Unmasking Deception, page 20
“Nor am I. But I am not destitute, and we will find a way to help your family. Whatever anyone else tells us, this is between you and me, Viola, not them. I am not a good man, but I will try and be better. And I will be faithful.”
“So will I,” she promised, with something like wonder.
“Good. Because I might find I had to kill any other man you favored, and then we would be back to the beginning.”
A breath of shaky laughter escaped her as he lifted her gently down from the table. “Dominic—”
He placed a finger against her lips just as the thundering of Pup’s paws galloped down the hall outside the room, and Susan’s voice called, “Viola! Where are you? The enemy has gone!”
Viola smiled under his finger, and he smiled back before walking across the room to fetch his abandoned coat and struggle into it. Self-consciously, she patted her hair and shoved in a couple of half-fallen pins before going to the door and making sure the way was clear for Dominic’s exit.
Despite all the uncertainties that remained and all the things that still needed to be done, her heart was singing.
Chapter Eighteen
Dragging her mother with her, Viola called on Lady Trewthorpe and was lucky enough to find the lady at home, if somewhat surprised to see them. As always, she received them with perfect hospitality and rang for tea.
“What a fright you gave us all the other night,” she said to Viola. “Such a silly thing to go scampering off to Regent’s Park and then lose a wheel! Without even sending back a message to your poor Mama, who was clearly worried sick.”
Viola tried to look apologetic, since this was the story they had decided Frank would tell his mother and anyone else who knew of Viola’s disappearance in order to prevent any leaking of gossip. “I know that now, and I was always sure I would be home before any message, only then everything dragged on for hours more. I am so sorry to have worried everyone.”
This appeared to satisfy her ladyship, who merely sniffed once before changing the subject.
As soon as she civilly could, Viola asked casually if Frank were home.
Lady Trewthorpe’s eyebrows flew up. “Frank? Why, yes, I think so. Why do you want Frank?”
“Oh, just to ask him something about a friend of his,” Viola said easily.
A hint of suspicion remained in her cousin’s eyes, as though she was afraid of Viola setting her cap at her firstborn. But Frank must surely have relieved that anxiety when he eventually appeared, bowed civilly to Mrs. Dove and his mother, and addressed Viola with a careless, “How are you, squib?”
They managed to move quite naturally to the window, where Viola asked bluntly, “Have you heard from Miss Gavelston?”
“No,” he replied gloomily. “She is not allowed to write to me, and I fear writing to her would only get her in trouble.”
“But you know where to write to her?”
He nodded, frowning at her in quick suspicion. “What are you up to?”
“Do you think she would help prove Dominic Gorse’s innocence? Without any danger to her, obviously.”
“She’d probably think it a great lark.”
“What of your mama? Does she know about your partiality for Miss Gavelston?”
“I may have tried to mention there was someone, but she cut me off by saying I was much too young to be considering a lasting attachment.”
Viola said delicately, “Do you think she might listen more if she knew Miss Gavelston was a considerable heiress? After all, there is no harm in friendship, is there? You might as well get to know one another. And Mr. Gavelston,” she added before Frank could bring him up, “from what you say, his objection to you is based on the belief that she is too young, and you are not respectable. What could be more respectable than an invitation from your mama? Who is, it must be said, the epitome of respectability. You are bound to go up in his estimation, and he might, with luck, feel it churlish to refuse Lady Trewthorpe, who is not nobody after all,”
Frank closed his mouth. “Do you think she would?”
“If you asked her. Miss Gavelston would be a considerable catch when she is a little older, of course. But I think your mother will see the benefit in encouraging your friendship now.”
“Put like that… Thing is, we’re off to Brighton next week. The Season’s all but over here.”
“That should work out excellently even if you travel a few days later than planned. Get your mother to invite her to Brighton, and then she may break her journey in London and go to some event with you where Minton is present.”
Frank’s jaw dropped. “Just like that?”
“If you could persuade your mother to write to Mr. Gavelston today…”
“Anything else?” Frank asked sarcastically, although she could see speculation running wild behind his eyes.
“Yes. Do you know if Rollo Darblay is still in town?”
“Darblay? Yes, I think so. He’s kicking his heels here for another week or so before he joins the Wennings in the country. Why?”
“Could you ask him to call on us as soon as is convenient?”
“I’ll ask,” Frank said doubtfully, “but his convenience might be next Season. He’s a trifle erratic.”
