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There. That should do it. She folded her papers, tucked them into her reticule, and rang for Sarah. She would deliver it to Mr. Harris this very afternoon, even though her column was not due for another couple of days.
“Sarah, we are going out,” she announced, drawing on a pair of gloves.
“Not with that hair you are not,” Sarah replied in a belligerent tone. “Miss, I do not know what you do to yourself between the time I dress your hair in the morning and when I next see you, but whatever it is, I suggest you stop it. It looks as if you have been trying to pull it up straight off your head. Have you been thinking again?” she asked with an accusing glare. “Thinking causes nothing but trouble. You stick your hands in your hair and cause all kinds of rumpus. Just sit down, do not think, and let me fix this rackety mess.”
“It would take me longer to argue with you than for you to do what you want to, so just try to hurry, please,” Titania said in a grumpy voice.
“You know I am right, that is why you are so cross, miss.” Titania sat in silence as Sarah brought the tangled mess under control, bolting to her feet as soon as the last hairpin was laid to rest.
“Now may we be off? And what now?” Titania asked in dismay as the door below was heard to open. She could discern the low hum of male voices, and her heart leaped into her throat. Was it possible—? She could barely contain herself as she heard Stillings’s slow tread on the stairs.
“The Earl of Oakley to see you, miss,” Stillings intoned blandly, as if he—and the whole staff, for that matter—were not perfectly aware of how their mistress felt about this visitor. “I have put him in the study. Are you receiving?” Titania rushed past him without answering, running down the stairs, then slowed to a leisurely pace as she approached the doors. She took a deep breath.
“My lord,” she said in a demure tone, looking down as she entered the room. “I did not get a chance to speak with you to thank you for escorting me home the other night.”
Titania was shocked to see his face was gray and drawn. He strode toward her, gathering her in his arms as he started to sob.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice muffled by being crushed against his huge chest.
“My father. He was attacked last night at his house, and now my stepmother is accusing me of having perpetrated it. My father and I saw each other, we were reconciled, something that made me almost as happy as—” He stopped speaking, instead withdrawing from the safe circle of her arms to prowl around the room.
“Attacked? But where? And how? Is he all right?” Titania sat down, her hands unconsciously clutching the skirt of her gown.
Edwin turned to face her, his expression one of unrelieved anguish. “He is thankfully alive, but unconscious. The doctors say there is nothing that can be done for him, at least not until he gains consciousness...if he does.”
“And what is your stepmother accusing you of?”
“She...she says I broke into their house and attacked my father in his study. She did not actually see anything, of course, but she may have misinterpreted something I said when I was there. She...she has reasons to wish me ill.”
“Surely you can prove you were somewhere else when your father was attacked?”
“Perhaps, but perhaps not. You see, he was attacked at about the same time that I was escorting you home, and as you know, I walked. I ended up at a tavern. I am afraid there are a few hours there that are a bit fuzzy for me.”
Titania pushed his unresisting form onto the sofa. “Sit there. Let me—Stillings!” Stillings arrived so quickly Titania suspected he had been listening at the door.
“Stillings, we need tea and pen and paper, please.” Stillings nodded, shooting an apprehensive look at Edwin.
Edwin sat, his head resting on his hands. Titania perched on the sofa next to him, taking one of his hands from his forehead and holding it in her lap.
“You know this will be cleared up. Someone will remember seeing one of you last night, even if you were seeing two of everyone. Your stepmother—why would she falsely accuse you?”
Edwin looked down at their entwined hands, silent for a moment as he ran his fingers over her palm. The contact made Titania remember their proximity last night, and she felt herself starting to blush.
“My stepmother is—was my betrothed,” Edwin explained in a low voice, still stroking her hand. “I did not know until the other day; it’s hard to believe someone did not tell me, if only to see my reaction. She must still hate me a great deal.”
They sat there, silently holding hands. Despite everything, Titania felt oddly at peace, as if the tumult in her heart had been stilled for just a moment.
“Well, then, Lord Worthington—”
“Edwin.”
