Eveline planted her feet and turned around. “Why me?”
Confusion flickered across his face, and he took a step backward.
“Why do you want to marry me?” she pressed, inching into the space. “There are women with more money, more beauty, more standing. What purpose does this serve?”
“Revenge.” He smirked, the darkness returning to his eyes. “My sister lost three fiancés to your family, and you will pay for her suffering with your own.”
“Ernest didn’t kill your sister,” Eveline whimpered as Humphrey shoved her through the doorway.
“Did you?” he growled, slamming the door behind him.
Eveline shook her head. “Miss Webb and her sister were my continual companions this evening.”
“Who are they, Eveline?” He tilted his head. “Friends? Ladies who you’ve convinced to lie for you?”
“Friends,” she replied, trudging through the moonlit snowy grounds toward the front of the house.
Her head snapped back, pain radiating through her scalp. Humphrey, his fingers entangled in her hair, clucked his tongue.
“The inn is in the other direction, Eveline, and I wouldn’t want you conniving on how to escape me again by alerting some poor gentleman.”
She nodded and slogged through the snow toward the garden, the ice crunching beneath her shoes.
“Did you hurt him?” she asked softly, her gaze on the fluffy white ground.
“Who?”
“The Duke of Lennox.”
Humphrey stopped and spun her around, his eyes searching hers, and then he snorted. “There was no need. After I explained my position as your true fiancé, he graciously withdrew his claim.”
No one was coming to save her.
Planting her left foot, Eveline kicked her right foot forward, striking Humphrey between the legs. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he grabbed his groin, falling to his knees, then collapsed on his side, curse words flowing from his lips.
Before he regained his composure, Eveline raced toward the garden, running beneath a stone archway. Rage exploded across the grounds as Eveline darted down a pathway, seeking a place to hide. She couldn’t outrun Humphrey, and once he recovered from her attack, if he discovered her, she’d become the second casualty of the evening.
She glanced behind her to check his location, and a strangled sob escaped from her mouth. Footprints etched in the snow led directly to her location.
How was she going to conceal her location?
She ran in a circle, completing a full loop of the garden, then ducked back under the stone archway, making it appear as though she raced toward the house. Then, she retraced her steps, aligning her shoes with the prints, followed the path to the rear of the garden, and crouched, hiding against the rough stone of a high wall.
“Eveline!” Humphrey’s voice echoed as he ran into the garden, scattering snow as he lumbered beneath the archway.
She dug her teeth into her lower lip and held her breath, praying he wouldn’t see her.
Pausing in the garden’s entrance, Humphrey’s gaze sifted through the shadows, and then he lowered his eyes, tracing the path of the footprints in a large circle. Clenching the knife, he swore and spun around. Curses pouring from his mouth, Humphrey limped toward the front of the Venning’s house.
When she was certain he wouldn’t hear her, Eveline peeked around the stone wall, checking the shadows for any movement. Then she peeled herself off the wall and ran out of the garden, keeping the back of Humphrey in sight as she followed him toward the street.
Instead of entering the house as Humphrey had, Eveline ran down the pavement, bypassing the Duke of Roxburghe’s coach in favor of her own feet. Every two seconds, she looked over her shoulder, and with each confirmation that Humphrey hadn’t realized her treachery, the vise constricting her chest loosened a millimeter.
She needed ten minutes to grab her trunk—which the fearful part of her had refused to unpack—cart the chest downstairs, and depart Wiltshire. The Duke of Lennox’s ring would bear the cost of her escape. However, since he’d retracted his proposal again, leaving her to Humphrey, only a minimal amount of guilt accompanied the decision.
Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her torso and picked up her pace. Snow seeped into her gown, coating her bare shoulders with ice. Possessing no money to hire a hackney and no coat for warmth, she had two choices—return to the ball and Humphrey or clench her jaw, lower her head, and continue slogging through the lightly falling flakes.
She opted for the second.