“Tell him it will be fun,” Viola said recklessly.
*
Whether it was the promise of fun or a growing lack of alternative company as the ton abandoned the heat and smells of London in high summer, Rollo Darblay presented himself to the Doves the following day.
Sarah announced him in a flustered kind of way that made Viola say, “Have you been flirting with the maid?”
“I only smiled at her because she looks overworked,” Rollo said with devastating honesty.
“She is,” Viola agreed, while her mother looked as if she didn’t know whether to be mortified or outraged. “How is Lady Wenning?”
“Fine, so far as I know. Where’s the fire?”
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Dove demanded.
“Frank Trewthorpe said it was urgent I call on you,” he explained.
Mrs. Dove threw up her hands. “Some convoluted plot of Viola’s. I’ve lost track of it all and just wish it was over.”
Darblay looked intrigued rather than daunted and threw himself into a chair expectantly.
“It’s about Lord Dominic Gorse,” Viola began.
“I know Dom. Friend of mine. Or he was. Didn’t they transport him?”
“He escaped! How can you not have heard that?”
Darblay shrugged. “I did. Just forgot.” He frowned suddenly, looking from one to the other. “Look, just to be clear, I don’t hold with killing a man in the dead of night without witnesses, but I won’t do anything to catch Dominic Gorse. He must have had his reasons.”
“He didn’t do it,” Viola said bluntly. “And we need someone to help us prove who did.”
Darblay’s dramatic black brows flew up. “Then I’m your man. Tell all.”
*
As London emptied of company, two returns were of note. Later on, the day that Rollo Darblay called, Lord Richard informed Viola that Minton was back. His lordship called with a footman, who carried a spare cane that Richard never used and who followed his master into the drawing room.
The footman smiled a lot at Viola but said little except, “You must take care now he’s back. If he has any sense at all, he will abandon his pursuit of you, but I don’t trust him not to do you a bad turn if he can.”
Lord Richard said, “My worry is that he’ll go off to Brighton or Bath in search of fresh meat.”
“We could adapt to Brighton,” Viola said. “It doesn’t have to be Maida. Bath might be more problematic. I wonder if someone might drop Minton a hint that a young and beautiful heiress is on her way to London as Lady Trewthorpe’s guest? That might restore his hopes and keep him here.”
“We’ll spread the word,” Richard said laconically. “Is she definitely coming?”
“Lady Trewthorpe is writing to her today. In fact, it transpires that the Gavelstons are known to Lady Trewthorpe. She was a great friend of the young lady’s mother, so it seems likely the uncle will accept.”
Pup burst in then to greet two of his best friends, and, of course, the children quickly appeared in rapid pursuit. They were followed only seconds later by a flustered and apologetic Miss Mather—who broke off to look quite hard at the footman lounging in an armchair with his wig in his lap, laughing at some story Susan and Adrian were telling him.
Catching sight of her, the footman jumped to his feet. Lord Richard rose with a little more effort.
“Matty, I believe you have met Lord Dominic Gorse,” Viola said hastily. “And Lord Richard, of course.”
“Delighted to see you again, Miss Mather,” Dominic said easily.
“Excuse his odd garb,” Richard added wryly. “It doesn’t suit him, and we all hope he will be in a position to change it soon.”
“Can we stay for a while, Matty?” Arabella asked eagerly.
“Well, I suppose…”
“Huzzah!”
It became almost a daily routine that Lord Richard would call, along with his footman. She discovered later that the frequency of his visits was noticed by those in Society who remained in town, and speculation was rife that Lord Richard, who rarely called on anyone, was about to offer for Miss Dove. And since he never went anywhere else, the presence of his footman on this journey alone was never noted.
In this way, Viola and Dominic managed to spend precious time together each day. Though little of it was truly alone, just being with him was wonderful to Viola. They got to know each other, almost as they would have done at society events through a more conventional courtship.
“It’s not Lord Richard at all, is it?” her mother said once after the men had departed. “It never was. It’s Lord Dominic.”
Viola saw no point in denying it. “I can’t help it, Mama.”
“But he has no money, Viola.”
She met her mother’s gaze. “Neither did Papa.”
Her mother looked stricken, as though she had finally realized that she was asking her daughter to pay for her choice. “But your Papa was a man of character, not an infamous rake and wastrel. Oh, I’ll allow Lord Dominic is charming and handsome, but my dear, there is no substance behind it. He will break your heart.”
