Page 14 of Escape of the Scoundrel (Escape #1)

“ What? ” Harriet swung on her with considerably more attention. “Randolph is here ? At Grand Court?”

“No, he isn’t,” Alex scoffed.

“He is!” Orchid cried. “I saw him today at the inn!”

“No one else did,” Rose said wryly. “And we were all together. I think she might have seen someone who looked a bit like Randolph, and it gave her a fright.”

Harriet looked doubtfully around them all.

“It was him,” Orchid said stubbornly.

“Why would he be at the inn?” Alex asked reasonably. “If he was looking for us, he would have come here.”

“I really don’t think he’ll be looking for us at all,” Harriet said. It was a sensible conclusion reached in the safety of Grand Court. Her earlier insistence on secrecy now seemed silly. “He will be so glad to be rid of us that he’ll do nothing.” Of course, he had lost his housekeeper and unpaid servants, but he finally had the house to himself, and he would not be troubled by old servants or tenants who addressed her and the children as if they were still lords of the manor and Randolph some minor connection. He had been trying to drive them out and he had succeeded.

“Was this at the village inn?” she asked.

“Yes, miss,” Mildred said, speaking for the first time. “I took them to the village shop with me and then we stopped for a drink at the inn, and just as we were leaving, the child set up this screech and made us all hide.”

“Did you see this man who frightened her?”

“No, miss. There was a carriage, but I didn’t see any passenger, only the coachman who was muffled up to the ears. The rain had started by then.”

“It will have been the coachman she saw,” Rose said.

“It wasn’t,” Orchid muttered.

“Whoever it was,” Mildred said hastily, “I couldn’t persuade her to go back into the inn until the rain went off, so we’re soaked through and need to change.”

“To the nursery with you,” Harriet commanded. “Come! Orchid, stop fretting. Even if it was Randolph—”

“It was!”

“You have nothing to fear from him. We’re Lady Grandison’s guests here.”

“Sir John will see him off,” Alex said, catching on.

Orchid’s hand crept into Harriet’s. “He will, won’t he? And Lord Snake will too.”

Harriet no longer knew what Lord Sanderly would do. He appeared to be avoiding her, though whether for the sake of her reputation or because he regretted their kiss last night, she had no idea. Even worse, had he just forgotten? That thought made her cringe inside.

***

S ANDERLY HAD NOT FORGOTTEN .

Not by a long chalk, and it made escape more urgent than ever. He was therefore eager to receive his brother-in-law when James knocked on his bedchamber door shortly before dinner.

“What news?” Sanderly asked, by way of greeting as their eyes met in the looking glass.

“Bad,” James replied in his precise way. “Illsworth will not play our game. He has agreed to swords and he will not apologize. I think you misjudged him.”

It was possible. Once, the lives of his men and his comrades had depended on his accurate judgement of character. He had imagined he was good at it. And he had been wrong.

He placed his cravat pin and reached for his coat. “I was at school with Illsworth. He was manipulative and used others to fight his battles. He cheats at cards and uses loaded dice.”

James sat down heavily. “My lord, those are serious accusations.”

Sanderly curled his lip. “Are they?”

James blushed. Presumably he had forgotten that such accusations had been levelled at Sanderly continuously during the last year.

“You think it an irrelevant observation to the present matter,” Sanderly said carelessly. “But it isn’t. Illsworth is not used to fighting his own battles and he cheats. But he is not stupid. I think he has rumbled us.”

“Rumbled us?”

Sanderly fastened his coat, inspecting himself in the glass. “He knows I want an apology and takes it as cowardice. He thinks I will find another way to cry off.”

“ I should be the one fighting him,” James said with unwonted savagery. “Why did you intervene? Why did I let you?”

“Who knows? Perhaps, just for an instant you imagined I would punish him more safely. God forbid, and I’m sure it won’t happen again, but you might actually have trusted me. Shall we go down to dinner, since you appear to have abandoned my sister once more?”

James rose absently, frowning at Sanderly. “Wait! What do you intend to do?”

“Meet him tomorrow as agreed. If I fail, you may then, of course, murder him however you wish and face the hangman. At least Bab will be able to marry again. I hope she chooses someone with more wits next time, though the scandal of a hanged husband might scupper her chances.”

“You needn’t be so damned offensive!”

Sanderly met his gaze. “Need I not?” His voice was as soft and sardonic as usual, and yet James seemed to perceive something that pulled him up short, for a sudden frown marred his brow and he did not at once move.

“I am aware some people are offensive when they speak of you,” James said with rare difficulty. “I hope you know I have never spoken so.”

Sanderly nodded. “For Bab’s sake. I am aware. I have not yet sunk so low as to thank you for it. She is your wife after all. She is impulsive and even foolish at times, but her feelings are deep and her nature loyal. If you really don’t know that by now, I must have been right in the first place to refuse the match.”