“Edwin, then. Can you tell me your movements, I mean,” she said, feeling herself blush, “your activities, um, where you were last night?” She moved over to the desk, where she could hide her face.
“Well, I attended the party. Walked through the garden. Escorted you home.” She heard him stand and saw his feet plant themselves next to her desk. Titania was unable to resist looking up.
The expression on his face must have reflected her own, since he gave a lazy smile, then glanced over to the door. A careless Stillings must have closed it behind him. Edwin’s eyes returned to hers, and his smile deepened. She rose slowly, feeling a tingling awareness start somewhere in her stomach and rise up through her chest.
Edwin took her hand, placing it on his chest. She could hear the thump-thump of his heartbeat, and it was as regularly insistent as her own breathing, which had quickened. He drew her over to the sofa, then sat, looking up at her with an expectant gaze.
She lowered herself slowly, her eyes only inches apart from his. Edwin saw the desire mingled with an emotion he was too battered to name, and knew that when he kissed her, he would be able to forget, just for a little while.
It was glorious. It was the best kiss yet. Titania boldly thrust her tongue into Edwin’s mouth, grabbing ahold of his shoulders.
He had never felt so complete as he had at that moment, ravaging her mouth as his hands roamed over her body. Titania was just pulling up his shirt, impatient to get her hands on his chest, when they were jarred by the unmistakable sound of the door opening.
Quickly, Titania scooted back to her side of the sofa, frantically smoothing her hair back and trying to look as if they had been exchanging commonplaces about the weather or the latest party, not on the verge of exchanging her clothing for the feel of Edwin’s naked body.
Miss Tynte narrowed her eyes as she entered the room. “Stillings told me you were receiving the earl, Titania. I hope the visit has been pleasurable?” she finished with an acerbic tone.
Titania could not help it; she began to laugh at the absurdity of it.
“Yes, cousin, the earl’s visit has been pleasurable in the extreme,” she replied, throwing a wicked smile toward Edwin.
“Miss Tynte,” Edwin said, blushing, only to be stopped when she held up a thin, wrinkled hand.
“No, my lord, do not explain. I understand perfectly well, and I also know I am a woefully inadequate chaperone.” With that, she stalked as gracefully as she could to a nearby chair and sat down, a frosty smile plastered onto her face.
“Lord Worthington,” Titania said with a prim nod, as if she had not been sticking her tongue in his mouth just five minutes before, “we should continue our list. Miss Tynte, Lord Worthington has had some terrible news regarding an attack on his father, and his stepmother—Lord Worthington’s, that is—is accusing Lord Worthington of having perpetrated the attack. So we are making a list of the earl’s activities last evening, his whereabouts, that is,” she finished hastily, as Miss Tynte’s eyebrows start to rise.
Edwin rose, clutching the piece of paper that was only slightly wrinkled from having been pressed in between their two bodies. “Miss Stanhope, Miss Tynte, I appreciate your assistance, but I must try to find the perpetrator myself before Bow Street pays me a visit. Very few people were aware my father and I were on speaking terms again, and many would be only too happy to believe—and spread to anyone who will listen—my stepmother’s lies. I cannot sit around and wait to be ostracized, or worse, again. Good-bye.”
He strode out of the study, resolve informing every line of his body. It was in marked contrast to the way he had entered the room, and Titania knew she had helped, even if that help had mussed her hair and left both of them feeling unsatisfied. She recovered from her musings to encounter, once again, the look Miss Tynte seemed to wear most often when regarding her previously reliable charge.
“Titania. You cannot behave like that, not unless the earl is prepared to offer you marriage again, and I do not believe I saw him on his knees just now.”
No, Titania thought, he is in no circumstances to propose marriage, only she did not think it was because he did not trust her. He came straight here, did he not, to tell her about his father? And it was in her arms he found comfort, as well. Things were just about as awful as they could be, but a small glimmer of hope for her future began to glow very slightly inside. She held on to that faint hope when she heard the gossips mentioning Edwin’s name at a party that evening.
“You know, do you not, that he had sworn to see his father in his grave before he would see him married to his former betrothed?”
