She tiptoed towards the stairs. The two women who had gathered outside her door were standing there on the top floor, laughing and joking, betting on who the man was and what he wanted, and none of their guesses were for polite ears. Bernadette edged a little away, heading for the stairs.
“Hey! It’s not safe down there,” one of the women called out to her, but Bernadette was already almost at the place where the stairs met the second floor, and she carried on. As she got lower, the words became clearer and her heart started to thud. She did know that voice. She was sure of it, though it couldn’t be.
He’s at his grandmother’s and he’s happy to be.
She felt her heart twist painfully. It was him who she’d come here to escape. Lord Blackburne didn’t care. He would never have left the ball to look for her, and even if he had, it wasn’t possible that he’d come to Mrs. Brookham’s. It must be early morning already—if she recalled correctly, she’d heard thechurch bells ringing the hour of two a while ago.
“Halt yourself right there!” Mrs. Brookham shouted, making Bernadette freeze, but she realized she was shouting at the man, who had to be near the foot of the stairs on the ground floor. “Make one more step and I swear this stick of mine will break your bones.”
“Please, madam,” the man said, pained. “I need to see for myself.”
“Get yourself back to where you came from and see how you like it there!” The woman roared, and Bernadette winced, hearing a stick connect with something, but then she was on the stairs to the ground floor and a man gasped. She stopped.
“Miss Rowland.”
Bernadette stared. Nicholas was standing at the foot of the stairs. He was wet with rain, he was wearing his fancy cravat and velvet evening wear, and Mrs. Brookham was inches away from him, stick raised. He was holding the railing and he stared up at her, his striking blue eyes huge in his face.
“Nicholas,” she whispered.
“Bernadette!”
Without warning, before she could ever have expected it, he ran up the stairs and grabbed her in his arms. She stiffened. The last time she’d seen him, he’d embraced Lady Emily, and she needed an explanation.
“Nicholas,” she murmured. He was very close and his arms were warm, despite the fact that his fine white linen shirt was damp. He smelled of rain and leather and pomade and she held him close and breathed in the smell and felt her heart flood with a wild joy that she had never imagined she would feel.
“Bernadette,” he said, and he was standing back a little, looking at her face. He rested a hand on her cheek and he was laughing even as tears filled his eyes. “Bernadette! I’m so grateful I found you in time.”
She said nothing, but it was much harder to be angry with him when he was this close, with his scent in her nostrils and the familiar, safe feeling of him beside her. It was hard to be angry when he was laughing with relief, when tears streaked his face and when she gazed into that beautiful, scarred face so near.
“Bernadette,” he said again, and when he embraced her she relaxed. He stepped back, looking into her eyes again. “I am so sorry,” he whispered. “I am so very sorry.”
“I should expect so,” she said in a tight, prim voice. She had meant it to be angry, but it came out sounding simply proper, and he bowed low, taking her hand.
“I am truly sorry,” he said. “I want to explain everything, but first of all, I want to declare my heart. You, and no other, are the queen of all of it.” he added, gazing into her eyes.
“Nicholas...” Bernadette felt her throat tighten at his beautiful words. She looked into his eyes and she could see no dissembling, no dishonesty.
“Bernadette,” he whispered. “My love.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, she stepped towards him, and he reached for her, drawing her into his embrace. She felt her heart thud in her chest as he bent towards her, a longing building up in her, growing and expanding so that, when he bent closer, pressing his lips to hers she tightened her embrace and leaned back, letting his firm, warm lips taste her own. She shut her eyes, lost in the wonder of his mouth pressed tight to hers, his chest, warm and firm, pressing close against her. His lips were sweet and gentle as they moved over hers, her heart thudding. She lost herself in his kiss, body molded to his as he held her close.
“Blimey!” A voice came from behind them.
Bernadette looked down to see Mrs. Brookham there, a few stairs away from them. She was gaping at them as though they were a particularly surprising act in the theater. Bernadette went red.
Nicholas, seeming unbothered, turned to Mrs. Brookham.
“My dear Mrs. Brookham,” he said politely. “I thank you for guarding Miss Rowland so well. But I assure you, I mean her no harm. If I may, I would request that she be allowed to depart with me in my coach. I will explain tomorrow, but right now, I think she is getting too cold. As am I.”
Mrs. Brookham just stared. Bernadette cleared her throat.
“Mrs. Brookham? He means me no harm. I wish to go to the coach with him.”
Mrs. Brookham shook herself as if she was trying to shake off her earlier shock. She nodded. “If that’s so, then that’s different. Go on, then. I’ll want my sixpence, but aside from that, you’re free to depart as you please.” She stood back and let them move to the foot of the stairs. Nicholas bowed to her.
“Madam, allow me to settle the charge. I would like to add more to apologise for the trouble I have caused you.”
“No matter.” Mrs. Brookham’s voice was gruff.
