Page 9 of For a Scandalous Wager (Breaking the Rules of the Beau Monde #3)

CHAPTER 8

A fter Lord Cumberland revealed their meeting at the theater, Evelyn’s father had thought it a grand idea if they spent a few days of peace in the country with no other intrusions. Evelyn had begged her father to leave it be, but his head was so wrapped around the idea that she’d had no argument against it, except that her brother and her close friend were about to bring a babe into the world, and if she could convince her father to allow her a visit with Winn and Adeline, she might put the baron off for a week.

She’d gone on ahead to Rosewood Manor, having hurriedly despatched one last note to Rochester before leaving London. He had to come. She had to believe he would. This was an emergency. And whereas she’d sent letters full of sarcasm and banter, with a serving of nonsense, this one, she only had time for one word.

Rochester,

HELP

And that was as complete a cry as she could give. She didn’t bother signing it because if he didn’t know by now who sent it, then he never would.

That had been two days ago. Clearly, once again, Rochester was not coming. With her father scheduled to arrive at Rosewood in the morning, she was gripped with desperation, anxiety, and overwhelming distress. This time, she composed a note for her father.

Papa,

I apologize for writing and not waiting for your return, but I was in haste to see my best friend and dearest sister-in-law before she becomes a mother. I know you understand my desire for this, and I will return in a week.

Your loving daughter,

Evelyn

She knew it wasn’t fair to use the circumstances of her own birth to convince her father to accept this trip, but she felt there was no other way. At Evelyn’s birth, her mother had been lost, and she was certain her father would understand the need to see Adeline before the babe was born. He would forgive her for this trip because of his love. She planned to use the week to come up with a solution.

However, she also knew that the housekeeper and the steward would not allow her to leave in the dead of night, so she chose a more reckless solution, like climbing out of her window and bribing the night stableboy to hitch a horse to the phaeton.

As soon as the night maid left, she slipped on a dress that needed little fastening, pulled on her shoes, and headed out the window. She did not bring a cloak or wrap because the climb to the bottom was hazardous enough without added clothing, including petticoats.

Burying her inner voice from distracting her with anything as outrageous as common sense, she shakily swung a leg over the windowsill. With her skirt bunched and hiked above her knees, she found the trellis with her other foot and then foolishly released her grip with one hand to press her skirt back down.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” came a forced whisper. Just beneath her stood Rochester.

She peeked under her arm to see him standing there, his feet braced apart and his hands on his lean hips, his coat pushed aside like a pirate. She felt dizzy. “I should think it obvious.”

“Don’t you dare take another step, Evelyn Markham. I swear to God, if you fall and die, I’ll never speak to you again.”

Why should she start listening now when he’d failed her at every turn? Instead, she continued her tentative fall from grace. No doubt the man could see the garters on her stockings. She tried to concentrate on her leverage. Breathing heavily and shivering with anxiety made it difficult to maneuver the lattice, not to mention her serious doubts about its ability to support her weight. The slats were too thin, and ivy pricked her fingers, but she was committed now. There was no stopping, no matter how many times Rochester ordered her back to her room.

She inched her way, one frightening foothold at a time, until she heard the first crackle like a twig and then a sharp snap.

“Rochester!” she yelped, her hands scraping the brick fa?ade for purchase, grappling with the broken evidence of her ill-conceived plan. And then she was falling, her stomach lodged in her throat. She half expected to break a leg or to dreadfully injure herself. But then arms like steel crushed her. She heard a mighty groan as her body jolted to a hard stop against Rochester’s chest, and then she bumped her chin on his head as he dropped to the ground on his backside. She anticipated him railing and yelling, but instead, he cradled her head in his arms and combed his fingers through her hair. He rocked forward, sitting on the ground in a pile of her skirts, and she felt his heart hammering against her chest as if he’d been as frightened as she.

Her rapid breathing made her feel faint, and tears burned her eyes. With her cheek lying against his shoulder, she wrapped her arms around his waist and gave in to the comfort he offered. The scent of him was like peace and assurance enveloping her.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. You haven’t answered one note, so I didn’t expect you to answer this one. I was so scared.” She didn’t mean to sound desperate, but she couldn’t help it.

“Well, you managed to scare the hell out of me, Goose. And though you may have failed to notice, I have shown up for your every concern, just not in the way you hoped.”

“Except for today.” She tilted her head back to gaze at him. “What took you so long?”

“I was fighting with my conscience, and I never imagined you’d do something as outrageous as this. Not to mention, it took a good day and a half to figure out where you’d gone.” He moved to set her aside and then helped her stand. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

“I don’t think so. My hands are scraped, but I count myself lucky.” She swept the dirt from the bricks off her hands as she watched him with concern. Her palms stung. “Are you alright? I didn’t mean to fall on you.”

He brushed at his breeches. “I’m fine. Let’s get you back inside.”

She grabbed his arm as he turned toward the front of the house. “No, I can’t.”

“Why not? What is this about, Evelyn?”

“I’ll explain, but first, I must leave.”

“Where’s your father?”