“I heard he pushed Lady Worthington down to get to his father, so enraged was he. He was making his living as a member of the boxing profession when he was banished by his father.”
“He left that poor man facedown in his library, his desk ransacked and all his books disheveled. What was he hoping to find?”
It was a weary Titania who returned to her house only a few hours after she had left. She had not seen Edwin that evening, but she had seen Lady Worthington, who was making an appearance at the Lashleys’ party. Titania watched in disbelief as Lady Worthington sopped up everyone’s sympathetic words. How could she come to a social gathering when her husband was lying unconscious?
Titania had to admit Lady Worthington was beautiful, and there was something very fragile in her demeanor. It was no wonder that Edwin had leaped at the chance to be her hero, since Titania had experienced his heroic impulses firsthand.
Now her hero needed rescuing. Could she save him?
***
DESPITE HIS ADMITTEDLY bad situation—long-estranged father in a life-threatening coma, stepmother flinging accusations madly about, his freedom in peril—Edwin felt oddly happy, places on his body still tingling from Titania’s touch, other parts of his body clamoring for her attention.
After directing his carriage to return home without him, he walked down the street from Titania’s house, beginning to turn his researcher’s brain toward the problem of who could have attacked his father.
Alistair had told him that, in addition to the attack, his father’s library—the one in which they had met earlier that day—had been ransacked, as if the attacker were searching for something.
Perhaps his father had surprised the burglar? Edwin knew the house well enough, however, to know that there were no valuables kept in that room, and in fact, the safe was on the upstairs floor in his father’s private sitting room. Would a burglar have known that?
Surely anyone foolish enough to enter a peer’s house would have done some investigative work first, would they not? But whoever it was did not know the lord was in residence, or at least thought he was out for the evening. He would have to discover if his father’s plans had changed suddenly that evening.
He meandered as he thought until he saw he had wandered back to the boxing saloon. Not a bad idea; perhaps with a clear head and bruised knuckles he could concentrate better.
He stripped down to just his shirt and breeches and headed for the boxing ring. And, like before, he heard his name called in a voice dripping with disdain.
“My lord,” Lord Gratwick called, “have you not had enough of vicious attacks? Perhaps you are looking for a younger opponent?”
Edwin turned, deliberately trying to withhold any reaction from his face. He saw the tall, blond man at the edge of the ring, dressed to enter the ring.
“Perhaps,” the man continued with an insolent smirk, “you would care to join me for a match? It would not be as engrossing as analyzing battle plans to ferret out the Frenchies, but it would give me great satisfaction to pummel you as you did your father.”
Edwin stopped, struck by Gratwick’s words. Anyone who went to the trouble of asking a few questions knew that Edwin was a scholar, but very few people knew his research had any impact on the current war. And yet Gratwick seemed conversant with the details. Maybe he, too, was involved with the government’s war efforts? No, he had recently sold out, and he held no official office. Maybe he was working as some sort of spy? Well, if so, he was a damned bad one, since to comment as he did was tantamount to wearing a sign that said “I’m a spy” around his neck.
No, Edwin thought, watching Gratwick still eying him with loathing, it had to be that he knew something he should not, and his hatred made him careless. Lord Gratwick would bear watching, but not in the ring. If what he suspected was true, he would be hard-pressed not to kill the worm.
Still without speaking a word, Edwin turned back to the dressing area, deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, especially where it concerned his fist meeting Gratwick’s face. Gratwick’s taunts followed him all the way down the hall to the room where he had left his clothes, and it took every fiber in his being not to respond, whether with words or his fists.
“Worthy!” a booming voice exclaimed as Edwin was reassembling his cravat. Funny, he mused, even as polite society deemed him unfit for their polite company, he was finally able to tie a presentable cravat. He smoothed the fabric as he awaited his friend.
Alistair stomped down the hallway, brushing his sleeve with a scowl on his face. He brightened briefly as he saw Edwin’s neckwear, then scowled again.
“Worthy, we have to talk. Your house?”
