There was more to this than she admitted. He knew it in his bones. ‘Susie need not come,’ he said. ‘You and I can still visit Westfield.’
‘No!’
‘But we must come to a decision over Susie’s future.’
‘I have made my decision.’
Leo moved closer to her and she retreated along the landing, her hand sliding along the rail.
‘I need to get back to Susie.’ Her lips were tight, her whole demeanour strained. ‘We can discuss this another time, if you still insist upon it.’
‘What are you hiding? Is Susie really ill?’
Again, her eyes gave her away, skittering all over the place.
‘I am trying to help, Rosalind. All I intended was for us to take a look at Westfield. Why do you persist in believing the worst of me?’
‘I know what is best for Susie and it is not being raised in that institution.’
Exasperation exploded through him. With two strides he was upon her. He clasped her shoulders and she winced, even though he knew he had not grabbed her hard. Then...he stilled. The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Bay rum. She reeked of it. He tilted her face to his, his fingers beneath her chin, and her guilty expression told its own tale. And her lips... They looked swollen.
‘Who has been here?’
‘No one.’
Frustration growled in his throat. She lied. She was no different from Margaret. He spun on his heel and stalked down the stairs. In the hall below he waited in a fever of impatience as the butler fetched his hat, gloves and cane. Then he saw a letter on a console table and recognised the heavy, spiky lettering that read ‘Miss Rosalind Allen.’
He glanced up the stairs. Rosalind was nowhere in sight.
‘When did that arrive?’
‘It has just this minute been delivered, Your Grace.’
‘I see it was written by my cousin, Mr Lascelles. That is most odd... I understood it was his intention to call upon Miss Allen earlier today.’
‘Oh, he did call, Your Grace. About an hour ago.’
He would wash his hands of her. If Lascelles was her choice, then pity help her.
Outside, he jumped into his carriage and gave orders to drive to Beauchamp House. Once home, he stalked through the front door, growled ‘I don’t want to be disturbed under any circumstances, Grantham’ as he passed the butler and slammed into his study where he slumped into his chair and thrust both hands through his hair.
He’d thought all this angst was long behind him. He’d thought he was too shrewd to fall for the lies and trickery of any woman, let alone some countrified old maid who had never even set foot in London until a few days ago.
He reached for the brandy decanter and a glass.
* * *
Some time later there was a tap at the door and it opened.
‘I said I don’t want to be disturbed,’ he roared.
‘So Grantham said.’
Cecily closed the door behind her and advanced across the room. One look at her face was enough. He didn’t want...didn’t need her sympathy. What did she know about anything?
‘Say your piece and leave me alone,’ he growled.
Cecily pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. He fixed his gaze on his glass and the scant quarter inch of brandy that remained.
‘I thought you were going to Westfield with Miss Allen?’
‘Plans change.’
‘You did go to Lady Glenlochrie’s house?’
He lifted his gaze. Held hers. ‘Why the interest?’
‘I saw Miss Allen leaving just now. You will be pleased to hear Grantham denied her.’
‘I pay him to obey my orders.’ He snatched up his glass and drained it. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Evidently she then asked for her brother, but he is not here. Leo... Miss Allen... She seemed distressed. She did not even notice me as she rushed past.’ Cecily put a folded sheet of paper on the desk and slid it across the surface towards him. ‘She left this.’
‘What does it say?’
Cecily raised a brow. ‘It is addressed to you, Leo, so I do not know.’
He eyed the note with distaste. ‘Whatever it says, it is too late. I have tried to help her, but she has made her choice.’
‘Choice?’
Leo surged to his feet and crossed the room. He flung open the door.
‘More brandy!’
He returned to his desk. Cecily had not moved. She sat in the chair opposite his, calm and composed as always, hands folded in her lap.
‘What choice did Miss Allen make, Leo?’ she asked as he sat down.
‘She has rejected my every attempt to help her and her family. It seems she would prefer to rely on Anthony Lascelles.’
‘I know you are not so foolish as to believe that.’ Cecily leaned forward and reached out her hand. ‘She is simply trying to prove she can manage without your help. She has cared for her family all her life, and now you have come along and she feels...unnecessary.’
The emotion she put into that one word jerked Leo from his anger.
‘You sound as though...’ The similarities between Rosalind’s life and Cecily’s had occurred to him more than once. ‘Cecily? Is that how you feel? Unnecessary?’
She caught her lip between her teeth. ‘Not precisely. But, once this Season is over, and when I think about my future...yes, that is my fear. And so I understand exactly how Miss Allen feels and I cannot condemn her for wanting to provide a home for Susie. It would appear an ideal solution for them both and that is why I cannot understand why you are so adamant Susie should go to Westfield.’
Leo gritted his teeth. ‘I am not adamant she must go there. I merely wanted Miss Allen to consider all the facts before making her decision. You have just confirmed my belief that she is using Susie to make herself feel useful rather than thinking about what is best for the child.’
‘But even Dominic admits it is preferable for a child to live in a real home rather than in an orphan asylum. Are you certain your real reason is not that you do not want Susie in your household if you and Miss Allen marry?’