James swallowed hard. “She does not trust me.”

“You don’t trust her.”

“She gave away my first gift!”

Sanderly paused, his hand grasping the door handle. So James knew... “And she has been trying to get it back ever since. In a rage, one does foolish things. And pays for them. You will look after my sister. I have made adequate financial arrangements for all eventualities. The rest is up to you.” He opened the door. “Don’t dawdle, James. You’ll need a hearty meal before you face the evening’s dramatics. To say nothing of the morning’s.”

***

T WELVE MORE HOURS AND I shall be gone .

The words repeated in his head throughout the evening, with yearning, yet not with happiness. He could not remember the last time he had been happy.

Yes he could. Last night, with Harriet Cole in his arms, her sweet, trusting, unskilled kiss on his lips.

Sitting alone at the back of the ballroom, he pretended to watch the play on the makeshift stage. It was amusing enough, largely because of the hilarity of the performers and their enthusiastic delivery of lines they frequently forgot. In reality he was watching Harriet, who sat several rows in front of him beside Illsworth. That was a development he did not like. There was little point in delivering Bab from his clutches if he already had his claws into Harriet.

Harriet who was not his responsibility yet felt strangely like his only friend.

Oh, but there was passion in her. More than that, she had feelings , depth, decency, compassion, humour, loyalty... all the things he had once valued.

If she stayed in Society, she would soon learn to despise him. If she ever thought of him.

I will think of her.

I will learn not to. When I escape and am lost in other countries, other people, other beauty.

He had known her a mere few days after all. And yet she liked him. Not his wicked reputation or damning tongue, nor the promise of his loveless skills in the bedchamber which were the only reason women usually tolerated him. He was bored taking advantage of that, weary of resentment and...

He was not weary of her . Nor she of him. She was a glimmer of... hope .

And for that, he owed her...something. His absence, certainly, but perhaps also a farewell. He did not want her to be hurt, to lose her trusting nature.

Abruptly, he remembered the children. The fragile Lily, the curious, fun-loving younger ones. They had seemed to like him, too. How odd ...

The play finished to uproarious applause and a great deal of laughter. The actors took their exaggerated bows.

Amongst the audience, Harriet appeared to be excusing herself to Illsworth, which gave Sanderly an instant’s relief. She was in little danger of being beguiled by him. She was, after all, in Bab’s confidence. As for Illsworth, who would lose interest as soon as he discovered her fortune was modest, his sting should be drawn tomorrow.

All the same, when Harriet went in the opposite direction to her aunt’s, and slipped out of the ballroom, Sanderly followed.

He was fairly sure she was going to look in on her siblings and had no intention of allowing Illsworth or one of her other admirers to waylay her en route. This was his only chance to make things...if not right, then at least easier for her.

He had been cheerfully and indiscriminately hurting the feelings of people all year. Was it good or bad that he had not yet sunk so low as to hurt her more than he had to?

She ran lightly up the ballroom stairs which led to the back of the entrance hall, and then headed for the staircase. Then, no doubt hearing his footfall, she stopped and whirled around to face him.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said in relief. “I was just going to see Lily, and then the children.”

“How is Lily?”

“The doctor believes she is not ill, merely convalescing. With rest and good food, she should recover fully. Certainly, there has been no recurrence of the fever.” She did not rush away from him as she should. Though her eyes were anxious, there was no fear, no distaste, just uncertainty. He had taken liberties last night and then dismissed her, for her sake as much as for his own.

“I was going to the library,” he said, gesturing toward the staircase. The hall was empty, the guests enjoying a light supper in the ballroom. They walked up together, not touching. In spite of himself, something soared inside him when she turned her step toward the library with him. “I’m glad I ran into you. I shall be leaving early, so I wanted to say goodbye now.”

Her gaze flew to his. “Leaving?”

She was dismayed. He heard it in her voice, saw it in her eyes. It caused an ache he couldn’t locate. “I have always been leaving. It is high time I got around to it.”

“But...but Bab—”

“Bab’s difficulties should be solved by tomorrow.”

“You have found the pin?”

“If our friend has it, it will be returned. The rest is between Bab and James.” He forgot to say dear James. “You will give my regards to your family? And please take my advice and do not be kind to the inestimable Cousin Randolph.”

“Oh. Orchid claims she saw him.”

Entering the library behind her, he paused, distracted from the short, kind speech he had been about to make. “Randolph? Where?”

She paused at the first table, where a book lay open. There was enough light from the lamp to read it by, and she picked it up almost mechanically, inspecting the title and running her small, slender fingers over the spine. “At the village inn, but none of the others saw him. I think it is her fear of him colouring her imagination.”

“Trust Sir John,” he said abruptly. Leaving the door open, he followed her and stood with the table between them.

“I do,” she said with a hint of impatience. “And her ladyship. In fact, I believe we had no need of secrecy. As long as we do not blacken his name, Randolph will simply be grateful we are gone. Why are you leaving?”

