“None of your business.”
“Decided, have you?”
“None of your business either, but no.”
“Fair enough.” Edward kicked at a loose pebble. “The young lady is in need of rescuing, that’s all. Thought I’d mention it.”
Ambrose frowned. “Rescuing?”
“She’s putting on a brave face, but I believe she’s had enough of whatever it is we’re doing.”
Ambrose didn’t answer, though he knew a decision had to be made. So why was he hesitating?
“In any case, if I don’t see you before we leave, thanks for participating. I realize it was asking a lot.” Edward turned to go indoors. “And I respect your decision, of course.”
“Where is she?” Ambrose asked.
Edward halted at the threshold. “On the rear terrace, hiding from Walston.”
“Right.” Heaving a sigh of capitulation, he squeezed Edward’s shoulder as he moved past. “Leave it with me. Where will I find you?”
“I’ll wait in the main hall,” Edward replied. “I’m not sure what you have in mind, Pen, but be kind, will you?”
Ambrose didn’t answer.
Moonlight had turnedthe small terrace to silver and carved out perfect shadows of the stone urns and balustrades. Lydia shrank into one of these shadows, pressed her back against the cold stone wall, and heaved a quiet sigh. It was the third night, so where was this elusive prince? It appeared he’d decided against any kind of meeting, probably due to her status. In any case, Lydia was weary of the fairy tale. Her hope and anticipation, so stimulating at the start, had waned into disappointment and frustration.
As for Mr. Darrell and Lord Walston, neither one had tempted her into any kind of continuance. Mr. Darrell was pleasant, but she could not entertain the thought of marrying him. She had the feeling she’d be bored for the rest of her life. Asfor the intimidating Lord Walston, he’d become something of a nuisance.
Indeed, had she arrived in her own carriage, she’d already be on her way home, but she couldn’t very well ask Lord Eskdale to oblige at this early hour. Then again, why not? She didn’t live that far. Maybe she could feign illness and ask Lord Eskdale if she might make use of his conveyance. He didn’t have to accompany her, after all.
Lost in thought, Lydia hadn’t noticed the arrival of the solitary man who now stood nearby. A silent stranger. She widened her eyes at the sight of him, slowed her breathing and pressed harder against the wall. The man, meanwhile, lifted his gaze to the moonlit skies.
“I get the impression you’re eager to escape this frivolous festivity,” he said softly, without turning. “Am I right?”
Lydia barely suppressed a gasp. Was he speaking to her? He had to be, since he was alone, which meant she had little choice but to respond. She fumbled over an answer before settling on the truth, which came out as little more than a whisper. “Yes, actually.”
“Then perhaps I might be of assistance,” the man continued, his face still bathed in moonlight. “I can take you straight home, if that is what you wish. Or, since the night is yet young, I wonder if you might consider a detour. My London home is not too far, and has a large garden. Perhaps we could stop there, take a walk beneath the stars, and share some conversation.”
Lydia could scarcely breathe, for no other reason that something in the man’s voice had the inexplicable ability to tighten her chest and set her heart racing. Could it be? Was ithim?
“Your London home?” she asked, hardly recognizing her own voice. “I cannot possibly, sir.”
A light pause followed, then, “Why not?”
“Because it would not be seemly.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “In fact, it would be folly. I do not know you, after all.”
“I do not know you either,” he replied, “and I would like to remedy that, but somewhere more befitting a quiet discourse. A place where I might give you my full attention. Not here, where heart and mind is so easily distracted.”
It was a shocking proposal, one that demanded an instant refusal. But Lydia’s prudence wavered even as daring beckoned, her hesitation chased away by the foolish rattle of her heart and a flutter in her stomach. What remained of her good sense, however, still begged caution. “How do I know you are… sincere?” she managed.
“I believe the word you are looking for is ‘trustworthy.’ I ask a lot, I know. But I ask. I do not demand. If you prefer, I shall retreat indoors and await your presence by the dance floor. A much safer choice on the face of it, certainly.” He appeared to smile. “But nowhere near as thrilling as escaping into the night with a complete stranger.”
Her mind in a whirl, Lydia pressed a hand to the base of her throat. She didn’t dare ask if he was the one who’d been watching her, though an excited little voice told her he was. Another little voice cautioned her to take the sensible option and meet him, whoever he was, at the edge of the dance floor.
Yet, deep down inside, something stirred to life. An urge she couldn’t quite repress. A sweet madness, it flowed through her veins, overwhelming her resistance to the point that surrender became inevitable. It was, quite simply, exhilarating. “I will go with you,” she said, refusing to listen to any semblance of reason in her head. “I will go with you, sir.”
He appeared to close his eyes for a moment. “Meet me at the front door in ten minutes,” he said, and then turned on his heel and disappeared indoors.
