Page 22 of His Mistress, His Muse, and Other Madness
“The school. You’ll help me woo the guests…?”
“Yes.”
All her goals and dreams—hers for the taking if she pretended to be what everyone had already thought her all these years. Ha. Not the only irony in this situation. Just yesterday she’d discussed the merits and dismissed the possibility of attending the party. She’d not thought to attend with any man let alone Lord Theodore.
But here he was, asking her to accept her infamy in order to gain supporters for her school.
She glanced at him. He stood tall and stiff with just a hint of worry lining his face. She’d known him for so few months, and he’d not once made an inappropriate advance, despite her constant teasing. She trusted him. She did not like him, except to poke fun at, but she felt she would be safe with him.
“Well?” he demanded.
“Yes, I’ll go.” Not a very difficult choice, but a complicated one, and her mind whirred with questions and concerns she could not quite organize into clear thoughts.
She pressed her hand to her belly. Oh. Curses. She wore only her shift and wrapper with her braid slung over one shoulder. The realization shot awkwardness through her limbs and heat through her cheeks, and she pulled her wrapper tighter about her. “I should dress.”
“Be quick.” He stood like a statue, still as the gargoyle they all accused him of being. So stony. What in heaven’s name moved him to such lengths?
“Why?” she asked, backing toward the door, arms crossed protectively over her chest. “Why do you need to attend the house party so badly?”
His stone body cracked into action, his toe tapping with impatience on the rug. “I’ll tell you, but not until we’re on our way. I do not wish to waste time when we could be traveling, and I need your guarantee of secrecy. It is part of our bargain. You attend the party with me as my mistressandyou keep my secret.” He grimaced. “It sounds rather one-sided.”
“There is plenty benefit for me.” She hoped. Support for her school, and… oddly, discovering more about the man before her. What kind of secrets did he have? She could not quite suppress her very unnecessary curiosity. They had, after all, come to the same solution for her problems. It seemed, at least in some ways, their brains walked similar paths.
She spoke with a confidence she felt in her very bones. “I’ll do it.”
It took her half an hour to pack, even though she rummaged through her old life for a precious five minutes, finding the old jewelry and gowns of her one season and throwing them in her trunk. She might need them for this playacting, and they were her only finery, though they were four years out of date. Who knew what clothing she’d need for such an event. Better to be prepared. She spent a few minutes scrawling a letter for Miss Williams, so she’d know where Cordelia was going, then another informing her housekeeper of her plans. Or, a version of them.
“Briarcliff?” Mrs. Barkley asked, brow furrowed. “The old marquess’s residence? With that horrid man?”
Cordelia nodded, guilt pinching her ribs with the lie. “I’ve been invited, and Lord Theodore is to escort me. I hope to come back with the means to start my school.” She smoothed Mrs. Barkley’s brows with a finger, and the older woman swatted her hands away, then Cordelia stepped into the hallway. “I’ll be fine, Barkley. And I’ll return victorious.”
“Yes, well, excellent, my lady. Safe travels.”
“Keep things running while I’m away. Give Miss Williams the letter so she knows what to do in my absence.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She bounced toward the door like a lamb in spring. “Don’t miss me too much, Barkley!” She threw the door open wide and stepped into the street.
The sun shone bright, and hope glowed in her soul. Lord Waneborough had been right after all—things did work out for the patient. Eventually.
Lord Theodore secured her trunk to the traveling coach, not bothering to look up as she joined him. When he’d finished, he opened the coach door with a grunt.
“So terribly gallant.” Cordelia climbed inside and settled into the forward-facing seat. Soon after he sat across from her, the conveyance lurched into movement.
She closed her eyes and found a steady rhythm of breathing. So much had happened so quickly, and she’d made such a quick decision. She’d done so at another time, with another man named Bromley, and that had been the saving of her. This decision, too, would prove valuable. It had to.
No matter that it felt like utter foolishness.
She opened her eyes and jumped.
He watched her, his eyes clear and intelligent, his body unmoving and big. He’d stripped his hat from his head, and it sat like another passenger beside him. She knew nothing about this man, yet she must share a coach with him. For… how long? She’d never been to Manchester before.
She smoothed her skirts and gathered her thoughts, then lifted her face and offered a smile… which he did not return, though his eyes narrowed, and his muscles seemed to bunch tighter. “If, my lord, you stay silent and tight as a boulder for the next fortnight, you might… break. Into gargoyle dust.”
“You mustn’t call me a gargoyle if we’re to pretend to be lovers.”
“It’s a term of endearment.”