***
“WHY IS YOUR STEPMOTHER spreading such vicious lies about you?” Alistair poured more sugar into his coffee, then tasted it and wrinkled his nose. He poured two more heartbeats’ worth of sugar and tasted again. He smiled. “Well?”
Edwin shook his head, as much at the ridiculous amount of sweetener his friend deemed necessary for his coffee as to answer the question.
“Leticia, obviously, has no liking for me, but I did not realize her antipathy would extend to lying about something as serious as this. I was over at my father’s house the day he was attacked, but I left him dozing in his chair. I was a bit fuzzy the evening he was attacked—I cannot quite recall my movements of that evening, which certainly seems suspicious. But listen to this: I was at Jackson’s salon today, and Gratwick—that toad-sucking worm—mentioned something he should not know about. I know it seems providential for him to say something to me that would implicate him—”
“Especially since there is no question as to your opinion of him,” Alistair interjected.
“Yes,” Edwin acknowledged with a rueful laugh. “He and I never took to each other, and then when I discovered he was a serious suitor for Titania, and what is more, he implied the betrothal was all but announced—I know I have a dislike for him, but that does not negate the fact he might have had something to do with this. What do you know of him?”
“Not much, really,” Alistair replied. “He sold out recently, his uncle passed away leaving him in possession of a title, if not a fortune—eerily similar to you, my friend, but you do have a fortune, do you not?—and he has been playing up his days as a soldier in hopes of impressing the young ladies. Most young ladies, however, have not been impressed by him. He is not a stupid man, but there is something unpleasant about him.”
“That is what I felt,” Edwin said. “I wondered if I felt that way just because he was so obvious in his attentions to the young lady in question.”
“And you were not?”
“And it seemed to me,” he continued mildly, blushing, “there was something desperate about him. Until we started speaking of it, I had forgotten, but Lady Wexford, that blonde woman who is a friend of Miss Stanhope’s, introduced Gratwick to Miss Stanhope. They seemed to be on close terms. I do not trust either one of them.”
Alistair frowned in concentration. “If Gratwick and Lady Wexford had some sort of scheme, that still does not explain where your father would come into it. Those two were not acquainted with him, were they?”
“I do not know,” Edwin replied. Rising hurriedly from his chair, he gestured impatiently for his friend to rise also. “We will not know anything until we find out more about Gratwick and Lady Wexford. I will inquire of Ti—that is, Miss Stanhope—about her friend. Perhaps you could pay a call on Gratwick; I do not trust myself near him.” Unconsciously, he curled his hands into fists, pulling his shoulders up in an aggressive posture.
“I do not trust you near him, either, but I do agree he bears watching. Why do you get to inquire of the lovely Miss Stanhope, while I have to chase after the rooster-legged braggart?”
“Because she happens to be in love with me, and I with her.”
“Oh. Well, that settles it, then.”
***
“CLAIRE, HOW LOVELY of you to call,” Titania said, her tone at odds with her words. She had been hoping Edwin would visit, and Claire’s arrival was more than a sad disappointment.
“Yes, well, dear, you did promise to take a drive with me this afternoon,” Claire said, fluttering her hands.
“I did?” Titania queried, searching her mind for the forgotten engagement.
“Yes, do you not remember? Really, Titania, town does age one, but I did not think you would be forgetting things so quickly. Hurry, have someone fetch your pelisse, we should be on our way.”
“But I cannot,” Titania replied. What if Edwin were to come and she was not home?
“You must! My friend, it is crucial that you come with me today. It is of the utmost importance to me. Please—” her friend finished quietly, stretching out her hands in supplication.
“Yes, of course, if it is so important.” A crucial carriage ride? The only thing she could think was that there was some shopping emergency Claire could not handle alone.
“I need to be back soon. Will this take long?”
Claire rolled her eyes, saying with an impatient air, “No, it will not take long. You will be back in plenty of time to catalog your books or whatever you need to do. Now, hurry!” She practically shoved Titania down the steps and into the waiting carriage.
“Stillings,” Titania yelled out the window as the carriage started to move, “I will be back in an hour.”