“You are wrong,” Viola said stubbornly. He might well break her heart, of course, but there was more, much more, to Dominic than her mother claimed. She had always known that.
*
Frank duly sent excited word that his angel was being brought to London next week by her guardian and being left with Lady Trewthorpe, who arranged for Viola and her mother to come to the day after.
That evening, Viola penned a short note to Mr. Smith at Bow Street, informing him that all was in hand and that she hoped in a few days to give him details of where and when Minton would be reeled in. It was a short epistle, but again she wrote it in her own hand, then asked Miss Mather to read it over for her. And once more, she felt rather proud to know there were no mistakes. A “normal” life with the written word began to seem possible.
The letter duly sealed, she set it aside to be sent in the morning and prepared for bed. She had not seen Dominic that day, and missing him was like an ache in her stomach and her heart at the same time.
For a while, she lay in the dark, remembering every kiss and soft word, and wondering what their life together would be like. He had said he was not destitute, but she had no idea where or how they would live. Perhaps they would go abroad. She had heard someone say it was cheaper to live in Europe, and she had always longed to travel.
Something pattered against the window, almost like a tree branch blown by the wind. Only there was no tree outside her window. Perhaps it had started to rain. She closed her eyes and imagined Dominic was with her.
The pattering sound came again, more forceful this time. Without bothering to light the candle, she slipped out of bed, padded to the window, and looked out. No rain in the clear, starry sky, no bird foolishly pecking at the glass. She looked down, and her heart lurched.
A man stood in the back garden, a handful of earth in one hand, looking straight up at her. Dominic.
Her heart in her mouth, she spun away from the window and ran to the chamber door, barely pausing to seize her robe as she went. She retained enough sense to move lightly and silently and not to wake the household unless it was really necessary. But mostly, she was simply terrified. Had Barnaby Smith turned on him after all? Was some other Runner pursuing him even now?
The stone flags in the kitchen passage were icy under her feet, even on such a warm night. She unbolted the door with trembling hands and turned the key. Dominic slipped inside as soon she began to pull the door open and quickly, softly, closed it behind him.
“Dominic, what…?” she began urgently, but the rest was lost as he kissed her with open-mouthed abandon.
The miracle was not that he kissed her but that she understood from it alone that there was no danger, that he was happy. And that was enough for her. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. That was bliss. Even more so, when his hand swept down over her bottom, pressing her to him, lifting her, and swinging her around in the narrow passage.
Inevitably, they bumped into the rickety table at the side, and he paused, his lips smiling as they loosened but didn’t leave hers.
“Will you marry me, Viola Dove?” he breathed.
“Yes.”
He drew back. “No thought? No questions? No, you do me too much honor, kind sir?
She seized his face between her hands, knowing something had changed, but unable to read his expression by the light of the single, flickering candle.
“I couldn’t wait to tell you. My conviction is quashed.”
“Thank God.” She hugged him fiercely. “Let me light the lamp, and you can tell me everything.”
Picking up the candle from the table, she led him through the kitchen to the little sitting room which Cook used in her free moments. Beyond it was a tiny room with a mattress, where once a servant had slept. The Doves’ staff all slept in the attic.
“Your feet are bare,” he said, taking the candle from her. “Sit.”
She obeyed, tucking her icy feet under her for warmth, watching him go about the business of lighting the lamp which spread a warm, pleasant glow. She liked the way he moved, deft and swift.
He snatched up the little footstool and sat in front of her.
“How did you know which window was mine?” she asked. “Or were you trying them all in turn?”
“God, no. The children told me during some game in the garden. Of course, I remembered.”
Heat seeped into her face, and she changed the subject. “Do you think it will scare Minton off when he hears you are freed? Perhaps he will flee the country.”
“I hope it will scare him, but he will need money to live abroad. So he may rush his fences with Miss Gavelston. A fast bolt to Scotland, and from there to France or the Low Countries.”
“We will have to guard her quite carefully.”
“An assignation at Maida Gardens will seem the perfect opportunity for him.”
“As well it might!” she pointed out.
“She does not need to come there. Once the assignation is made, her part is done, and she could stay at home with Lady Trewthorpe, guarded by the gallant Frank and several stout servants. If you can persuade her to do so. She seems a spirited little thing. When can we be married?”
