“Then I shall watch you from here.” He lounged against a decorative pillar, his arms folded across his broad chest. Even that he did with grace.Handsome rakes don’t have to lift a finger to attract women, she thought, biting down on her lower lip. Well, she was not one of those women, and his charm had no effect on her.
Prue walked as quickly as the narrow skirts of her morning gown would permit and reached the bedchamber door she prayed was hers. Opening it, she hesitated in the doorway. To her relief, there was her pelisse folded on a chair along with her bonnet. Her hand on the latch, she turned to face him and discovered he was as good as his word and hadn’t moved.
He nodded. “Lock it.”
“I have every intention of doing so.” Horrified at how shaky her voice sounded, she pushed the door shut behind her and turned the key. She leaned her back against it, dragging in gulps of air in an attempt to ease her tight chest. Then she ran and fell upon the bed, wrapping her arms around herself.
Prue closed her eyes, trying to order her scattered thoughts. She supposed she should have been grateful Lord Hereford had made no further move toward her. He might easily have overpowered her, and there was no one here to stop him. Was he just biding his time? He seemed well regarded, as the other man had deferred to him. What if the viscount, or some other man here, might decide to force his way into her bedchamber during the night? How vulnerable she was under Lord Bain’s roof. He hadn’t considered it necessary to place a footman at her door, which would surely have been the correct thing to do.
Prue rolled over and sat up. Papa must have trusted him when he’d urged her to come here. If only she knew his reasons. Had Lord Bain deceived her father into thinking he was a good man? Papa had been no fool. He had been unlikely to be taken in, even by a smooth-talking scoundrel, which didn’t fit with her impression of Lord Bain.
It was impossible to understand anything. The murderer still lurked somewhere out there, as free as a bird, and might even strike again. Not knowing where he was made her decidedly uneasy. She would think more clearly at home. But until she knew why her father had been murdered, it was impossible to move on with whatever life now held for her. If the magistrate failed in his inquiries, she must try to discover the truth herself to find any peace. Until the villain was behind bars, she would never feel safe again.
Left alone in the quiet room, Prue calmed herself enough to plan. She would leave here after supper tonight. Once it grew dark, she would creep from the house and make her way to the stables and borrow a horse. Far better to be at home among the servants who would protect her. Tomorrow or the next day, she must deal with her father’s heir, Cousin Roland. She had always disliked him and hated his autocratic manner toward her, as if he considered women were inferior and he had some claim over her. Would he take advantage of his unexpected good fortune? What did he intend for her? Until her father’s will was read, she had no notion of how things stood. Would Papa have left her enough money to be independent and live as she pleased? Would the details of his estate even allow such a thing? Or must she depend on Roland? The distinct possibility of the latter made her sick to her stomach.
As the hours edged toward nightfall, a young housemaid entered the bedchamber with a supper tray. She placed the dishes on the table and set the coals alight in the fireplace grate. With a bob, she left, closing the door behind her.
Prue sat at the table with little appetite for the food. After picking at the meal of fricassee of chicken, peas and carrots, and a flummery, she retreated to the chintz-covered upholstered chair near the fire to wait the long hours until everyone had retired. Exhausted, after the worst day of her life, her eyelids grew heavy, and she longed to curl upand sleep. To try to forget everything for a while. But her busy mind kept her alert and wide awake. When the clock struck two, she put on her pelisse and bonnet. A good deal of activity had taken place in the corridor outside her room throughout the night, with chuckles, squeals, and giggles, and doors slamming. It had grown quiet, and she cautiously opened the door and stepped into the shadowy corridor.
Prue tried to ignore the low groans and giggles emanating from behind the closed doors, which made her blush, as she hurried to the staircase. The dim glow from candles guttering in the sconces threw shadows into corners. It unnerved her but helped guide her way to the staircase. She descended slowly, testing each step on the stairs for a loose board, and finally reached the great hall without anyone appearing to stop her. If there was a footman on duty beside the front door in the entry, what would she say to him? Afraid some inebriated man might lunge at her from the shadows, she shivered and pulled her pelisse close.
But she reached the front door without mishap and found the footman sprawled in his chair, snoring. Sweat dampened the curls on her forehead. Would her panicked breathing wake him? What reason could she give to explain leaving the house in the middle of the night? It seemed an abnormally long time to cross the tiled floor while holding her breath. But he didn’t stir as she crept past him to where the big key hung beside the entry doors.
A loud clunk rang out when she inserted the key and turned it in the lock. The door creaked as she opened it. An anguished glance reassured her that the young footman still hadn’t woken.
She expected half the house to come to investigate. But nothing stirred, except for the skittering mice behind the walls.
Prue stepped out into the cold night air and rubbed her arms. The fitful moonlight bathed the gardens in silver and indigo. She quietly closed the door behind her. Grateful for her sturdy half-boots she had donned this morning (had it only been this morning? It seemed alifetime ago!), she stepped down from the porch and broke into a run along the drive, the gravel crunching under her feet. Breathless, she entered the stable-yard.
All seemed quiet and dark, except for a lamp burning in the coachman’s rooms above the stables. Would a young stablehand be on duty, watching over the horses? With no time to consider it, she slipped into the musty stables, lit by a small lamp. Breathing in the familiar and calming smells of hay, horses, saddle oil, and leather, she ventured farther. A horse whickered. The rest paid no attention; their heads drooped, snuffling in their sleep. Prue roamed the stalls to select a suitable mare. A roan with a white blaze watched her with big, velvety-brown eyes.
