had insisted if he wanted to keep his residence at Langworth Inn, he needed to heed Downshire’s every wish. And tonight, he’d failed, leaving his sisters to be escorted to the ball by Esmee.
He was torn between following Edith home and washing quickly to attend to his sisters, to get back into his father’s good graces. The marquis had told Triston not to bother with the girls this evening, that Esmee was with them. But Triston knew better than to believe his father. The older man still expected his son to hurry and attend to his duty.
Triston had an obligation to Prudence and Chastity—which, most certainly had nothing to do with his father’s demands—but after, he would call on Lady Edith and command her to let go of her foolish notion to uncover Abercorn’s misdeeds. If the man were truly dangerous, the last thing Triston wanted was Edith—and her friends—anywhere near him.
Chapter 10
Edith startled awake to complete darkness—and stale air.
Her entire body stiffened with alert even as fear as hot as a flame coursed through her.
Something caressed her cheek and lips. She wanted to push into the feeling, remember the way Triston’s mouth had felt against hers and slip back into the dream she’d been in before waking.
Had she fallen asleep in his dressing closet? No, she’d departed Langworth Inn. Edith was certain of it. Right after Lord Downshire had left, in fact. She’d sprinted to the stairs and out the front door without anyone noticing.
Her head ached when she tried to concentrate on what had happened next. Something pushed incessantly into her hip, causing an agonizing discomfort. Her mind continued to roll, a stark terror settling around her like a well-tailored cloak as she tried to identify her location.
Shifting, Edith realized she couldn’t move her hands. They were held securely in front of her, her palms facing one another with her fingers clasped. Another excruciating jab sent shooting pain into her side and up into her back at the same time her head throbbed. It was the rough wood below her digging into her side, her hands tied at her waist making it impossible to push off her hip to her back.
A numbness overtook her as her denial settled in.
Edith opened her mouth to scream, but nothing moved past the lump lodged in her throat. Utter disbelief swiftly transformed into panic as her voice ripped from her chest. The high-pitched scream echoed in her confined space, causing terror to take hold.
A bout of dizziness brought spots of bright colors—red, green, and yellow—before her eyes, and her stomach roiled.
She couldn’t think clearly, unable to grasp where she was and how she’d gotten here.
Her entire body shook and her teeth chattered—though if it was from the cold or her fright, Edith wasn’t sure.
She bent her elbows, bringing her hands to her head. Her fingers clawed at whatever covered her face—a coarse fabric that smelled of hay, causing the stale air that infused her lungs and kept her short of breath. Pushing upward on the hood, she was able to move it high enough to gain a proper breath, yet it did nothing to dispel the staleness of the air surrounding her.
Her heart raced erratically, and her entire body trembled intensely.
Edith opened her mouth to scream once more…or call for help, but the words stuck in her suddenly dry throat.
She attempted to straighten her cramped legs, which protested the sudden movement, causing her head to pound ever more. Thankfully, her ankles were not bound.
The floor beneath her jolted and bumped, raising her body from its place only to send it crashing down again, sending her squarely onto her bruised hip and knocking her shoulder.
It returned quickly to the even sway from before.
Though the gentle motion did nothing to dim the increasing pain taking over her body from her head to her shoulder and down to her hip. She prayed for the numbness of moments before to return and take it all away.
Yet, she remained awake and alert to every shooting ache coursing through her.
Pushing the hood higher still, she noted the space wasn’t as dark as she’d thought. She spied a crack above her head and shifted to her back to gain a better look. Light could be seen above—its brightness coming and going as if swinging like a pendulum.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Edith focused on the pattern, her screaming mind quieting for a brief time. She released her clasped fingers, tracing the sway of the light in the few inches of movement her ties afforded.
She hastily turned to her side once more when her head exploded in pain and her stomach threatened to revolt.
Reaching out with her bound hands, she felt the darkened space before her—wood, the same as beneath her and at her feet.
It was like she was stowed in a box. A cold, icy chill ran through her.
But there was light from above and a constant jostling as the wooden enclosure moved.