She smiled as he laid his head in her lap. “Whenever you wish. And Lord Wenning has agreed. I believe he is my official guardian.”
His head was warm and heavy against her thigh, sweetly intimate. It felt daring and yet very natural to stroke his soft hair.
“I don’t really know Wenning. Will he make a fuss?” His breath penetrated the fabric of her dressing gown and night rail, heating her skin. It felt very strange, making her whole body blush.
“I doubt it. He understands about love because of Lady Wenning.”
“Then you love me?”
Dear God, was that his lips? He had found the parting in her dressing gown and kissed her leg through the fine lawn of her night rail.
“You know I love you.”
“Then you’ll marry me as soon as we can?”
How could she think with his kisses wandering inward over her thigh, with her body aflame and her heart melting? Her fingers fisted in his hair, and he paused.
“I think you should grow used to your freedom first,” she said shakily. “Make sure this is what you want when you are free to choose. After all, this, our…courtship, has not followed a normal course.”
He slid his arms around her waist, and somehow, they were inside her dressing gown too. “What is normal?” His lips brushed against her, softly, subtly, as though speaking silent words.
“What are you saying?” she whispered.
His lips moved again, following the same tiny pattern, only this time, he murmured the words. “I love you.”
“You said that against my lips at Maida,”
He smiled. “I did. Will you marry me quickly?”
“Why?”
He turned his head in her lap so that he could meet her gaze. “Because life is for living, and I hate wasting time. Because I want to make you happy in every conceivable way. Because I want you all to myself. Because I want you so much it’s killing me.”
Laughter trembled on her lips. “No, it isn’t.”
He grinned back. “Very well, not killing, though I do feel as though I’ll explode. I came because I was so desperate to tell you I was free. I didn’t mean to seduce you at the same time, and yet now that I am here, you must tell me to go, or I will do my very, very best… Or worst.”
“To seduce me?” she said breathlessly.
He closed his eyes. “Just agree to marry me quickly and send me on my way. I will dance my way home with perfect happiness. And douse myself in cold water. I’ll even enjoy that.”
She bent over him, and he lifted his head, and their lips met.
“I will marry you as soon as may be,” she promised when the kiss ended. It took her another heartbeat to find the strength. “And now you must go.”
“So will I,” she promised, with something like wonder.
“Good. Because I might find I had to kill any other man you favored, and then we would be back to the beginning.”
A breath of shaky laughter escaped her as he lifted her gently down from the table. “Dominic—”
He placed a finger against her lips just as the thundering of Pup’s paws galloped down the hall outside the room, and Susan’s voice called, “Viola! Where are you? The enemy has gone!”
Viola smiled under his finger, and he smiled back before walking across the room to fetch his abandoned coat and struggle into it. Self-consciously, she patted her hair and shoved in a couple of half-fallen pins before going to the door and making sure the way was clear for Dominic’s exit.
Despite all the uncertainties that remained and all the things that still needed to be done, her heart was singing.
Chapter Eighteen
Dragging her mother with her, Viola called on Lady Trewthorpe and was lucky enough to find the lady at home, if somewhat surprised to see them. As always, she received them with perfect hospitality and rang for tea.
“What a fright you gave us all the other night,” she said to Viola. “Such a silly thing to go scampering off to Regent’s Park and then lose a wheel! Without even sending back a message to your poor Mama, who was clearly worried sick.”
Viola tried to look apologetic, since this was the story they had decided Frank would tell his mother and anyone else who knew of Viola’s disappearance in order to prevent any leaking of gossip. “I know that now, and I was always sure I would be home before any message, only then everything dragged on for hours more. I am so sorry to have worried everyone.”
This appeared to satisfy her ladyship, who merely sniffed once before changing the subject.
As soon as she civilly could, Viola asked casually if Frank were home.
Lady Trewthorpe’s eyebrows flew up. “Frank? Why, yes, I think so. Why do you want Frank?”
“Oh, just to ask him something about a friend of his,” Viola said easily.
A hint of suspicion remained in her cousin’s eyes, as though she was afraid of Viola setting her cap at her firstborn. But Frank must surely have relieved that anxiety when he eventually appeared, bowed civilly to Mrs. Dove and his mother, and addressed Viola with a careless, “How are you, squib?”
