Page 12 of A Baron's Scandalous Quill
The image was so passionate, so strong, that her hands began to wander across her own skin to simulate that pleasure. When she reached beneath her gown, she conjured that dream again, thinking of one man only.
Lord Lancaster.
***
Becca clutched to the letter in her gloved hands as she peered through the tall black gate and down the long track that led to Baron Lancaster’s house.
Mr. Fitzwilliam’s reply to her letter of acceptance had come early that morning, in which he asked her to come to the house to meet Baron Lancaster and discuss the proposal.
Biting her cracked lip in the cold, Becca stared at the house, wondering what Lord Lancaster would think to see her again. There was a good deal of distance between her and the house, yet even from here, she could see its grandeur. The red-brick building looked almost Stuart in build, with tall windows that had been lined in lead.
Around the front of the building, ivy crawled up the tall walls, and there were great borders full of green bushes that hadn’t yet sprouted flowers. A stable yard could be seen on one side, as could a formal walled garden, the door left open in such a way that Becca could glimpse a fountain beyond. On either side of the track, there were vast grounds, a parkland set within the busy city of London, some gem from yesteryears still preserved.
Becca stuffed the letter back into her oversized reticule and reached for the gate, opening it wide and stepping inside. Repeatedly, she glanced back at the street around her, but no one looked at the girl hiding beneath a large bonnet, creepingonto Lord Lancaster’s estate. They all walked past, not once looking her way.
Closing the gate behind her, Becca walked down the track. At one point, she hurried her steps, feeling strangely out in the open as she walked the path alone. When she reached the steps leading up to the grand house, she hesitated, her hands trembling within the gloves.
Closing her eyes, she thought back to her meeting two days before with Lord Lancaster. She thought of his hand on her waist, the heat of his stare, then she saw her dream again and the fire in his eyes as he’d entered her bedchamber, the shirt loose around his body.
“Good God,” Becca murmured to herself, her eyes shooting open again.
I have become a scandalous woman!
She pulled the cord beside the door, ringing the bell inside. Scarcely a minute later, the door was answered, and Mr. Fitzwilliam stood in the gap, smiling at her. As before, the harshness of his features cracked, and a man of much warmer appearance appeared.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Thornton. Please, come inside.” He gestured for her to follow, then offered to take her bonnet.
“Thank you.” She removed her bonnet and spencer jacket, watching as he placed the frayed ribbon of the bonnet over a nearby hook. Beside it was a moleskin top hat, perfectly groomed and cleaned to a shine. She glanced forlornly at the bonnet, feeling even more out of place than before.
“If you would follow me,” Mr. Fitzwilliam practically whispered the words, urging her to trail behind him through the entrance hall.
“Why are we whispering, sir?” she asked, distracted and looking around the bright white marble of the hall. It was a beautiful and bright room with pleasant landscapes on the wall.
“Shh,” Mr. Fitzwilliam urged, placing a finger to his lips to quieten her. She cocked an eyebrow, showing exactly what she thought of being shushed like a disobedient pup. “This way, please.” He beckoned her once more.
She sighed and followed him through a series of doors toward a back room where he eventually turned to face her.
“Please, wait here while I announce you to Lord Lancaster.”
“Announce me?” she said quietly. “Does he not know I am coming?”
“Well…” Mr. Fitzwilliam paused and looked at her, something of a mischievous glint in his eye. “Not yet, at least.”
“What?” She balked, suddenly feeling a need to bolt from the room and run as fast as she possibly could back out of the house. “What will he make to me being here if he does not yet know of it!?” she hissed in panic.
“Leave it with me. Please, stay here.” Then Mr. Fitzwilliam swept out of the room so fast that she was left there staring after him, her jaw slackened.
Silence followed for a minute or so as she continued to stare at the door, wondering if it would be wise to creep out of the window before Lord Lancaster could reach the room. Without Lord Lancaster having any warning of her arrival, what would he make of her? What would he make of the idea of a woman writer describing his life story?
Will he be happy to see me again?
The possibility the answer to the question could be ‘yes’ left her riveted to the spot.
A minute later, footsteps sounded on the other side of the door. She smoothed her gown, fearing creases in the poor material,and straightened her shoulders as much as she could, then the door opened, and she dropped her hands neatly to her sides.
“A writer?” Lord Lancaster was saying over his shoulder. “But—” His head flicked around, and once more, Becca met those chestnut-hued eyes. He broke off, nearly tripping over the edge of the nearest rug as he stared at her in alarm.
“This writer, my lord,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said calmly, following Lord Lancaster into the room. “May I introduce the known writer from theSanders’ Periodical, Mr. Reginal Baxter.”