“I have wanted you to see my phaeton for an age, my dear,” Claire chattered as Titania brought her head back inside. “Wex bought me this on our fourth anniversary, what a dear man he is.” She sighed contentedly, trailing her hand down the red satin wall covering as if she caressed a lover’s face.
“Yes, it is lovely, but what is it that is so important, Claire?”
“You will see, my dear,” Claire said with an arch look. Claire’s eyes squinted as she looked toward the park, which was filled with ladies and gentlemen showing off their latest clothing, lovers, and jewelry, a vibrantly hued collection of all sorts of the finest folks the ton had to offer.
Titania felt a faint sense of alarm as the carriage was submerged into the verdant dark of the large trees overhanging the narrow drive. It was only when they were safely beyond the main fray that Claire sat back in her seat, smiling pleasedly at Titania.
“I have such a surprise for you, my dear,” she said, her tone even more arch than it was before. “I know you have been too shy, or too modest, to admit the possibility of this gentleman’s proposal, but he has spoken to me, and I, as a happy prisoner in the jail of matrimony—does that not sound poetic?—want everyone to be so shackled. When Lord Gratwick arrives,” she said, “you are not to be too nervous. He merely wishes to make you Lady Gratwick, with possession of all those musty books that are so fascinating to you.”
Titania inhaled sharply, then clasped her hands together in her lap, noticing with an odd feeling of displacement that her knuckles were turning white.
“I presume,” Titania said, willing her voice not to shake, “that Lord Gratwick did not tell you he has demanded that I marry him or...he will reveal a secret of mine? He is not someone to whom I wish to be married. If you would be so kind as to return me home, I will address the matter myself with Lord Gratwick.”
“Oh, no, Titania,” Claire said sharply, turning her head so fast her diamond earrings swung against her neck, their light revealing the line where Claire’s face powder stopped. “You will marry Lord Gratwick. It is unfortunate we could not accomplish it the usual way. No, we will see the gentleman shortly, and then he will tell you of the plan. Simple, but effective.”
“No!” Titania declared. “If you are truly my friend, you will return me home, and we can forget this.”
“Too late,” Claire trilled as a closed carriage lumbered toward them. Titania knew she was being imaginative, but the sight of the carriage, an innocuous shade of brown, made her feel as if a shadow had just crossed her path, and she shuddered involuntarily.
She saw Gratwick’s blond head poking out from the window, his face alight with an avaricious gleam. The look changed to one of supreme satisfaction as he spied the two women, and he barked an order to his coachman, who pulled the carriage to an abrupt stop.
He slid gracefully to the ground, unfolding his long length like a serpent. Or so Titania imagined. His eyes seemed to blaze with approval as he walked toward their carriage.
“Well done, my lady,” he said, giving Claire a mock salute. He held his arm for her as she descended the steps. He held his arm out for Titania, who hesitated at the top of the steps. He chuckled as he met her eyes, apparently enjoying her predicament.
“I had confided in our mutual friend, Miss Stanhope, of my passion for you, and she kindly offered to assist me in my suit. Please join me in the carriage and we can discuss our future.”
Titania descended the phaeton, shaking not from fear but from anger.
“I will not go with you, my lord, and if Lady Wexford will not return me home, I will have to walk.”
Titania turned on her heel and started to stride back toward the clearing where she had seen so many people, knowing once she reached the safety of the open park she would be beyond Gratwick’s reach. It was clear he knew it, too, since he bounded to her side and grabbed her elbow with a surprisingly strong grip.
“You will come with me willingly, Miss Stanhope, or unwillingly. It does not matter to me. Do you imagine that any of those kind folk,” he said, gesturing toward the clearing, “would believe that you, the daughter of a well-known libertine and the columnist who has been skewering their superficial lives in her own right, is being abducted by me, a well-regarded war veteran? You will come with me, we will discuss our future, and that will be the end of it.”
Was it possible members of Society would be so callous as to ignore her pleas for assistance because they assumed she was as bad as her father was reputed to be? As she weighed her options, she remembered the comments people had already made about Edwin; members of the ton, who had been only too happy to allow an eligible, handsome bachelor into their midst were only too happy to believe he was capable of an attempt on his own father’s life.
