All this, on the command of a husband she hardly knew?
She watched the flames dance in the grate, her heart sinking. Her every instinct urged her to flee London, to return to Wiltshire before Lord Stoneleigh’s visit tomorrow, but there was nothing to return to. The land was already gone, and it was only a matter of time before the estate was sold as well.
Thornewood would no longer be their home, then. Not then, and not ever again.
There was no going back. There was nothing for it but to go forward, straight into Lord Stoneleigh’s parsonage, with its fine piano and glorious mantel clock.
Straight into Lord Stoneleigh’s arms . . .
A shudder seized her, as if a cold, enormous hand had clamped down on the back of her neck and was shaking her until her teeth rattled in her—
“I never would have taken you for such a shameless liar, Miss Thorne.”
Prue jerked upright as a man detached himself from a chair on the other side of the room and sauntered toward her, a smirk on his lips. The Duke of Montford, of course. Who else? The man seemed to be always lurking around the next corner, then turning up at the worst times, like a bad penny.
Thank goodness the tears prickling behind her eyes hadn’t yet had a chance to fall. She couldn’t think of a single thing more humiliating than weeping in front of the Duke of Montford.
Although seeing him naked was close.
“Such a sweet-faced young lady, too.” He threw himself into the chair opposite hers, his long legs sprawled out so the tip of his boots brushed the hem of her cloak. “I confess you had me fooled. It’s your eyes, I think. No one would ever suspect so many secrets could lurk in those innocent hazel depths.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Your Grace.” She jerked her skirts back, tucking her hems tightly around her feet. “I’m no liar.”
At least, she hadn’t used to be.
“No? But I distinctly recall you telling me you came to London only to visit the duchess. You specifically said you weren’t hunting for a husband, yet not two days after your arrival, I find you cavorting in the gardens with Lord Stoneleigh.”
“Cavorting!” She’d never cavorted in her life. “I most certainly wasnot—”
“But it’s not the cavorting that’s so shocking. Shocking enough, mind you, but not as shocking as your coming all the way from Wiltshire only to squander your chances of an advantageous match on a pincushion like Lord Stoneleigh.”
“Lord Stoneleigh isnota pincushion.” Or was he? In truth, she didn’t know what Montford meant, but it didn’t sound like a compliment. “He’s a respectable gentleman.”
Montford snorted. “A respectable pincushion, perhaps. Really, Miss Thorne. You sell yourself far too cheaply. You could do much better than Stoneleigh. You might have a viscount, with your pretty face.”
“My affairs are none of your concern, Your Grace.” Dear God, but the man was enough to drive a lady to violence. “Surely you have better things to do than spy on me and my . . .” Wooer? Her suitor? No, she couldn’t quite force either of those words from her lips. “My . . . Lord Stoneleigh.”
Oh, dear God, that was much worse, and naturally Montford immediately seized on it.
“YourLord Stoneleigh? Is he yours already, and you only just arrived? Well done, Miss Thorne! I offer you my sympathies, er, I mean, my congratulations. But you’re quite right. I didn’t come here this afternoon to pry into your affairs. I came in search of some property I’ve lost.”
“Property? What prop—” Oh, no. The earrings! She’d never put them back under the chaise! Between one thing and another, she’d completely forgotten them.
How she could forget she had a fortune in rubies stashed away in her pocket was rather a mystery, but she and Franny had spent most of the morning chatting, then she’d finished her letter to her father, and afterwards she’d retired to her bedchamber for a nap. By the time she woke, it was time to dress for tea with Lord Stoneleigh.
“I seem to have misplaced a rather remarkable pair of ruby and diamond earrings. The last time I recall having them was in Basingstoke’s study last night. I’d assumed they’d slipped from my coat pocket when I was sleeping, but it’s the most curious thing, Miss Thorne. When I searched the chaise, I didn’t find them.”
“Oh, dear. That’s, er . . . quite unfortunate, Your Grace.” Had there been just the tiniest quaver in her voice?
“Yes, isn’t it? It’s almost as if they’ve vanished. I can’t account for it.” His dark eyes roamed over her face, and for one dreadful moment she was certain he could see the guilty flush scalding her cheeks. “I don’t supposeyouhappened to see them?”
Those cursed earrings had been worrying her since she found them under the chaise this morning, and now, at last, she could be rid of the dratted things. All she had to do was take them out of her pocket, hand them over to Montford, and explain she’d found them under the chaise last night and had taken them up for safekeeping, and that would be the end of it.
They were right there, within easy reach of her fingertips. A mere moment would see the thing done, yet she didn’t move, only sat there as still as a mouse cowering in the shadow of a cat’s raised paw.
All but her twitching fingers, tracing the shape of the stones through the worn pocket of her cloak.
Nothing less than a possible solution to her marriage quandary was right at her fingertips, if only she had the nerve to put it to use.
