Page 34 of Felicity Cabot Sells Her Soul
“But our conversation,” Mr. Jennings blustered. “Surely—”
Ian was already striding for the door. “We’ll continue it later in the week. I’ll have my solicitor contact you.” A tiny bit of reassurance, and a salve to the man’s pride which had no doubt been a bit pricked at the swiftness of Ian’s exit.
As the door closed behind him, Ian withdrew his watch from his pocket, angling the face to the dim light in the corridor to read the time. Nearly two hours had gone by since he’d retrieved her at the school. She could have left almost at the very beginning of the second act—and yet she’d stayed. She’d been enjoying the play; he knew she had. Enrapt by the performance, she had scooted her chair up to the very edge of the box and peered out over the railing, attention thoroughly captured.
So what had made leavenow, when she had not earlier?
Ian headed for the stairs, squeezing past a passing theatre attendant as he wound down the narrow steps. It had been perhaps ten minutes since Louisa had returned to the box—possibly he could catch Felicity in the lobby if he hurried.
Or would he? He scarcely avoided rolling his ankle as he redoubled his pace, taking the steps two at a time. She’d never attended the theatre before, never had the luxury of a private carriage. Would she even know to send an attendant for the carriage to be brought round for her? Would she knowwhere to find the carriage waiting if she had not?
Had shewalked? The journey wasn’t far, but it was late, dark…and somewhere out there in the city, there was a villain lurking in the shadows who was in possession of knowledge of some bit of scandal in her past. Something worth stalking her, threatening her. Something worth paying the sum of five thousand pounds—or so had claimed the letter Ian had filched from her mail, which rested still tucked within his nightstand drawer.
He swallowed through the queer lump that had risen in his throat, yanking at the knot of his cravat which had grown altogether too tight as he arrived in the lobby, scanning the room for any sign of Felicity.
If she had come through, then she hadn’t stayed. His stomach twisted itself into a knot as he strode for the nearest attendant, stationed near the doors. “Has a woman left the theatre recently?” he asked. “She would have had dark hair, a grey coat—”
“Black dress? Bit wrinkled?” The attendant interjected.
Ian breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s the one. Did she send for the carriage?”
“No, sir.” The man’s brows knotted. “She didn’t seem the sort to have had one.”
Of course she hadn’t. Not in her plain, worn dress and a coat that might be half a dozen years old at this point. “She left, then?” he asked, cognizant of the odd, hoarse rasp to his voice.
“A few minutes ago,” the attendant offered. “She waited inside a spell, just there.” He gave a jerk of his head toward the nearest window. “It’s dreadful cold this evening. Thought she might be waiting until she’d caught sight of a hack to hire out.”
Had she the funds to do so? Ian couldn’t be certain of it. And less certain still that she would part with the coin for an easily walkable journey besides. He dug into his pocket, fished out a shilling. “Which way did she go?” he asked.
“To the right,” the man said. “I’m certain of that much, at least.”
Toward home, then, on a busier street. That was good. Probably she had not gotten terribly far from the center of town yet. She was an intelligent woman; she’d stay to the well-lit streets, keep to the more populated areas wherever possible. And Brighton was a town of some forty thousand residents—how likely was it that her mysterious extortionist had managed to follow them to the theatre?
But still his stomach clenched as he extended the shilling toward theattendant and dropped it into the man’s outstretched hand. “I’m going in her direction. Send my carriage after us, if you would.” Otherwise the man would be left waiting until the play let out—and he and Felicity would have to walk home. “The coachman is called Jim, in the employ of Ian Carlisle.”
“Right away.” The attendant nipped out the door, and Ian followed behind, striding in the opposite direction.
To his relief, the street was still well-populated, even at this hour. Though most of the shops had closed, a few taverns would be open still, offering ale, hot meals, and a respite from the bitter cold outside. But most of the passersby were headed into the center of town, not away. And Felicity had had enough of a head start that she’d gotten well out of sight. With every street she passed, there would be fewer and fewer people in her vicinity. Any city of size could grow dangerous after dark—but particularly so for Felicity.
She might not know precisely howdangerous.
No sign of her yet. But he couldn’t be too far behind her. Ian redoubled his pace, hoping his longer strides would quickly eat up whatever distance remained between them.
∞∞∞
The pavement was thick with people, and Felicity dodged passersby and squeezed through the milling crowd. A quick step to the left to evade a gentleman barreling past her to enter a tavern had her shoulder slamming instead into a young blond girl, perhaps sixteen years of age at the most. Felicity’s foot slipped off the pavement, sending her reeling, near to sprawling in the street.
The girl reached out to seize her arm and steady her, concern widening her green eyes. Her face—which looked as though it hadn’t had a good scrub in a long while—pulled into a worried look. “Oh, dear. Are you all right, there?”
“Yes.” Felicity breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. I’m terribly sorry.”
“No, no, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have been in the way.” She let go of Felicity’s arm, and stepped closer to brush at Felicity’s coat, straightening the rumpled wool with quick, efficient tugs. “There you are,” she said brightly. “Right as rain again.”
“You’re very kind.” Felicity offered the girl a smile. “But too young tobe out so late. Do be sure you get home safely this evening.”
The girl hiked a thumb at the tavern behind her. “Mama sent me for a slice of kidney pie,” she said with a little toss of her tousled blond hair. “Else I’d have been home long before now.” Her brows pinched, lips pursing. “You’re certain you’re well? You look a bit—”
“Just eager to be home.” And away from the theatre. Away from Ian. Just—away. “Thank you, though.”
