Page 71 of Too Sinful to Deny
With the wooden pole tucked under one arm and the other arm wrapped around her cousin’s thin frame, Susan somehow managed to stagger both of them up the stairs, out the door, and into the rock garden.
They did it! They were free!
Elation zinged through Susan’s blood, warming her against the chill wind. She dropped the shovel against the vine-covered gate and hauled the sack-of-bones Lady Emeline up into her arms, ignoring her aching shoulders’ protest. If Mr. Bothwick could carry damsels in distress up and down this stupid path, so could Susan.
Turned out... she couldn’t. A mile of winding, twisting trail was much farther than it seemed. So they developed a pattern. Five minutes in Susan’s arms, walking as fast as her aching back—and the treacherous path—would allow. Then five more minutes where both of them did a fair bit of hobbling. And then back in Susan’s arms.
Eventually, they reached the bottom. Freedom. Bouncing in place, Susan wanted to clap and shout with glee. She settled for a quick hug to her newly freed cousin.
They still had to enlist Mr. Forrester’s help. Susan knew where to find him. He would either be in the tavern or the dress shop. Once he was on their side, the townspeople would be, too.
So would Susan’s parents. With the magistrate’s testimony, the Stantons’ would put their considerable resources behind bringing justice to the man who had endangered their daughter—and tortured his own wife. She squeezed Emeline’s hand. The hardest part was finally behind them.
The last rays of the dying sun withered behind the stormy horizon. The town was enveloped in darkness. Candles flickered in the windows of only two establishments: the tavern and the dress shop.
A drop of icy rain fell on the tip of Susan’s nose. Another followed, streaking across one of the lenses of her spectacles. Angry clouds swirled overhead. The sky would open up at any moment.
“Take this.” Susan shrugged out of her pelisse and draped it over Lady Emeline’s bent shoulders. “Stay here, and stay hidden.” At her cousin’s startled expression, Susan’s face broke into her first real smile of the evening. “I’ll be back, I promise. This is almost over.”
As before, cousin Emeline appeared unconvinced. But she knelt on the sand, shrouded in Susan’s best pelisse, and seemed content to wait.
Susan tried the Shark’s Tooth first. The tavern had been the place they’d met, even if she’d been in too much shock at the time to register their meeting.
Empty. Mostly empty. Just the town drunks, the priest (who perhaps also fell into the previous category), and Sully.
“A round for everyone?” the barman asked hopefully.
Susan shook her head. “Perhaps another day.”
But there wouldn’t be another day. She was leaving here. Now. With her cousin at her side. She gave the barman a little wave before stepping back out the door. He was a good sort. She’d have her parents send double the tab. They wouldn’t want the scandal Susan would cause if they refused to do everything in their power to help.
Next stop—the dress shop.
She pushed open the door and stepped inside. Miss Grey. Miss Devonshire. And Mr. Forrester. Just as she’d expected.
Thank God.
“I need your help,” she blurted. “Please.”
Miss Grey didn’t bother to glance up from her sewing, much less rise and ask what the trouble was.
Miss Devonshire, however, stalked forward from where she’d been murmuring with the magistrate (who was no doubt investigating whether there really was a French aunt making dresses in Burgundy) and all but spat on Susan in her fury.
“You’ve got some nerve coming in here, don’t you? And asking forhelp.I wouldn’t help you if you were drowning in a well and I happened to have a rope in my arms. I’d jump in the water myself, just to strangle you with it. Then I’d—”
“Not from you,” Susan cut in, shouldering past her. “From Mr. Forrester.”
The magistrate glanced up, eyes shining, clearly pleased to be needed. “Anything at all, Miss Stanton. Name it. I am now, and always, at your service.”
Miss Grey’s needle paused. The porcelain doll looked about to pop.
Susan had no time to waste with either of them. She grabbed the magistrate’s arm and tugged him toward the open door. “Come with me. Please.”
With a shrug of apology at the two seamstresses, Mr. Forrester followed Susan over the threshold and down the steps. Miss Devonshire slammed the door behind them.
Good. The fewer witnesses to their flight, the better.
The rain picked up, soaking Susan to the bone without her pelisse. Gooseflesh rippled along her icy skin. No matter. Cousin Emeline needed the pelisse more. She deserved whatever comfort she could get. Susan strode faster, leading Mr. Forrester across the wet night to the foot of the path where a tiny bundle lay trembling.