Gratwick was right. She would be ruined either way.
Her disconsolate feelings were compounded by the feel of Gratwick’s strong hand on her arm; even if she were to break free, it was likely he would be subdue her and she would not even get the chance to test the mettle of Society folk. Rather than waste her time fighting his clearly superior physical strength, she resolved to fight him with her superior strength: her intelligence. She turned back to the carriage, glared at Claire for a moment, then got into the carriage on her own, refusing the arm Gratwick held out for her.
“Lord Gratwick,” she began as soon as he was settled in the opposite seat, “you cannot but be aware I am here reluctantly, and would not be here at all if my friend had not tricked me. I thought we were going to discuss your interesting proposal in just a few days. I do not see the need for this force.”
“Yes, Miss Stanhope, I had given you a week to make your decision, but recent developments have determined that I take a trip to the Continent immediately, and I wish my wife to accompany me.”
“But I have not said I would marry you, sir,” Titania said, spreading her hands out in supplication. “In fact, I thought I made it fairly clear I was not in favor of accepting your suit; I have since come to realize that I cannot accept your suit, and you may tell whomever you like of my identity.”
My paltry misdoings are nothing compared to the accusations being thrown at Edwin, she thought; how long could Society slaver over her little scribblings when he was living a front-page life?
She continued in a calm tone. “Let me out, Lord Gratwick. I wish you well on your upcoming voyage.” She reached her hand up to rap on the roof of the carriage so the coachman would stop. She felt a sense of panic as his hand darted out to grasp hers.
“No, I do not believe you understood me, Miss Stanhope. I have need of a wife, in particular, you, and I need to go on a trip just as urgently. You will marry me.”
Although his implacable statement should have come as no surprise to Titania, given his recent behavior, she still felt a rising frisson of fear climb up her spine at his words.
“But my aunt, and my brother, and my friends...they will wonder where I am, and come looking for me.”
“No fear on that score, my dear,” Gratwick replied easily. “Lady Wexford is even now on her way to your house to inform your family of your impetuous elopement, and you can write them when we are safely wed. Your suitors will merely be disappointed I had the good fortune to win your hand. Your earl is even now in a great deal of trouble, so chances are he will not even notice you are gone. I do not see, my dear,” he mused, examining his fingernails, “what you would see in a man like that. Attempting to murder his own father. Shameful.”
He let go of her wrist, then settled back cozily against the cushions as if getting comfortable for a long ride. Titania looked out the window, determined to discover a way to lose her companion before she lost her reputation, her freedom, or her life.
“Lord Gratwick,” she said, trying to sound friendly, “circumstances would seem to allow for a lack of propriety...may I ask why you are so determined to marry me, of all the ladies this Season?”
Gratwick smiled in an almost genuine way. “You, my dear, have a fortune. I am in need of just such a fortune.”
“My lord,” she said with a hitch in her voice, “I do not wish to call myself a liar, but I have to confess that my fortune is not what it is reputed to be.”
Thanks to Mrs. White, it was more than it was, but he did not have to know that. “My father left my brother and me nothing”—which was true—“I had my servants spread those rumors so no one would know quite how desperate my situation was.”
He laughed, a nasty chuckle that seemed to wiggle its way down her spine to her feet. “You are a treasure, and such an imagination! Lady Wexford herself told me you were well set up, and you would not lie to your old friend, would you?”
“My lord, I swear to you my father left me nothing. I arrived in town with no money, only some jewelry my mother left me. I am worthless to you.”
“Oh, no, you are not, Titania,” he said with a grim smile. “Your little story is quite charming, but I know you have enough money to set us up in a new life away from here.”
“Why must you leave?” She knew he was a snake; she just wanted to find out what kind of snake.
“I find I have business in France, and that is all I will say until we are wed.” He closed his eyes, folded his hands across his chest, and appeared to sleep.
After a few hours of rolling through increasingly pastoral countryside, the coachman drew up to a small inn, a few chickens pecking about beleaguered in the front of the modest two-story building. Gratwick roused himself long enough to inform her they were changing horses here and would have time only for a light snack before they were on their way again.