“Not here. Not yet. He comes tomorrow morning, and I can’t be here. Please, I’ve money to bribe the stableboy to harness the phaeton. I know you can drive that.”

“But I won’t.”

“Why?” She wanted to scream, but their hushed voices were enough for someone to overhear. “Why did you come then? I can’t stay, Rochester. I just can’t.” She looked about, exhaling her fear in a foggy mist. “I’ll drive myself.”

She started for the stable house. He trailed, catching her quickly with his long stride.

“I brought my coach. Let’s at least have a sit and talk.”

“Were you seen by anyone?”

“No. I thought it best to douse the lanterns and park away from the drive since your note consisted of one desperate word. I knew something was terribly wrong when it didn’t include your bantering tongue or acerbic wit, which I’ve grown rather accustomed to.”

“If I were in a better mood, I’d consider that a compliment.”

His mouth made a little quirk, and his gaze softened. He reached for her hands, checking the palms for splinters and her arms for injury. A drop of water fell on her head, and then another trickled through her hair, drizzling cold against her scalp. Of course, it would rain. Why not? Her luck only begged for this.

Rochester traced a finger across her cheek, then bent to retrieve his hat. With one hand, he flipped the hat onto her head and tugged at the brim just before the coming rain turned from drops to sprinkles. She looked at the sky, catching the hat before it fell, pressing it back onto her head. She should be laughing at herself for wearing a man’s beaver hat, but instead, her throat convulsed on a whimper because, for the first time this Season, she felt like someone cared. She brushed her wet cheek. Whether rain or tear, it didn’t matter; they both felt equal to the moment.

Shrugging out of his greatcoat, Rochester gripped it by the collar, then swung it like a cape around her drooping shoulders. He pulled her up against his side, calling out over the rain. “Let’s get to my coach before the sky truly opens up, and then you can tell me what happened.”

She nodded silently, hoping in her pained heart that he’d take her from here and not deposit her back on her front stoop drenched with rain.

Hunched over, he slid a hand into hers, held tight, and quickened their pace. His warm touch was the essence of compassion. The coach was up the drive behind a hedgerow, far enough from the house not to be seen, especially with no coach lights. The moon lit their way until Rochester helped her into the cab and shut the door. It was darker inside the cab than out in the night, and it took her a moment to get her bearings.

As her eyes adapted, she saw him sitting opposite her with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clutched between them. He stared intently at her, silently demanding her to speak.

“Is it possible to move on while I explain?”

He shook his head. “I can’t steal you away, Evelyn. You have to know that. Give me the condensed version of tonight.”

She let her eyelids shut out everything but the sound of her breathing. She swallowed. “Do you remember the man at the theater? When I tried to make you jealous?” She peeked at him.

He raised a shocked brow.

“Don’t look so surprised. You know me better than I do.” An owl screeched, and she leaned her head to see out the window. “His name is Lord Cumberland. He’s the baron I’m to wed, and my father is ready to sign the betrothal papers. I saw him again at Vauxhall three days ago.”

“That’s why you left the gardens early.”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“I didn’t know about Cumberland, but as I said, I have shown up for all your concerns, and I knew you’d been there. I spoke with your father, and he told me you left with Lady Clover.”

She allowed that remarkable story to sink in and then remembered the hat. She gazed at him with a weak smile and pulled the hat from her head. “Thank you.” After handing it to him, she brushed her limp hair from her temple.

He accepted the hat and tossed it onto the seat, but his gaze remained fixed on her. “And?”

“And, since I’d already met the man, my father thought to invite him here so we might get to know one another.” She leaned her head back against the padded wall as if a burden had been lifted.

“Is he here now? Without your father?” Rochester looked aghast, this man who’d dared to kiss her neck in the middle of a ball.

She almost smiled at the irony. “He’s not here. Not yet. Papa comes tomorrow and then Cumberland after that. I have a feeling that he means to have us wed before the Season is out.”

Rochester sat back. He pulled a hand through his thick, wavy hair that always looked a bit unruly and sensually heart-swoony. Searching for answers in the dark corners of the cabin, he breathed in deeply. “Where did you think to go in the rain with your little phaeton?”

“I don’t know, except I did leave a note for Papa that I wished to see Adeline and Winn before the babe comes. He’d understand that because my mother was lost when I was born.”

His gaze swept over her. He was working through something. “Then that’s where I’ll take you. If you left a note, he’ll expect one when you arrive at your brother’s house. We’ll send one from there.”

She shook her head.

“No? Which part?”

“I can’t go there. He’ll come for me there.” If Rochester had not come, she would have had no other choice but Winn’s. However, now, perhaps Rochester had a better idea. Maybe a hotel or an inn.

“What do you expect me to do?” His voice rose with agitation but not cruelly. He seemed as distressed as she.

“Just drive. I don’t care where, just get me from here, and we can discuss the strategy on the road.”

He shook his head, blowing out a loud sigh that fogged the windows, then rapped on the ceiling and shouted, “Horley.” It was Winn’s home.

The coach lurched, sloshing through mud, and then it was grinding through the gravel beneath its wheels as they drove away from her home, away from the fear and distress she’d been holding inside her for days.