Bringing her legs high, Edith kicked out at the wood above her, but was only rewarded with a shower of dirt falling upon her. Her eyes burned from the filth as she blinked it away, bringing her hands up to scrub at her face. Whatever kept her locked in this tight space was as securely fastened as her hands were bound.
Would anyone realize she’d disappeared? Would someone look for her? If she had no idea what had transpired or where she was headed, how could she expect anyone else to figure it out?
Edith needed to concentrate. Closing her eyes once more, she begged her mind to stop swirling, her panic to subside, and listened to the sounds around her. She needed to think—what was she hearing? What was she feeling?
The churn and fall of carriage wheels along a dirt road. She was in a carriage…the boot of a traveling coach.
The creak of the lamp as it swung on the rear of the carriage…above her head.
Someone had taken her, but why?
Suddenly, Edith remembered detouring away from her home in Mayfair—toward St. James.
Her terror returned with a vengeance, and she shrank into herself, pulling her knees as close to her chest as her skirts allowed.
She vaguely remembered guiding her horse down Abercorn’s street, hoping to learn something, anything, for when she returned home, she was certain her parents’ fright over her disappearance would quickly morph to anger. Her freedom to travel about London without their attendance would be no more. And so, instead of returning home immediately after leaving Triston, she’d thought to make one last attempt with Abercorn. The possibility of dismounting her horse and knocking on his door had even crossed her mind as a rational course of action.
Unfortunately, Edith didn’t recall making it to Abercorn’s door.
She squeezed her eyes tighter. She needs must remember what had happened…or anything that would tell her where she was and who’d taken her.
The evening had been darkening, the sun already having fallen behind the tall buildings of London proper. Edith had passed a carriage on her way down St. James, but the curtains were pulled tightly, and she couldn’t see within, although the coachman had nodded to her as they passed.
The Abercorn townhouse had come into view—the house ablaze with light as if His Grace were home for the night or had yet to leave. Edith had dismounted her mare and tied it to the tree she now knew resided on Downshire property.
A sound came from behind her, a stick breaking, and then…blackness.
That was all.
Instead of attempting to evoke anything else, Edith focused once more on where she was at present. Her head throbbed again as if trying to block any further memories from resurfacing. The pounding only managed to increase her fear, the hair on
her neck standing on end, and her muscles screaming for movement. Panic raced through her, begging Edith to do something—fight to gain freedom, kick, and scream. Whatever it took to break from her prison.
She tried once more, kicking her feet up with as much force as she could muster from her position. But the boards didn’t give and the movement only sent waves of throbbing pain up her legs to her shoulder and hip.
Immense pain clouded her vision.
She was in a carriage, that much she was now certain of. With only the sounds of the wheels turning, the horses’ hooves, and the swinging of the lamp above the boot, Edith suspected she was not in London proper any longer. There were no voices to be heard, no shouts from passing carriages, or calls of warning from pedestrians walking along the street. The carriage jostled along the uneven road as it hit ruts and bumps along the way. The reins jingled against one another as the conveyance turned sharply.
Edith scooted toward the side and pressed her eye close to another crack in the wood. The glow from the lamp afforded her a view behind the carriage—nothing but the empty road with trees bordering each side and shrubs growing large enough to block the path behind them.
Thankfully, with her nose also pressed to the side of the boot, her lungs breathed in fresh, clean air, relieving the pressure in her chest. With the fresh breath came something new—a scent she hadn’t smelled in many years. Crisp, cold salt.
Whoever had taken her was bound for the sea.
Chapter 11
Triston straightened his cravat as he surveyed the ballroom, attempting to locate his sisters. It would have been wise to remain at Langworth Inn long enough for Ames to return and assist him with his evening attire—and confirm that Lady Edith had arrived home safely. Many would argue Triston was not always a wise man—of that he needed no convincing. Along with his hastily tied neckcloth, Triston’s brown jacket did not precisely match his darker trousers—a fact he had not been aware of until he entered the ballroom and the hundreds of candles above illuminated his improper wardrobe selection.
The Disappearance of Lady Edith (The Undaunted Debutantes Book 1) Page 8
