He did not appear pleased.
CHAPTER 19
“You are leaving? Now?” Sophia asked as her eyes followed Lavinia around the drawing room an hour after their kitten rescue.
Thunder rattled the eaves with a violence that suggested Evermere Hall could be undone by a storm. Lavinia snatched her reticule from the side table and fastened the clasp with fingers that trembled from fear. When she walked, she could barely hear the tap of her own boots on the marble over the storm’s drumbeat.
“I must leave now before the storm traps me outside, and then I may never find my way home.” Lavinia donned her cloak and cinched it at the throat.
Sophia cast an anxious glance at the window, where sheets of water ran down the glass in muddy rivulets. “Are you going to walk?”
“I will find a hack.”
“But the roads?—”
“—are only slightly worse than your father’s disposition on a Sunday,” Lavinia said. She steeled herself and advanced on the front hall, prepared for whatever resistance Sophia might yet mount.
Instead, it was Tristan who intercepted her at the threshold.
He had simply appeared, as though conjured by the storm itself, his frame blocking the door and all hope of a straightforward escape.
“Lady Lavinia,” he said, “you will not make it past the drive.”
“I have faced far worse than a puddle,” she replied, tilting her chin until she was near eye-level with the knot of his cravat.
He did not move. If anything, his presence seemed to deepen, to draw the air from the entryway. “The lane is flooded. A footman went out not an hour ago to fetch the poultry and sank to his knees in the mud. If you attempt it, you will lose both your shoes and your dignity.”
“My dignity is well accustomed to trauma,” Lavinia said, “and my shoes are serviceable.”
He ignored that. “You will remain at Evermere until the storm passes.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“You will remain,” he repeated. “It is not a matter to be negotiated.”
Lavinia drew in a breath and straightened. “I appreciate your concern, Your Grace, but I must return home. My sister?—”
“Will survive one night without you,” he cut in, as though discussing the weather or the price of barley.
“Frances has never spent a night alone in her life,” Lavinia said, “and I have never spent a night away from home since my father’s—” She stopped herself, but the word hovered between them.
He did not seize upon it. Instead, he stepped closer in a slow and deliberate invasion of her space. “This manor is built to withstand storms. You may stay in any guest room you prefer. If you wish, I will post a footman outside your door and assign you a personal maid for the duration.”
“And what of propriety, Your Grace?” she said. Her cheeks were warm now, and it was still an unaccustomed sensation. “You know very well what the county will say if word gets out I spent a night beneath your roof.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement. “If word gets out, I shall dismiss every servant in the house and sell the story myself to The Times. You have my word.”
Lavinia almost laughed, but it came out as a sharp huff. “You are impossible.”
He regarded her for a beat. “That is also non-negotiable.”
There was a moment's silence. Outside, thunder detonated again, and the rain crescendoed until it sounded like a thousand fists pounding the leaded glass.
She moved toward the front door, just to make a point. Mr. Farrel opened it but the wind snatched it from his grip and slammed it shut again with the force of a giant’s hand. Tristan stood back, watching, neither smug nor sympathetic.
“I will not be responsible for your demise,” he said, “however dramatic it may be.”
She turned from the door and found herself staring at the black of his waistcoat.