They managed to move quite naturally to the window, where Viola asked bluntly, “Have you heard from Miss Gavelston?”
“No,” he replied gloomily. “She is not allowed to write to me, and I fear writing to her would only get her in trouble.”
“But you know where to write to her?”
He nodded, frowning at her in quick suspicion. “What are you up to?”
“Do you think she would help prove Dominic Gorse’s innocence? Without any danger to her, obviously.”
“She’d probably think it a great lark.”
“What of your mama? Does she know about your partiality for Miss Gavelston?”
“I may have tried to mention there was someone, but she cut me off by saying I was much too young to be considering a lasting attachment.”
Viola said delicately, “Do you think she might listen more if she knew Miss Gavelston was a considerable heiress? After all, there is no harm in friendship, is there? You might as well get to know one another. And Mr. Gavelston,” she added before Frank could bring him up, “from what you say, his objection to you is based on the belief that she is too young, and you are not respectable. What could be more respectable than an invitation from your mama? Who is, it must be said, the epitome of respectability. You are bound to go up in his estimation, and he might, with luck, feel it churlish to refuse Lady Trewthorpe, who is not nobody after all,”
Frank closed his mouth. “Do you think she would?”
“If you asked her. Miss Gavelston would be a considerable catch when she is a little older, of course. But I think your mother will see the benefit in encouraging your friendship now.”
“Put like that… Thing is, we’re off to Brighton next week. The Season’s all but over here.”
“That should work out excellently even if you travel a few days later than planned. Get your mother to invite her to Brighton, and then she may break her journey in London and go to some event with you where Minton is present.”
Frank’s jaw dropped. “Just like that?”
“If you could persuade your mother to write to Mr. Gavelston today…”
“Anything else?” Frank asked sarcastically, although she could see speculation running wild behind his eyes.
“Yes. Do you know if Rollo Darblay is still in town?”
“Darblay? Yes, I think so. He’s kicking his heels here for another week or so before he joins the Wennings in the country. Why?”
“Could you ask him to call on us as soon as is convenient?”
“I’ll ask,” Frank said doubtfully, “but his convenience might be next Season. He’s a trifle erratic.”
“Tell him it will be fun,” Viola said recklessly.
*
Whether it was the promise of fun or a growing lack of alternative company as the ton abandoned the heat and smells of London in high summer, Rollo Darblay presented himself to the Doves the following day.
Sarah announced him in a flustered kind of way that made Viola say, “Have you been flirting with the maid?”
“I only smiled at her because she looks overworked,” Rollo said with devastating honesty.
“She is,” Viola agreed, while her mother looked as if she didn’t know whether to be mortified or outraged. “How is Lady Wenning?”
“Fine, so far as I know. Where’s the fire?”
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Dove demanded.
“Frank Trewthorpe said it was urgent I call on you,” he explained.
Mrs. Dove threw up her hands. “Some convoluted plot of Viola’s. I’ve lost track of it all and just wish it was over.”
Darblay looked intrigued rather than daunted and threw himself into a chair expectantly.
“It’s about Lord Dominic Gorse,” Viola began.
“I know Dom. Friend of mine. Or he was. Didn’t they transport him?”
“He escaped! How can you not have heard that?”
Darblay shrugged. “I did. Just forgot.” He frowned suddenly, looking from one to the other. “Look, just to be clear, I don’t hold with killing a man in the dead of night without witnesses, but I won’t do anything to catch Dominic Gorse. He must have had his reasons.”
“He didn’t do it,” Viola said bluntly. “And we need someone to help us prove who did.”
Darblay’s dramatic black brows flew up. “Then I’m your man. Tell all.”
*
As London emptied of company, two returns were of note. Later on, the day that Rollo Darblay called, Lord Richard informed Viola that Minton was back. His lordship called with a footman, who carried a spare cane that Richard never used and who followed his master into the drawing room.
The footman smiled a lot at Viola but said little except, “You must take care now he’s back. If he has any sense at all, he will abandon his pursuit of you, but I don’t trust him not to do you a bad turn if he can.”
Lord Richard said, “My worry is that he’ll go off to Brighton or Bath in search of fresh meat.”
“We could adapt to Brighton,” Viola said. “It doesn’t have to be Maida. Bath might be more problematic. I wonder if someone might drop Minton a hint that a young and beautiful heiress is on her way to London as Lady Trewthorpe’s guest? That might restore his hopes and keep him here.”