“I should not be here at all. I was invited for form’s sake and declined as expected. I only came to see what Bab wanted.”

“And missed your ship.”

“There will be another.”

She stared at him. There was a desperate hurt in her eyes, but also bewilderment. “You are letting them drive you from your own country, your own estates and responsibilities.”

“I drive myself. No one will suffer.”

She set the book down with unnecessary force. “Why? Can’t you be truthful for once?”

That stung, mainly because she was right. His whole life was lies, his own and the world’s. And now this girl accused him with her eyes and her words, her anger and disappointment and something terribly like longing. He swung away from her, meaning to sneer and mock, but she spoke again first.

“ Why? ”

And quite suddenly, something snapped. “Because my life is unbearable ! I am unbearable.”

She had moved, damn her, to stand facing him, the table no longer between them.

“Not to me,” she whispered.

He saw the effort it cost her. The girl had pride and yet the courage to leave herself open to the hurt she knew he would inflict. She was offering herself—in what capacity he did not know and doubted she did either—which not only stunned him. It scared him.

“Because you don’t know me,” he said with contempt.

It should have frightened her off, in high dudgeon, too, but to his astonishment she reached out and took his hand, and the rest of his blistering speech died unspoken.

She gazed into his eyes. “What happened?”

“When?” he asked blankly.

“One man went to war. Another came home.”

Who had told her that? How could she know?

“What happened?” she repeated.

“My brother died.” The words spilled out without permission. And then, it seemed, he could not stop. “I had seen men die. Some of them were friends I would have died to save. I thought I knew death, imagined I could deal with it. But I could not deal with Hugo’s. He was not a soldier. He was young and healthy and he died, and nothing made sense anymore. I told no one when I heard. I just got vilely drunk and played cards with my fellow officers. It was one of those periods of inaction and boredom and waiting. If there had been orders, battles to fight, even marching to do, I might have... But I didn’t. I behaved badly. Someone said I cheated—”

“Did you?”

“God knows. If I did, it was by accident, a dropped card I’d forgotten about because I was so damned drunk. I beg your pardon.”

A smile flitted across her lips and vanished, as though his apology briefly amused her. Later, it might amuse him that he still had the odd erratic, gentlemanly instinct.

“So what did you do?” she asked.

“I hit him and people I thought were my friends dragged me away and threw me on my cot where I passed out. And in the morning, I was hauled before a disciplinary hearing. The man I had hit was a superior officer. At the very least it was conduct unbecoming of an officer and a gentleman. And so I was advised to resign my commission before I was cashiered.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you not have to do something very terrible for that to happen?”

He shrugged. “Many things were cast up. Occasions when I hadn’t obeyed orders or had been slow to do so—some orders make no sense and only get your men killed, so I was guilty of that. Some reconnaissance mission I had led was apparently responsible for a French ambush. And I had turned back from cowardice. None of it was proved. It didn’t have to be.”

She had such expressive eyes that one could never get bored gazing into them. They made him think of old friendship, of comradeship and sympathy and collusion and all those other illusions he had once harboured.

“You didn’t fight it,” she said slowly. “It was beneath your contempt to answer such ludicrous charges, especially when your whole world was pain because your brother had died. You resigned from pique and grief and hurt that no one defended you.”

“My colonel turned on me. My fellow officers turned their backs. Men who had risked their lives for me. Men I would have died for.”

“They believed the lies... And when you came home, you found the rumours ahead of you, exaggerated and even viler, and your civilian friends turned their backs too.”

“My family turned their backs.”

“Not Bab,” she said with certainty.

“Not Bab,” he allowed. “My uncles, cousins, neighbours.”

“One or two, perhaps. You drove the rest away as you did Bab.”

“It made it easier for all of us,” he managed with a casual shrug.

“But they believed in your new self, this Snake you portray, and that hurt even more.”

“It bored even more.” He heard the return of savagery in his own voice and strived for control. “If I stay here, I will expire from that boredom.”

“And if you go away,” she said, frowning in thought, “to Africa, you might find your old self again, or at least someone you can live with.”

Too perceptive. But he had himself better in hand now. “I do not expect miracles, merely relief for one and all. I beg your pardon. This has been a longer farewell than I intended, when I only meant to say that you were a rare, brief, sweetness in my life, and that I wish you well.”

He twisted his hand, grasping hers like a handshake. “Goodbye, Harriet Cole. Be happy.”

Her fingers clung as he drew his hand free, but he would not give in. He stepped back, turned and walked to the doorway. Whatever he was turning his back on, he hadn’t expected it to be so hard.

“Not like this,” she whispered behind him. “My lord, not like this.”

“Exactly like this,” he said, lifting one hand without pausing, and swaggered out of the room. This time, he closed the door behind him and fought his way through an army of demons to his own bedchamber door.