“I know.”
“I am not going.”
“The hell you aren’t.” He called Vincent’s name. “Choose how it will be, Amanda. I tire of arguing with you and the night grows old.”
Michael loomed near the door. Vincent appeared excited, as if he hoped they would get to abduct her physically in the duke’s name.
She looked at Langford and pleaded with her eyes.Go away and let me finish this. I promise your name will never be tied to me and what I do.
He did not soften. He just waited, severe and uncompromising.
Seething with frustration, she lifted her valise. “I will never forgive you for this.”
Vincent took the valise from her. Michael lifted her trunk. She grabbed the basket of food.
“You do not need that. You will not be on bread and water,” Langford said.
“I should hope not.” She carried the basket up the stairs, then thrust it into Langford’s arms. “Up two more flights, the door on the left. Leave it there. The woman gave birth two days ago and will be glad to have it.”
He disappeared up the stairs. She took the opportunity to exit the building. The rain had stopped, but its moisture still hung heavily in the air. Vincent and Michael trailed her out.
“Where is this carriage?”
“This way,” Vincent said, pointing left. “We should wait for His Grace.”
“His Grace will catch us. If he doesn’t, we will let him walk back.”
Michael looked shocked. Vincent enjoyed the notion too much. He led the way and Michael followed behind. They escorted her to the carriage like the prisoner she was.
Chapter Fifteen
Amanda discovered that Langford’s London home made the most luxurious gaol imaginable. She wondered what Katherine would say if she saw it.
The housekeeper gave her a large chamber with green silk drapes. Another woman unpacked her trunk and valise, putting the garments in an attached dressing room. A man brought her a late supper of freshly cooked fowl in a delicate sauce. She almost groaned with pleasure when she first tasted the wine he poured. She sat to that meal while yet more servants prepared a bath in the dressing room.
She had spent the whole carriage ride garnering her anger so she could refuse the duke if he dared assume they would continue as lovers while he kept her here. Instead he had not even tried to touch her.
“Get her some food and a bath to wash off the smells of her last abode,” he had said when he handed her over to the housekeeper. “We will speak in the morning, Miss Waverly.”
Then he had walked away as if she were an unwelcome piece of baggage he had to dispose of.
The bath seduced her as no kiss could. She lay in it longer than needed, and only submitted to having her hair washed when the woman attending to her demanded she be allowed to complete her duties. Afterwards, that woman brought her to the bed and closed the curtains while men returned and took away the bath. The soft linens amazed her. She kept moving her legs to feel their fresh cleanliness anew.
The bed lulled her to sleep. When she woke in the morning, she lay abed thinking about her situation. If she were to tell the duke the truth, what were the chances that he would release her and allow her to proceed with her plans? If he did, it might not be too late to follow the delivery of that buckle—if she resumed her watch this morning.
More likely he would immediately hand her over to the magistrate.
If the whole truth would not do, perhaps part of it would be enough.
She threw off the linens and opened the drapes. He said they would talk in the morning. It was time to suffer that interrogation. With any luck, she would end the day still in this gaol and not Newgate.
She dressed quickly and went below—only to learn that His Grace had left the house already.
* * *
The footman brought him to the morning room. Air still damp from the night’s rain poured in the open windows. Sunlight turned the space into the human hothouse that only summer in London could create. Two coats and a stiff cravat were the garments of hell in such weather.
“It is early, Langford.” Brentworth set aside the letter he was reading.
