Page 20 of The Devil and the Heiress
Mrs. Barnes pulled the glasses far enough away to glance over, clearly torn between following her charge out and staying to hear the entire lecture. Violet smiled and put her out of her misery. “Please stay.” A lump rose in her throat at the lie she was about to tell, forcing her to swallow before she could finish. “I’ll be only a moment.”
The woman nodded once and brought the glasses back to her eyes. Violet did not waste any time on relief. She rose and forced herself to take measured steps to the door. A museum steward quietly opened the door for her, and she hurried through it. She kept up her pace all the way to the entrance of the museum. Only when she stepped outside did another wave of doubt sweep over her.
What are you doing? Your parents will never forgive you for this. You’ll cause a scandal, and then where will yoube?
No. She could do this. If she let the risk of a little scandal dictate her future, then how would she ever manage the ramifications of her novel? Its content, with its scandals and slightly biographical characters, wasn’t precisely of the Austen variety. Besides, she would face censure if it meant avoiding a husband like Lord Ware.
Stepping between a pair of columns, she hurried down the stairs. The moment she cleared the overhang, a fat raindrop fell right in the middle of her forehead. Luckily, shehad prepared for rain. Opening her umbrella, she proceeded toward the gates and in the direction of the hansom cab stand they had passed on the corner. True, respectable ladies did not ride in hansom cabs, especially alone, but she was a governess now. Miss Emily Smith, to be precise.
Her umbrella was black to match her boots, and she had chosen one of her darkest afternoon dresses, since it would have to make do as a traveling dress for a time. The skirt was vertically striped in charcoal and gray with a smart charcoal coat. It was likely too stylish for a young governess, but it was the best she could come up with.
A single hansom waited at the stand on the corner, and her heart gave a little leap of anticipation. She had made a plan and was following it through. She could do this. Except when she was little more than fifty feet away, the driver climbed up onto his back perch and picked up the reins, making a clicking sound with his mouth. The horse jolted into action.
“Wait!” She called out to no avail. The driver spared her a quick glance as he went past her, his eyes wide and focused as if he were late for something. It was a little dark with the gray clouds overhead, making it difficult to see inside clearly, but it didn’t appear as if he had a fare. “Damn and blast,” she muttered to herself, smiling as she realized she could say the expletive without anyone reprimanding her. This was true freedom.
She couldn’t savor the moment, however, because she had to get away from the front of the museum. If Mrs. Barnes came looking for her, and a helpful person mentioned she had stepped outside, then she would be caught, and this would all be over before it had even begun. The heels of her boots crunched over the bits of gravel that had loosened. The sprinkles of rain became a nearly constant drizzle: a warning that more would be coming soon and that she should find refuge. Turning the corner, she hurried down the street lined with townhomes. Bloomsbury was amiddle-class area with pockets of wealth, so not everyone owned a carriage. There must be another hansom stand somewhere nearby, or perhaps she could hail one.
Ahead, a single carriage was parked along the curb, and a few pedestrians—all middle-aged men—strolled on the opposite side of the street. Perhaps she could ask one of them where the next stand could be found. The idea filled her with some trepidation, as a lady did not simply approach strange men on the street. Would a governess? She didn’t know for certain, but probably not.
Before she could decide whether or not to cross to them, the carriage door swung open, and a masculine leg stepped out. It was encased in trousers made of a fine gray stripe. There was nothing about it, except for the fact that it was long and lean perhaps, that should have made her heartbeat trip over itself. But it did, and then the man stepped out completely. Her heart took off as if it were being chased by wild horses.
Lord Leigh stood beside the carriage, his gaze halting her in her tracks. What was he doing here? Would he thwart her plans? Tell her parents? A quick glance at his carriage confirmed that it was not marked with his family crest.
“Miss Crenshaw,” he called, raising his voice only slightly to be heard across the distance. His coachman, dressed all in black instead of livery, continued to stare straight ahead as he had obviously been trained to do.
“Lord Leigh.” She walked closer with caution. “Strange to find you here.”
The corner of his mouth ticked up in that way that she had begun to associate with him. “Perhaps I could say the same for you.”
It was true. He was the one allowed to traipse about town as he pleased. She was the one who had broken with decorum. She didn’t know what to say to make him not suspicious.
As if he sensed she might run—and she very well thoughtshe might—he said, “Montague Club is only around the corner.” He nodded toward the other side of the museum. “I was leaving, on my way out of town actually, when I thought I spotted you.”
“You always drive in an unmarked carriage?”
“Not always. This one belongs to Montague. All of our carriages are unmarked. It makes it more discreet when a member has indulged too much and needs to be driven home.”
He stood there with his silver-tipped cane and smart frock coat, making sense, but something in the back of her mind warned her away. He was dangerous for her. She knew that because he was a lord and she was interested in him in a way that no man had ever interested her. That alone was enough. But she had gone the extra mile and kissed him. A single moment of indiscretion that would be burned into her memory for eternity. Heat stained her cheeks just thinking about it.
She was leaving. He was not for her.
“It is good to see you.” She gave him a curt nod and continued on her way.
He had other plans and stepped in front of her, heedless of the drizzle wetting the shoulders of his frock coat. He really was quite broad up close. How had she already forgotten?
“You shouldn’t be out here all alone.”
“I am fine.” She hated how there was a slight quiver at the end of that statement.
There was a brief pause in which his gaze narrowed on her, and she imagined the gears of his mind churning, the pieces of machinery clicking into place. “Run away or marry,” he whispered, and then his eyes widened in sudden clarity. Louder, he added, “You’re running.”
There was no reason to deny it. Out here in the rain on the sidewalk all alone, it was hardly a secret. “I was, but you have hampered my progress. Good day, my lord.” Ifshe got herself to the train station quickly enough, then it wouldn’t matter if he found her parents or not.
She attempted to go around him, but he moved with her. “Where are you going so fast in the rain?”
“I have to find a hansom cab to take me to the train station—” She bit off her words before she could tell him more.
“Let me drive you.”
