Page 29 of A Lady’s Dangerous Secret (Scandalous Secrets #1)

She had clambered into the unmarked coach and ordered the driver to get her back to High Crest Hall as quickly as possible. She had been in survival mode, doing whatever was necessary to get out of Roberts’s office alive, but once she was alone in the carriage, reality sank in.

She was a murderess.

Roberts had bled from the gunshot wound.

And she had been the cause of it.

As the carriage rattled away from the masquerade, as it had that horrible day, she used every ounce of energy left in her body to wrestle her thoughts from the past and focus on the present.

Arthur always told her reason ruled the day.

She focused on the black veil she held in her hands.

It was a stark reminder of the day she had killed a man .

She could feel the edges of panic and yanked the vine from around her neck and started counting each leaf.

Her breathing eventually slowed, and she tried to think through her quandary.

She needed to marry the Duke of Westcliffe soon.

Otherwise, she was out of options to save herself.

Charlotte did not trust anything James had told her about the Duke of Westcliffe being connected with Roberts. It had to be another ruse to get her dowry.

Return to reason.

Fact: tomorrow night, the Duke wanted to announce their betrothal.

Problem: how swiftly could she marry the Duke?

Solution: a special license.

Problem: how could she convince the Duke to obtain this sacred document?

Solution: she could feign excitement over the nuptials and proclaim she did not want to wait for the banns to be read.

Charlotte mulled this solution over while she toyed with the vines, the silkiness of the leaves providing a soothing effect. The Duke seemed to want to move forward with the marriage without unnecessary pomp.

Arthur was right, reason was a salve to her emotions. Her betrothal would be announced the next day at the Rowley Ball and then she would encourage the Duke to procure a special marriage license.

No.

Charlotte would write to the Duke in the morning so that he could begin the process of obtaining a special license even sooner. In the meantime, Charlotte would have to avoid James until she became the Duchess of Westcliffe and was protected.

She would send word to Arthur about their hasty nuptials, and ask him to ensure that their father signed the proper wedding contract. She would not bother notifying the rest of her family. If Arthur so pleased, he could tell them, but she did not have much faith they would care.

Charlotte closed her eyes. She felt calmer now that she had a plan of escape.

Attending the masquerade ball had been a foolish idea.

She should have backed out once Eleanor insisted she wear a black veil as part of Persephone’s costume.

Charlotte had argued with Eleanor that a black mask would be sufficient, but her friend would not relent.

Charlotte had not known how else to persuade Eleanor without revealing her role as Mrs. Gibson, so she finally acquiesced and prayed for the best.

But the black veil had been a bad omen, and her prayers had not been answered. They had been thrown back in her face.

Now, James held her life in his hands.

All she wanted to do was live her life away from Society in Shropshire with her mare, Mirabel. Instead, she was rushing to marry a duke more than twice her age to save herself from the gallows.

Charlotte ordered the carriage to stop at the end of the street leading to her aunt’s town house so she could alight in darkness and sneak in the back.

She sent the coachman back to await Nate at the Stanhope Estate with a note to give to Eleanor that she had become too ill to stay and had left.

Afterward, she climbed the servants’ stairs without being noticed.

Inside her bedroom, she did not ring for Bailey.

All she wanted to do was crawl into bed.

Her tunic fell to the ground, and she slipped on her night rail.

She climbed into bed, but the peace of sleep escaped her.

She tossed and turned for hours until the light of dawn crept into her window and finally fell into a dreamless sleep, not knowing if she wanted to see another day.

It was well past noon when Charlotte finally awoke. She let out a long sigh. Her life was in shambles. She rang for Bailey, whose steps faltered when she saw Charlotte’s face.

“How do you fare, milady?”

“I’m in trouble, Bailey. Deep trouble. I need to write some correspondence. I’m also cured from my ‘illness’ and will be joining my aunt.”

Bailey looked concerned but held her tongue. She simply curtseyed and left the room.

Charlotte dragged herself out of bed. She was exhausted from her fitful night of sleep, and her legs felt as if they weighed at least eight stone.

Her mind felt foggy, but she tried her best to focus on the notes she needed to write.

She trudged over to her escritoire and started with the Duke.

She hoped her desperation was not too evident in her wording.

Next, she wrote to Arthur and pleaded with him to tear himself away from his Parliamentary matters to help her.

Once these tasks were finished, she picked at the tray of food Bailey brought to her room. Her stomach was tied in knots from picturing herself swinging from the hangman’s noose. She just needed two days, maybe three, to stay alive before she became a duchess.

What was James doing right now?

Was he banging victoriously on the door of the magistrate with the name of the killer so he could collect his insurance money? He was trading her life for a shipment of flax.

If she kept dwelling on what could happen any longer, she would either lose the contents of her stomach or her mind.

Charlotte stood.

Focus on the facts, you ninny.

She had to take control of her destiny and not leave it in James’s hands, which meant plastering a bland smile onto her face that would make any lady of the ton proud, and preparing herself for the most important ball of her life.

Charlotte would become the Duchess of Westcliffe.