Virginia trembled with cold and felt faint from hunger. She had had the coach drop her at the gated entrance to the de Warenne Mayfair home. Then, when the coach had turned back to return to Eastleigh Hall, she had climbed the iron-topped brick wall. Keeping to the shrubs and trees, she had crossed the lawns, but perhaps because of the inclement weather, she had seen no sign of anyone. It was late afternoon and she was exhausted. Tyrell de Warenne was her very last hope.
Please let him help me,she prayed.
She hoped to meet with him in secret and planned to wait for him to emerge from the house. And if he did not intend to go out that evening, due to the rain? She imagined that she would sleep in the stables and try to accost him the following morning. But God, what kind of plan was this? Her teeth were chattering from the cold and her hiding place—a stand of trees not far from one of the stables—was rapidly becoming useless. She felt like dashing to the stables now and finding a dry place to hide.
But she didn’t dare move—she needed a good view of the house, she needed to speak with Tyrell tonight, if at all possible. Virginia did not know how long she waited in the wind and the rain before there was any activity. A groom appeared, leading a fancy bay from the stables. The rain had stopped although the skies remained dull, and even though it looked as if it might rain again before the night was through, the bay horse was tacked. Virginia did not know who was in residence, but she doubted that the earl would go out at this hour, alone and on horseback. She almost cried out in relief when she saw Tyrell striding down the front steps of the house, a dashing figure in his coat, britches and high boots, a dark cloak draped about his shoulders.
He strode toward the courtyard in front of the stables, taking the reins from the groom. As they spoke, Virginia stood, watching for a moment, wishing desperately that the interview was over and he had agreed to help her leave England. Her gaze moved back to the house, but no one else appeared. Her heart racing, she stepped out of the shadow of the trees and hurried toward him.
The groom was about to leave and Tyrell looked ready to mount. They both saw her at the same time; Tyrell’s eyes widened. “Virginia?” He was incredulous.
She tried to smile, no easy task when she was trembling almost convulsively from the damp cold. “My lord, please, do wait! I desperately need to speak with you.”
He shoved the reins at the groom, hurrying toward her. “What in God’s name is this? You’re frozen and soaking wet—how did you get here? Did you walk from Waverly Hall?” he cried.
He was clearly concerned. Virginia managed a smile. “I am only a little bit cold and slightly damp,” she lied. “Please, my lord, Idesperatelyneed to discuss anurgentmatter with you!”
“We can discuss anything that you wish, but first, you must come inside, get into some dry clothes and sit in front of a fire!” he exclaimed.
“No!” she cried, backing away as he took her arm.
“I beg your pardon?” He started, surprised, his dark gaze searching hers.
She swallowed. “I cannot go inside.”
He stared carefully; his expression became grim. “Why ever not?”
She inhaled, and then she dared to trust him. “I have run away,” she said hoarsely. “I have run away from Devlin and I beg you now to keep my secret and help me get to America.”
VIRGINIA SAT IN THE LIBRARYbefore a blazing fire, wearing one of the countess’s gowns, which was quite large on her, a blanket wrapped around her, while she sipped hot tea laced with whiskey. As it turned out, the earl and countess had left for a dinner party. As warmth finally seeped through her, chasing away the cold, she became aware of an exhaustion that was far more than physical—it seemed to emanate from her very heart, and maybe from her soul. Tyrell had already proved himself as gallant as a gentleman could be; she knew he would help her. Tomorrow she might be on her way across the ocean.
Devlin’s gray eyes assailed her, not cold and remote, but blazing with anger. She had no doubt that, just then, he was furious with her.
She would never see him again.
Her heart lurched. Grief choked her. But thiswaswhat she wanted; to escape him forever, to never see him again—unless it was years from now, when she was married and truly in love with a fine, heroic man, and she would be so beautiful and so happy and Devlin would know just what he had lost.
Grief made it impossible to drink and she set her teacup aside.
She closed her eyes.I am not going to go back to Waverly Hall; I can never hate him, but I do not love him, not anymore; I am going home.
Her silent words, partly a declaration, partly a reminder, felt terribly hollow.
She sighed heavily and looked up.
Tyrell was pacing the room. He seemed grim. She was so tired she could not quite recall exactly what she had said to him when he had carried her into the house after finding her outside in the rain.
He paused before her. “Virginia?”
She clutched the arms of the chair, incapable of smiling. “Thank you for being so kind.”
He did not smile or soften. “Send word to Devlin. If you have run away, he must be frantic by now.”
“No!” She was wide awake now, adrenaline surging. “Trust me, he does not care—I am quite sure he is relieved!”
“You are bitter,” he remarked, staring closely.
“I am not bitter.” But her words felt so much like a lie.