“My, you are pretty. I shall send you back tomorrow, I promise.” She stroked the animal’s nose. The mare nudged her hand, evidently hoping for a treat. “I have nothing to give you, but I promise I will when we reach home,” she whispered.Home.She no longer had a sense of safety and comfort—that had been part of her until now, at the core of who she was. Her chest heaved. What or who might await her there?
After raiding the tack room, she slipped a harness over the mare’s nose and led her from the stables by the bridle. No saddle. It would take too long, and she’d been riding bareback since she’d been ten without her father’s knowledge, the groom loyally keeping her secret.
Prue led the horse to the mounting block and sat astride, gathering the reins in her hand. Her heart was in her mouth as she trotted the horse across the stable-yard, the hooves making a clatter on the cobbles. Nothing stirred. Once at a distance from the house, she spurred the mare into a canter along the dim drive. A sultry moon drifted among a smattering of clouds. The horse responded with a smooth gait, and Prue settled down for the long ride home. Even here in the quiet countryside, riding unescorted at night was dangerous, but it was a risk she had to take. What would await her when she gothome? Chaos, she supposed. Mrs. Burrows, the housekeeper, would have begun preparations for Roland’s visit. He would expect to find Prue still at Lord Bain’s. She wished she knew what was in the sealed letter of her father’s, but before Roland arrived, she intended to search the library for any clues.
*
Now, why didhe know she would flee? Jack walked away from the bedchamber window, pulling his cravat undone. Lady Prudence. An earl’s daughter, Bain had told him. She had done exactly as he’d suspected she would. He’d watched her run like a fawn past the house to the stables, and sometime later, she appeared again, this time riding a mare along the drive in the direction of the front gates. Bareback, no less! Her dress rode up over her slim, pale thighs. He admired her spirit and hoped she would reach home safely. For a brief moment, he’d toyed with the notion of riding after her to make sure she was safe but resisted the impulse, knowing it would be foolhardy. And he couldn’t afford to waste time, when it had grown short with each passing hour.
Jack had managed to have a quick word with Lord Bain at dinner. His experience of the party was as unsuccessful as Jack’s had been. The chance of finding the culprits they sought seemed doomed to failure. If any of these men were involved in a dangerous conspiracy, they remained tight-lipped about it.
Bain had shrugged. “I am in a quandary as to what to do with Lady Prudence. She should not be here.”
“Had Lord Sedgwick known his life was in danger?”
“Yes. After he spoke of the unrest in the House, he received a letter warning him not to meddle, although it wasn’t signed and gave no details. There were two subsequent attempts on his life. A shot that shattered his coach window and just missed him while his carriagedrove through woodland. At first, he put it down to a hunter’s stray ball. But the following week, the bolts holding a wheel on his coach had been loosened. The wheel fell off and cast the vehicle into a ditch. Fortunately, he and his driver weren’t hurt. While the earl wasn’t convinced it had something to do with this investigation, he considered it necessary to put me on my guard, to keep his daughter safe if need be, until help came. A natural assumption, I suppose, although…”
He sighed. “Lady Prudence arriving in the middle of this dashed affair left me in a difficult position. The poor girl is naturally distraught. But while we try to unearth the conspirators among the guests, it causes a devil of a problem. A dangerous environment for a gently reared young lady to be in. I informed her that the heir presumptive, Mr. Roland Stanton, had been advised of her father’s death, although that didn’t seem to ease her concerns. Stanton will arrive soon to take care of her and manage the earl’s affairs.”
Jack wasn’t convinced, either, that Sedgwick’s death was attributable to the conspiracy brewing in London, and although the earl had spoken up about the unrest gripping England, he had played very little part in their investigation.
But Jack knew no more than Bain. He had been uneasy about Lady Prudence while she’d remained under Bain’s roof. And thought she’d made the right decision. She would be safer at home. He stripped off his stockings and the rest of his clothes. Naked, and ruing the absence of a bath, he stood at the washstand and went about his ablutions, then brushed his teeth. As he dried himself with a towel, he wished he could stop worrying about a young woman to whom he’d only spoken twice, and who, should he have met her in a ballroom, wouldn’t have captured his attention beyond an admiring glance at her lovely face and figure. He never indulged in flirtations with well-bred young ladies in or about to enter the marriage mart. Messing with an earl’s daughter was as good as snapping the parson’s mousetrap shut on afellow.
Jack reminded himself that no woman had had the power to hurt him. He’d known for some years that he wasn’t capable of deep love, and marriage wouldn’t suit him. He’d seen how a woman could break a man’s heart when his mother had abandoned him and his father when Jack had still been in swaddling clothes. While out riding with her groom, she had ridden away from Briggs in the woods and had never been seen again. Not a word was ever heard from her. It was assumed she’d run away. Even when the horse had returned without her, Jack’s father had refused to believe it and Jack’s nanny had told him that Father had ridden out until dark each day searching for her. But after a month had passed and the Bow Street Runners he’d hired failed to find her, his father had been forced to accept it. He’d retreated into himself, and that was the unapproachable man Jack had grown up with, who spent his days locked in his library with his rare books until illness had taken him.
When Jack had attended Eton, the gossip surrounding his mother’s disappearance had arisen afresh and gossip had swirled around him. The students had parroted their parents: his mother had run away. She’d left England with a lover. There had even been some suggestion of his father being behind her disappearance. That she might have suffered at his hands when he’d discovered her to be unfaithful. But there had never been any evidence to support any of it.