Leo scowled. ‘Of course it is not. And who said anything about marriage?’
Cecily smiled. ‘You have—as you very well know—made your intentions towards Miss Allen abundantly clear.’
The door opened and Grantham approached, carrying a bottle of brandy.
‘Leave it,’ Leo snapped as the butler began to pour the spirit into the decanter.
Expressionless, Grantham bowed and left the room, leaving Leo feeling even more wretched and guilty than he did already. He grabbed the bottle and refilled his glass.
‘Well?’ Cecily asked as he lifted the glass to his lips.
He eyed her over the rim. ‘It is your question that is unnecessary, Cecily. There will be no marriage.’
‘I do not believe you. You never give up when you have set your mind on something.’
‘Unless I change my mind. I refuse to further humble myself.’
‘Take care your pride does not blind you to the truth, Brother. You may change your mind but, when it comes to love, can you so easily change your heart?’
Leo leapt from his chair and took a hasty turn around the room. ‘Who said anything about love?’
Cecily raised her brows, and stood, smoothing her skirts. ‘You did not have to say anything, my dear.’
She glided from the room, leaving Leo ready to punch the wall. He stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched, eyes shut, breathing hard.
Damn her. She knows nothing about it. I can do anything I set my mind to.
After several minutes, he returned to his desk and sat down.
And there it was.
The letter.
&nbs
p; He had forgotten it. He could simply throw it away, but he reached for it anyway and read the words on the outside: The Duke of Cheriton. Two smudges attested to the haste with which those words had been written. Leo broke the seal. As he unfolded the letter, a second sheet of paper fluttered to the desk. The first sheet, apart from his name, was blank. He reached for the second, his pulse quickening as he recognised Anthony’s writing. It was the letter he had seen at Lady Glenlochrie’s house.
He read the words and his fist clenched without volition, crumpling the paper. A vicious curse was torn from his lips as he hurled the ball of paper at the wall.
He had told Rosalind to come to him for help.
She had done just that and he had denied her.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Why did I not tell Leo the truth?
It was too late to regret her hasty decision, made to conceal Susie’s absence and to protect herself.
She had thought Susie had run away. She was wrong. The words Lascelles had penned were seared into her brain. He had taken Susie and he was confident Rosalind would now see the wisdom of accepting his earlier proposal. If she failed to come to his house by five o’clock, she would never see Susie again. If she told anyone, she would never see Susie again.
She had no one to turn to. Leo had rejected her. He was at home, but he refused to see her and that snooty butler had ensured she was aware of that fact.
‘His Grace does not wish to be disturbed.’
In desperation, she had asked for Freddie—although she was loath to embroil him in anything to do with that snake, Lascelles—but he, it seemed, was genuinely absent. Her only hope was that the butler would deliver Lascelles’s letter to Leo before it was too late. She had no illusions about Lascelles’s intentions. He would not hesitate to pre-empt their wedding—if it was indeed his intention to wed her at all.
She’d had no choice but to leave. Her spirits had lifted when she met Cecily on the front steps, but plummeted again almost immediately. She would not burden Cecily with this when there was nothing she could do. She crossed Grosvenor Square in a daze, desperately searching for a solution, scanning the faces she passed by, but they were all strangers. She knew nobody else in London. She had never felt more alone. Rosalind hurried down South Audley Street, ignoring the curious looks of those she passed. She was beyond caring. She arrived at Lady Glenlochrie’s house and hesitated on the step, catching her breath. She had to answer Lascelles’s summons. The thought turned her bowels to water, but she could not abandon Susie to that rogue. Who knew what might become of her.
Keating opened the front door for her and the first inkling of a plan glimmered in her brain. She had thought of taking Hector, and dismissed the idea, knowing Lascelles would never allow him into his house and fearing the consequences for Susie if she tried. She watched as Keating closed the door by rote, not really paying attention to his actions, his focus upon her.
What if...?
‘I shall take Hector for a walk, Keating. Please have someone bring him upstairs.’
‘I believe he has already been exercised, miss.’
‘Then I shall take him again. If her ladyship or Lady Helena should ask, please tell them I shall not be very long.’
Helena would be expecting to go to the park. Well, that must wait. Keating disappeared towards the servants’ stairs and Rosalind slipped into the dining room. There. A fruit knife. Perfect. Not too big, but sharp. She tugged open her reticule and put it inside, then she hurried upstairs to her bedchamber, where she grabbed hold of a parasol, and smiled grimly when she realised it was the very one Nell had bought for her when Lascelles had escorted them to the shops.
She stood in the centre of her bedchamber for a moment, thinking through her plan, looking for flaws. She grimaced. There were many. But she had no choice. Susie needed her. She left her bedchamber and hurried down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor, where Keating held Hector’s leash at arm’s length, his nostrils flaring in distaste. Rosalind took the leash and made a fuss of an overjoyed Hector.
Keating eyed Rosalind’s parasol as he opened the front door.
‘You will have no need of that, miss. It is cloudy.’