Titania was grateful for the respite, no matter how brief, because it meant a chance to escape her current situation, which she now saw was fairly desperate. She was bitterly regretting not screaming her head off when she was in London, no matter if no one came to her rescue; she felt like an idiot for not having done something, anything, to call attention to her plight when there were actually people around.
She knew neither Miss Tynte nor Thibault would believe she was eloping with Gratwick, but she also doubted their ability to marshal their resources before she was married in deed, if not in fact. Her mind veered from that unpleasant image—one awful thing at a time, Titania, she reminded herself—and stepped out of the carriage determined to make a horrific racket. Now if only there was someone to hear her.
The innkeeper’s wife, a fluttery woman trailing her apron strings, a few children, and some stray parsley, appeared, her vague mutterings indicating Titania should follow her so she could freshen herself up.
She would be able to think better if she were less grimy, so she allowed the woman to escort her to a small upstairs room. She removed her pelisse—now she knew why Claire was so insistent on sending for it—and attempted to remove some of the wrinkles in her gown with the lukewarm water in the basin near the bed. She splashed more water on her face and smoothed her hair.
She was able to see some of herself in the small, cracked mirror hanging right over the basin, and if she alternated eyes, she could get a general sense of how she looked. It was not a pretty sight. Random bits of hair had fallen from her hairpins, and were hanging down as straight as straw. Her face was even paler than usual, and her gown, which was not designed for sitting long hours in a carriage, was limp and stretched out. But what does all that matter, she thought, since it is hardly likely my appearance will be a deterrent to my abductor.
Absentmindedly, she started to run her hands through her hair. She was startled by a noise at the door, and saw a tiny housemaid venturing into the room.
“Your husband thought you might like a bite to eat up here, my lady,” she said with a shy stammer, proffering something on a tray that actually looked fairly appetizing.
“Is Lord...that is, my husband downstairs?” Titania inquired.
“Yes, he is in the public area. There are no other customers today, so you have the place to yourselves.”
Lovely, Titania thought, there goes another idea. She had been hoping someone—anyone—would be sipping ale downstairs, and she could slip them a note, or a plea for help, or anything to extricate herself.
“I will go downstairs as well, then,” she announced, grabbing her ill-used pelisse and heading for the door. “You may bring the tray to me down there; I wish to speak with my l— him.”
She walked downstairs, thinking furiously of what she could do to distract Gratwick from proceeding as quickly as they had been thus far. Demand he recite the Roman emperors, in order, from Augustus to Nero? Faint? Develop spasms? She arrived at the public room before she could settle on any kind of satisfactory answer.
“Ah, there you are my dear,” he said, an ale in his hands and a malicious sparkle in his eyes. “I am glad you are feeling well enough to join me. We will be on our way shortly, do not worry.”
“It is our honeymoon,” he said in a confiding tone to the innkeeper. Titania felt her anger rise as she saw the knowing smile on his mouth. The innkeeper winked back at him with a suggestion of a leer, the two of them crossing class boundaries to indulge in some classless male kinship.
Likely the innkeeper would think she was a frightened bride, or a histrionic peagoose if she made a fuss. He returned bearing another big pitcher of ale, setting it down with a splash in front of Lord Gratwick.
If she could encourage Gratwick to get drunk, she might be able to figure something out. With that vague hope in mind, she pointed to the pitcher accusatorily. “My love, if you drink all that ale, you will be fit for nothing,” she said, loud enough for the innkeeper to hear, but not so loudly as to let Gratwick know it was deliberately said. She smiled warmly at him as she said it, summoning up her newly found lying skills. Perhaps her recent duplicity would help extricate her from this situation.
“My love,” he replied with an oversweet smile, “I could drink twice this amount and still be fine. I was a soldier, after all.”
Titania wondered how time spent dodging bullets and camping out of doors could help him develop a tolerance for alcohol. “Then perhaps I could join you. Sir,” she called out, beckoning to the innkeeper, “my husband wishes to relive his army days by drinking some more of your fine ale. Could you bring us another pitcher, please?”
