‘I’m sure he would,’ Leo agreed, fighting the urge to say something truly ungentlemanly. ‘However, Her Ladyship is obviously in no state to make any arrangements.’
‘That won’t be an issue, my lord. I shall arrange and oversee everything myself, both for the fairandin the household…’ She paused, as if she was waiting for him to say something, before lifting her chin in the air. ‘As I have done for the past eighteen years.’
‘Good.’ Leo reached for his book again. ‘Then I’ll leave it in your capable hands.’
‘As you wish.’ For a moment, a look of something like victory flitted across the housekeeper’s features. ‘I’ll start making the arrangements today.’
Chapter Four
Finally!
Florence wriggled her way out from under the bedclothes, placed her feet on the floor, took a few moments to steady herself—having finally learned from her two previous tumbles—and then crept quietly across her candlelit bedchamber towards the door.
It had takenhoursfor the nurse to fall asleep. Literal hours. So many that she’d begun to wish the doctor had provided somebody a little less diligent in their role. Through half-closed eyelids, she’d observed at least half a dozen false starts, when the nurse’s chin had dipped forward onto her chest, only for her to give a startled jerk and then yank it back up again. The sky outside, narrowly visible through a gap in the curtains, had long ago faded to darkness before the nurse’s head had finally tipped sideways and her breathing had turned to gentle snores.
Although frankly, it was no wonder it had taken so long, Florence thought as she wrapped a woollen shawl around her shoulders and slid her feet into a pair of silk slippers. The nurse’s straight-backed wooden chair looked almost painfully uncomfortable, especially compared to themuchsofter armchair by the window, whilst her position on the far side of the bed was about as far away from the fire as she could possibly get, as if she was reluctant to steal any warmth from her patient. As if she genuinely had Florence’s best interests at heart.
Drat!
The realisation made her stop with one hand on the doorknob and sneak silently back to the bed to remove a blanket and lay it gently across the nurse’s lap.There.That was better. Now all she had to do was tiptoe back across the room, pick up a candle, slip outside, and then close the door behind her as quickly and quietly as possible.
One step, two steps, three, four, five, six, seven… Freedom!
She released a long breath, savouring a rush of triumph at her long-anticipated escape. Of course she wasn’t technically a prisoner, or so the marquess had told her, but she had a strong suspicion the nurse would feel duty-bound to accompany her wherever she went, and right now she wanted to be alone. Admittedly, she had no idea where she was going, but she refused to lie in bed any longer, going slowly mad thinking about what might or might not have happened in London. The least she could do was get her bearings and look around.
The wood-panelled corridor in which she found herself contained five other doors, all closed. She hadn’t heard any footsteps or voices during her time spent waiting for the nurse to doze off, which suggested the rooms weren’t currently occupied, but she wasn’t about to take any chances by peeking inside them either. If she was going to explore, she was at least going to make it to the ground floor…
Turning a corner, she found herself on a gallery overlooking a cantilever staircase that led down to a grand entrance hall. The walls on each side were painted with pastoral scenes, although it was hard to distinguish details in the candlelight, while the floor below was made up of hundreds of squares of white, black and orange decorative marble, all arranged to form the image of a majestic-looking swan.
She leaned over the gallery railing, her eye caught by a dark shape suspended in the air in front of her, hanging from thecentre of a ceiling rose, not a chandelier, but what appeared to be a large, gilt birdcage. From what she could tell, it was empty, but immediately below it, curled up over the eye of the swan like some kind of gatekeeper, was a large grey wolfhound.
Averylarge grey wolfhound, practically the size of a pony. Oh, dear…
As if it sensed her alarm, the dog lifted its head, fixing her with a baleful yet expectant stare. Florence gulped, contemplating retreat, before stiffening her spine. She hadn’t waited so long for the nurse to fall asleep just to be thwarted at the first hurdle, even if that hurdle had paws the same size as her hands. Besides, it wasn’t barking or showing its teeth. Surely that meant it recognised her smell and was friendly? She hoped so, because she really didn’t want to consider the alternative…
Warily, she placed a foot on the top step of the staircase, wincing as it creaked beneath her weight, then made her way slowly downstairs, keeping her eyes fixed on the dog the whole time. The dog, in turn, watched her, its head tilted to one side, as if it was wondering what she was doing, creeping about the house in the middle of the night.
‘I’m exploring,’ she whispered, because he or she looked as if they required an answer. ‘Not running away,’ she clarified, although now that she thought about it, she could see the huge front door up ahead.
Maybe sheoughtto try running away?
The moment the thought hit her, she had the strangest sensation of having thought it before. A plan was already unspooling in her mind. She could go to the stables, ‘borrow’ a horse and ride off into the night. Obviously she’d need to put on a greatcoat, or at least something less conspicuous than a nightdress, and she’d have to raid the kitchens for supplies, but shecoulddo it. Then she could ride north, forget all thisnonsense about being married to a marquess and go home, back to Cumberland and her family.
Except… Her plan hit a wall. If she reallywasmarried to a marquess then this house was her home now. And she had no idea how to get from Dorset to Cumberland. Also, no money. Never mind the prospect of highwaymen and…
‘Sleepwalking?’ A deep voice made her heart jump so high, she thought it might be trying to escape through her throat.
She whirled around, almost extinguishing her candle in the process, to find the marquess standing in an open doorway, arms folded and legs planted wide apart, watching her without the faintest hint of emotion on those chiselled features. Despite the lateness of the hour, he was dressed in the same form-fitting charcoal-grey coat and tight buckskin breeches he’d been wearing when he’d visited her earlier, his shirt still unwrinkled and his cravat still immaculately tied. Good grief, did the man never relax? And did he have to look so irritatingly…masculine?
She placed her empty hand to her throat, trying her best not to look like somebody who’d recently been plotting escape. ‘You startled me.’
‘I noticed.’ He moved a couple of steps closer, causing the wolfhound to unfurl itself from the floor, give a stretch, and then shuffle forward to greet him, tail wagging. ‘Were you looking for something?’
‘No-o.’ She coughed, very aware of his proximity suddenly. ‘I just couldn’t sleep, so I was…following my feet.’
‘Ah.’ He glanced down at the appendages in question, his gaze lingering briefly on her bare ankles.
‘I wanted to see where I was.’ She pulled her shoulders back, hearing herself getting defensive. Up close, he was taller than she’d remembered, so that she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. ‘You said that I wasn’t a prisoner.’
