Page 51 of Redemption of a Marquess

She hurried toward the door. Two steps from the door, it opened. Jeanine came to an abrupt halt. Lord Gordon stood in the doorway. His eyes dropped to the letters she held.

He stepped inside the room and closed the door. “The entire household is searching for you. It never occurred to me you might be here.” He took a step toward her and she retreated. He stopped. “There is no need to be afraid. Remember what I told you, that I hoped you would understand why I had to do what I did?”

Jeanine said nothing.

“I will care for you. You will never want for anything. I will marry you.”

“M-Marry me?” Jeanine shook the letters in front of her. “I will b-be ruined.”

He frowned. “Do you have a speech impediment?”

“Aye. You cannot want a woman who s-stutters.”

His frown deepened. “We can deal with that later.”

Her mind raced. “I will be ruined. Surely, you c-cannot want to marry a woman whose reputation was ruined by the Marquess of Northington.”

“Northington will be blamed,” he said. “He is not called The Morning Star for nothing. People will understand, and they will draw you into their hearts once you have married me.”

“I will no’ m-marry you,” she spat.

He smiled in what she knew was meant to be comforting, but the effect was undone by the anger that blazed in his eyes. “You do not understand. I know what’s best.”

Jeanine straightened. “I wish to leave.”

He went to a small table beside the door, opened the drawer and withdrew a key. Jeanine watched in horror as he closed the drawer, then locked the door and slipped the key into the front pocket of his waistcoat.

He faced her. “This is for your own good.”

He advanced. Jeanine backed up. The back of her leg bumped something. She leapt aside and glanced at the table she’d bumped. She’d retreated nearly to the hearth. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the poker resting against the brick. Her heart leapt into her throat. She yanked her gaze back on to Lord Gordon. He stood a foot away.

“Miss Matheson—Jeanine—you need not fear me.” He halted. “I understand. Forgive me, dearest. Northington has mistreated you and now you fear all man. I promise, I will be gentle. Come,” he grasped her arm.

She started to pull away, then another plan struck. Jeanine tripped and collided with Lord Gordon. She seized his cravat in an effort not to fall—he wasn’t quick as Grey had been in catching her—and slipped her fingers into the front pocket of his waistcoat. She fisted the key as he grasped her shoulders.

She thought he would set her back from him, but his hold tightened, and she realized he intended to kiss her. Revulsion turned her stomach. Could she pretend to like the kiss? Wait, he believed she was afraid of Grey. His mouth neared hers. She whimpered.

He froze. “He really has hurt you.” The dangerous light of fanatical righteousness flared in his eyes. But, to her relief, he released her. “Sit down.” He indicated the nearby chairs. “I will fetch you a sherry. It will be good for your nerves.”

He turned, and Jeanine gauged the distance to the door. It was too far. She could never reach it and unlock the door before he set upon her. She would not allow him to trap her. If she didn’t escape, then his plans to ruin Grey would succeed. She looked at the poker leaning against the brick of the hearth. Dare she?

“We can live in France, until the worst of the scandal dies down,” he went on. “Have you ever been to France? You will love it.”

Jeanine edged to the poker and snatched it up. He filled the first sherry glass, then a second. She had little time. He replaced the lid on the decanter. Jeanine took three steps and lifted the poker with her right hand, while clutching the letters and the key in the other. She swung at his head. He cried out and dropped the sherry glasses. They shattered against the sideboard.

Jeanine dropped the poker and stumbled back two paces. He grabbed the side of his head and swung toward her. She whirled and lunged for the door. Hard fingers seized her arm. She cried out. His fingers dug deeper. He yanked her toward him and she brought her fisted hand up. He grabbed for her and caught the letters. She yanked them free from his grasp. The key struck the carpet.

She stumbled backward as he fell against a chair. Jeanine dove for the key, scooped it up, then raced for the door. Her hands shook so badly she feared she couldn’t fit the key into the lock. A moan behind her caused her to glance over her shoulder. He was struggling to his feet. She faced forward, commanded calm, thrust the key into the lock, then turned. The lock clicked. She threw the door open and raced down the hall to the servants’ stairs.

She forced herself to slow enough not to fall headlong down the corkscrew stairs. At the bottom, she raced toward the parlor. A shout went up in that direction. Jeanine whirled in the opposite direction and pumped her legs faster. She reached the stairs they had ascended when the butler had shown them in and descended as quickly as she could.

At the bottom, she spun left, toward the front door. Pounding footfalls on the front steps sent her into a panic. She turned right, ran down another hallway that twisted around, and burst into a storage room. Folded linens lined the high shelves. Sacks of fruit and barrels of oats, or maybe flour, encircled the room. She hurried through the small room and nearly cried aloud at sight of a side door. She found the door unlocked, and raced outside into an enclosed garden. Jeanine kept going toward the wooden door on the left side of the stone wall.

Please do not be locked, she prayed. She reached the door, drew the latch, and raced into the alley.