“We’ll spread the word,” Richard said laconically. “Is she definitely coming?”
“Lady Trewthorpe is writing to her today. In fact, it transpires that the Gavelstons are known to Lady Trewthorpe. She was a great friend of the young lady’s mother, so it seems likely the uncle will accept.”
Pup burst in then to greet two of his best friends, and, of course, the children quickly appeared in rapid pursuit. They were followed only seconds later by a flustered and apologetic Miss Mather—who broke off to look quite hard at the footman lounging in an armchair with his wig in his lap, laughing at some story Susan and Adrian were telling him.
Catching sight of her, the footman jumped to his feet. Lord Richard rose with a little more effort.
“Matty, I believe you have met Lord Dominic Gorse,” Viola said hastily. “And Lord Richard, of course.”
“Delighted to see you again, Miss Mather,” Dominic said easily.
“Excuse his odd garb,” Richard added wryly. “It doesn’t suit him, and we all hope he will be in a position to change it soon.”
“Can we stay for a while, Matty?” Arabella asked eagerly.
“Well, I suppose…”
“Huzzah!”
It became almost a daily routine that Lord Richard would call, along with his footman. She discovered later that the frequency of his visits was noticed by those in Society who remained in town, and speculation was rife that Lord Richard, who rarely called on anyone, was about to offer for Miss Dove. And since he never went anywhere else, the presence of his footman on this journey alone was never noted.
In this way, Viola and Dominic managed to spend precious time together each day. Though little of it was truly alone, just being with him was wonderful to Viola. They got to know each other, almost as they would have done at society events through a more conventional courtship.
“It’s not Lord Richard at all, is it?” her mother said once after the men had departed. “It never was. It’s Lord Dominic.”
Viola saw no point in denying it. “I can’t help it, Mama.”
“But he has no money, Viola.”
She met her mother’s gaze. “Neither did Papa.”
Her mother looked stricken, as though she had finally realized that she was asking her daughter to pay for her choice. “But your Papa was a man of character, not an infamous rake and wastrel. Oh, I’ll allow Lord Dominic is charming and handsome, but my dear, there is no substance behind it. He will break your heart.”
“You are wrong,” Viola said stubbornly. He might well break her heart, of course, but there was more, much more, to Dominic than her mother claimed. She had always known that.
*
Frank duly sent excited word that his angel was being brought to London next week by her guardian and being left with Lady Trewthorpe, who arranged for Viola and her mother to come to the day after.
That evening, Viola penned a short note to Mr. Smith at Bow Street, informing him that all was in hand and that she hoped in a few days to give him details of where and when Minton would be reeled in. It was a short epistle, but again she wrote it in her own hand, then asked Miss Mather to read it over for her. And once more, she felt rather proud to know there were no mistakes. A “normal” life with the written word began to seem possible.
The letter duly sealed, she set it aside to be sent in the morning and prepared for bed. She had not seen Dominic that day, and missing him was like an ache in her stomach and her heart at the same time.
For a while, she lay in the dark, remembering every kiss and soft word, and wondering what their life together would be like. He had said he was not destitute, but she had no idea where or how they would live. Perhaps they would go abroad. She had heard someone say it was cheaper to live in Europe, and she had always longed to travel.
Something pattered against the window, almost like a tree branch blown by the wind. Only there was no tree outside her window. Perhaps it had started to rain. She closed her eyes and imagined Dominic was with her.
The pattering sound came again, more forceful this time. Without bothering to light the candle, she slipped out of bed, padded to the window, and looked out. No rain in the clear, starry sky, no bird foolishly pecking at the glass. She looked down, and her heart lurched.
A man stood in the back garden, a handful of earth in one hand, looking straight up at her. Dominic.
Her heart in her mouth, she spun away from the window and ran to the chamber door, barely pausing to seize her robe as she went. She retained enough sense to move lightly and silently and not to wake the household unless it was really necessary. But mostly, she was simply terrified. Had Barnaby Smith turned on him after all? Was some other Runner pursuing him even now?
The stone flags in the kitchen passage were icy under her feet, even on such a warm night. She unbolted the door with trembling hands and turned the key. Dominic slipped inside as soon she began to pull the door open and quickly, softly, closed it behind him.
“Dominic, what…?” she began urgently, but the rest was lost as he kissed her with open-mouthed abandon.