Gratwick gave her a look of admiration. “I appreciate your acceptance of the inevitable. Nothing is more boring than traveling with a woman who is constantly whining. Let us have a toast to the future,” he finished as the innkeeper returned bearing another glass.
Titania had never drunk ale before, but after a few sips was well on her way to enjoying it. She took tiny sips, and watched in satisfaction as Gratwick drained his glass and poured himself another one. Unfortunately, an hour later, Gratwick was proving he could definitely hold his alcohol. Titania, on the other hand, felt a little woozy.
“We should depart, my dear,” he said, wiping a froth of ale from his mouth. “We have to reach our destination by nightfall.”
“My lord, I wish you would reconsider this plan,” she said, a desperate tone creeping into her voice. “Perhaps we could travel back to London, and we could meet with my barrister, who could explain the situation. We could take time to get to know one another, and perhaps, then, we could consider a proper betrothal.”
“No, Titania, that will not do. I am in need of you and your fortune immediately, and I despise traveling alone. Will it be so terrible being married to me? I promise, I am an entertaining companion. I will not beat you or bore you. What more could you ask for?”
To spend the rest of my life with the man I love, the man whose touch makes me quiver, the man whom I bitterly regret refusing when he offered for me...that is what I could ask for. Oh, Titania, you have managed this all very badly, despite your Managing Ways. She turned her head aside so Gratwick would not see the desperation on her face, quickly wiping away the tears that had sprung to her eyes.
“My lord, perhaps you will allow me to return upstairs to collect my belongings?”
“Certainly, my dear, and I will accompany you to make sure you have not forgotten anything. You are so forgetful, my dear,” he said in a loving tone, his eyes belying his words.
There goes another opportunity, Titania thought. She was almost prepared to try to jump from the second-floor window, but now all she had managed to do was to get him alone upstairs, and that was certainly not her intention. Drat. Perhaps something would come to her, she thought optimistically as the two of them ascended the small, narrow stairs. Her salvation was sitting innocuously in the corner, unaware of the great role it had to play in Titania’s escape.
I did not think my rescuer would be quite so slim, she chuckled to herself as she spied the poker lying next to the fireplace. If she could just get him to turn away for a moment, she could whack him enough to run down the stairs and hopefully find someone who might be able to help her.
It is not a particularly well-thought-out plan, but it is a plan, she thought prosaically.
“Your belongings, Titania,” Lord Gratwick said, handing her the pelisse and reticule. “I will buy you whatever you require—with your money, of course—when we arrive in France.”
Titania moved slowly toward the fireplace, holding her hands behind her back, her fingers wiggling slowly so as to find the poker without too much movement.
“As I have said repeatedly, Lord Gratwick, my fortune is not what you expect. I...I, oh damn!” she said, throwing her reticule at her feet as she grabbed for the poker. He looked at her interestedly for a moment, as if she were an amusing pet, then smiled as he reached down to retrieve her reticule.
“You really must learn to control your temper, my dear,” he said, his suave tone never faltering.
Titania wielded the poker over his head, closing her eyes as she brought it down between his shoulder blades. He fell down in a heap, and for just a moment, Titania looked at him, shocked at what she had done. She had to get out of there, and quickly; he would not be unconscious for long.
Damn again, she thought, he has fallen directly on top of my reticule. She could not bear to reach under him to grab it, and what if he awakened while she was sneaking her hand under his chest? The reticule be damned, too.
She fastened her pelisse hurriedly as she walked out of the door, closing it gently behind her. Descending the stairs, she made straight for the public room, where the innkeeper was washing glasses.
“Sir,” she said, exaggerating the shaky tone in her voice, “I find the ale is not sitting well with me at all, could you tell me where to find the...” She trailed off, holding her hand to her mouth. The man practically leaped from behind the bar and herded her toward the front door.
Before she could make her escape, however, a familiar pair of broad shoulders crowded through the doorway, and she stopped where she stood, her hand falling away from her mouth to clutch at her stomach.