“The sacrifice is not necessary,” the Marquess said as he stood to his feet. Both Phoebe and Hayward turned their eyes on him, though they did not move their bodies away from being angled toward one another. “Like I would ever let anyone harm Diana. No man will come near her, least of all Lord Ridlington.”
“Do you hear that?” Hayward said, turning his gaze back on Phoebe. “So, there is no need to make such an impulsive decision to go back to him.”
“But…” Phoebe paused, looking between the two of them. “He may hurt Lady Dodge.”
“It will not come to that,” the Marquess said again, before tapping her shoulder. “Believe me, I would never let that happen. I came to speak with you as you should know that constables are involved now. Best stay indoors or on the estate as much as you can.”
“Thank you,” Phoebe said, trying to smile through her fear though it was difficult.
Hayward went to say goodbye and escort the Marquess out as Phoebe stayed in the drawing room, marching up and down the space. She tried to think of something else, anything else, but it was no good. She could imagine Graham’s face easily when he made that threat against Lady Dodge. The mere thought of the words and his reddening cheeks prompted her to adjust the ribbon that covered up her bruise.
She looked to the doorway and dropped her hand from her neck as the door opened again, revealing Hayward.
He said nothing for a minute, though he rested his weight on the door as he closed it behind him. When he said nothing, she went back to pacing, unable to let her fears settle.
“You look as though he is on my driveway right now, come to take you back and…well, lord knows do what!” His words made her flinch again. “I am sorry, I did not mean to scare you further with that.”
“No, no, you didn’t,” she said hurriedly, holding up her hands. “This fear is different. Do you not see?” she asked, turning to face him. He moved away from the door and walked toward her. “I am not the only one in danger now. My friends are. Lady Dodge is. And…andyouare. For hiding me here.” With the words, their eyes connected. It felt a far too intimate look, so long and intense that had it been seen in public it would have been deemed scandalous.
She looked down at the floor between them, breaking the connection.
“I cannot bear the idea of any of you suffering because of me,” she said softly.
“Lady Ridlington, please listen to me, I beg of you.” He stepped toward her, until his damp boots appeared in her vision.
“You’re creating a puddle on your carpet,” she said, lifting her eyes to him at last.
“I know, so listen quickly before I end up destroying any other nice rugs around here with how drenched I am,” he said, the seriousness in his face breaking into a small jest of laughter before it faded away. “Your husband does not have any power now. He cannot hurt any of us.”
Phoebe felt her stomach tighten in objection to his words.
“You cannot know that for certain,” she said in a whisper.
“Yet I believe it,” he said, his voice strong as he took another step toward her. “Now, I want you to believe that nothing will happen to you here.”
“You can’t know that for certain either,” she pointed out with arched eyebrows.
“I can give everything I have to ensure it is the case,” he said. The depth of the meaning of his words made her breath hitch. “You’re safe here, Lady Ridlington. Believe that. Please?”
She wanted desperately to believe him.
* * *
Francis was tired of seeing Lady Ridlington still afraid. He had spent that afternoon attending to business in his library and now that the two of them were sat at dinner, he had discovered her manner hadn’t changed since that morning. Any sign of the happy woman who had ridden across the estate and jested with him had gone. In her place was the woman who had appeared the moment that she’d heard of Diana being threatened.
It was sort of like seeing Lady Ridlington’s reflection in a darkened mirror. Not appearing as she should be.
“You are still afraid,” he broke the silence between them as the butler left them to go and collect more claret at Francis’ request.
Lady Ridlington looked sharply up from her place, with her face lit by the candles that were in the center of the table. The soft orange glow lit her cheeks and shone on her green eyes, making them appear almost golden. He was somewhat lost in admiring the beauty in those features for a minute, before she spoke and interrupted his thoughts.
“I do not have a choice in the matter, Your Grace. Fear can claim you,” she said, holding his gaze. “Do you not think fear is like some kind of monster? It clings about our shoulders and the more you fight with it and tell it to go, the more it hooks its claws into you.”
“You have a remarkable way with words,” he said, sitting back in his chair and drinking the last of his claret. “Most people would say something simple, like fear is out my control.”
“Is it odd to say more?” she asked.
“Quite the contrary, I was admiring it,” he said, lowering the glass back down as he held her gaze again. There was the flicker of a smile in her features before she turned her eyes back to her plate. “Either way, my original point still stands.”