The miracle was not that he kissed her but that she understood from it alone that there was no danger, that he was happy. And that was enough for her. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. That was bliss. Even more so, when his hand swept down over her bottom, pressing her to him, lifting her, and swinging her around in the narrow passage.
Inevitably, they bumped into the rickety table at the side, and he paused, his lips smiling as they loosened but didn’t leave hers.
“Will you marry me, Viola Dove?” he breathed.
“Yes.”
He drew back. “No thought? No questions? No, you do me too much honor, kind sir?
She seized his face between her hands, knowing something had changed, but unable to read his expression by the light of the single, flickering candle.
“I couldn’t wait to tell you. My conviction is quashed.”
“Thank God.” She hugged him fiercely. “Let me light the lamp, and you can tell me everything.”
Picking up the candle from the table, she led him through the kitchen to the little sitting room which Cook used in her free moments. Beyond it was a tiny room with a mattress, where once a servant had slept. The Doves’ staff all slept in the attic.
“Your feet are bare,” he said, taking the candle from her. “Sit.”
She obeyed, tucking her icy feet under her for warmth, watching him go about the business of lighting the lamp which spread a warm, pleasant glow. She liked the way he moved, deft and swift.
He snatched up the little footstool and sat in front of her.
“How did you know which window was mine?” she asked. “Or were you trying them all in turn?”
“God, no. The children told me during some game in the garden. Of course, I remembered.”
Heat seeped into her face, and she changed the subject. “Do you think it will scare Minton off when he hears you are freed? Perhaps he will flee the country.”
“I hope it will scare him, but he will need money to live abroad. So he may rush his fences with Miss Gavelston. A fast bolt to Scotland, and from there to France or the Low Countries.”
“We will have to guard her quite carefully.”
“An assignation at Maida Gardens will seem the perfect opportunity for him.”
“As well it might!” she pointed out.
“She does not need to come there. Once the assignation is made, her part is done, and she could stay at home with Lady Trewthorpe, guarded by the gallant Frank and several stout servants. If you can persuade her to do so. She seems a spirited little thing. When can we be married?”
She smiled as he laid his head in her lap. “Whenever you wish. And Lord Wenning has agreed. I believe he is my official guardian.”
His head was warm and heavy against her thigh, sweetly intimate. It felt daring and yet very natural to stroke his soft hair.
“I don’t really know Wenning. Will he make a fuss?” His breath penetrated the fabric of her dressing gown and night rail, heating her skin. It felt very strange, making her whole body blush.
“I doubt it. He understands about love because of Lady Wenning.”
“Then you love me?”
Dear God, was that his lips? He had found the parting in her dressing gown and kissed her leg through the fine lawn of her night rail.
“You know I love you.”
“Then you’ll marry me as soon as we can?”
How could she think with his kisses wandering inward over her thigh, with her body aflame and her heart melting? Her fingers fisted in his hair, and he paused.
“I think you should grow used to your freedom first,” she said shakily. “Make sure this is what you want when you are free to choose. After all, this, our…courtship, has not followed a normal course.”
He slid his arms around her waist, and somehow, they were inside her dressing gown too. “What is normal?” His lips brushed against her, softly, subtly, as though speaking silent words.
“What are you saying?” she whispered.
His lips moved again, following the same tiny pattern, only this time, he murmured the words. “I love you.”
“You said that against my lips at Maida,”
He smiled. “I did. Will you marry me quickly?”
“Why?”
He turned his head in her lap so that he could meet her gaze. “Because life is for living, and I hate wasting time. Because I want to make you happy in every conceivable way. Because I want you all to myself. Because I want you so much it’s killing me.”
Laughter trembled on her lips. “No, it isn’t.”
He grinned back. “Very well, not killing, though I do feel as though I’ll explode. I came because I was so desperate to tell you I was free. I didn’t mean to seduce you at the same time, and yet now that I am here, you must tell me to go, or I will do my very, very best… Or worst.”
“To seduce me?” she said breathlessly.
He closed his eyes. “Just agree to marry me quickly and send me on my way. I will dance my way home with perfect happiness. And douse myself in cold water. I’ll even enjoy that.”
She bent over him, and he lifted his head, and their lips met.
“I will marry you as soon as may be,” she promised when the kiss ended. It took her another heartbeat to find the strength. “And now you must go.”