‘I am hopeful the sun will break through,’ Rosalind said. ‘At least I shall be prepared.’ She paused on the stoop. ‘Which direction is Curzon Street, Keating?’
‘It is just around the corner, miss.’ The butler pointed down the street.
‘Thank you.’
As she neared Lascelles’s address in Curzon Street, her steps faltered. There was a black travelling coach outside, with a team of four harnessed to it and a coachman and groom standing at their ease on the pavement. The team looked fresh, as though they were about to go on a journey. Rosalind swallowed nervously, but the two men studied her with casual, non-threatening interest as they doffed their hats.
She bent to Hector, unclipped his leash and moved him into a position where he could not be seen from the front door of the house.
‘Sit, Hector. Stay.’ She held up her hand, fingers splayed, and the great hound sat, cocking his head to one side as she walked to the front door.
‘’Ere, lady. You ain’t leaving that brute there without tying him up, are you?’
‘I am, but do not worry. He will not hurt you unless I tell him to.’
The two men shuffled around to the far side of their horses, muttering. If only it might prove as easy to deal with Lascelles. Rosalind hauled in a deep breath, lifted the knocker and let it fall. Then she waited, breathing slow and steady, her back straight and her chin up. She would not allow him to intimidate her. Not again. She clutched her parasol, hiding it down by her side in the folds of her pelisse and she took comfort in knowing Hector was close by.
The door opened. She had steeled herself for Lascelles himself to answer it, but it was a young maidservant. This was an unexpected bonus.
‘I have come to collect my little girl, Susie,’ Rosalind declared. ‘Would you kindly go and fetch her?’
The maid chewed her lip. ‘The master said you were to come inside first, ma’am,’ she said.
‘But she is here? You have seen her?’
‘Yes’m. She’s upstairs. But you must speak to the master first. His orders, ma’am.’
‘Very well.’ Rosalind put as much hauteur as she could muster into her speech. ‘Lead the way.’
The maid did as she was bid, leaving Rosalind to close the front door. She placed the parasol over the sill and pushed the door to. If the maid looked round she might notice the door was not properly closed, but it was the best Rosalind could contrive. She followed the maid, prepared to distract her if necessary.
The stairs were in the middle of the house, between the front and back rooms. They dog-legged out of sight and Rosalind followed the maid up to the first floor and to the open door of a room at the front of the house.
The blood tore through her veins in a torrent, driven by her pounding heart. She stepped through the door into a parlour. Standing by the unlit fireplace, a satisfied smirk on his face, was Anthony Lascelles.
The maid disappeared.
‘Where is Susie? Bring her to me.’ Rosalind clutched her reticule, surreptitiously working the drawstrings loose, ready to reach in for the knife if necessary.
‘My dear Rosalind. Is that any way to greet your betrothed? Come, surely a celebratory kiss is warranted?’ He crooked one finger.
Rosalind did not move and his expression hardened.
‘Is it possible you did not fully understand my little billet-doux? Susie is quite safe, but her continued well-being depends upon you, dear heart. If you please me, Susie will benefit. But...if you should prove overly difficult...’
He shook his head regretfully and nausea threatened.
‘This is...madness.’ She forced the
words through dry lips. ‘Allow me to take Susie and we shall say no more about this. Why would you wish to marry a woman who does not want you?’
His smile chilled her. ‘Can you really not guess, my sweet Rosalind? Do you expect me to pass over this perfect opportunity to have ownership of the woman my dear cousin desires? Besides...’ his voice softened menacingly ‘...you may recall, dear heart, that I did warn you I enjoy a degree of resistance in my women. Docility, I find, has little to recommend it.’
Rosalind licked her lips, then wished she hadn’t as his eyes fixed on her mouth. Her insides churned with disgust as his grin widened.
‘Come to me,’ he said.
She removed her glove and raised her hand to put two fingers in her mouth and his grin vanished. He lunged towards her, but she spun on her heel, emitted a piercing whistle and then rushed out on to the landing, delving into her reticule for the knife. She faced Lascelles, her back to the balustrade, holding the knife before her as a deep-throated bay sounded from below, punctuated by the scrabble of claws against the front door.
Lascelles hesitated in the doorway, his gaze flicking to the stairs. Then he bent, fumbled at the top of his boot and withdrew a knife that made Rosalind’s fruit knife look like a child’s toy. Sick horror invaded her. She had not bargained for him having a weapon.
Hector bounded up the final stair and stood to attention, lips drawn back to bare his teeth. One word from her and he would attack.
‘You had better control that animal or...’ Lascelles thrust the knife forward. ‘And you will never see the brat again.’
She could not do it, could not risk losing Hector.
‘Susie! Where are you?’
Her shriek echoed up and down the stairwell.
‘She is not here,’ Lascelles said.
‘You are lying.’ She must play for time—wait for him to drop his guard. ‘The maid told me she was here.’
‘The maid’s a fool. The child was here, but no longer. My coach is outside, ready to take us to Halsdon Manor. Come without a fuss and you shall see Susie there.’
‘You cannot get away with this,’ she said.
Cinderella and the Duke Page 24
