Page 17 of The Lady Was Lying (Greydon #3)

Chapter Seven

B elinda’s resolve to stay home remained strong for nearly three hours after her family departed for the theatre.

She read for a bit. Played the pianoforte rather poorly.

Raided the kitchen for a bit of a nibble and thought about the quandary she’d found herself in.

When it was suitably late, she got ready for bed, changing into her night rail and braiding her hair into a tight rope.

After snuffing the light, she climbed under the sheets and attempted to sleep.

It didn’t happen.

Her thoughts were a maelstrom of worry and frustration that made it impossible for her to get comfortable. How would she, who had no experience with love, help her sister find a partner?

Of all the gentlemen she’d met during her ill-fated season, not a single one seemed worthy. Perhaps she was being harsh, but out of the men she knew, only one had displayed the attributes necessary to assure he would be a commendable husband.

The Duke of Avondale.

She wanted to reject the possibility immediately, but it was impossible to do so. As much as it pained Belinda to admit, he was an excellent option. The antithesis of most gentlemen. He had shown himself to be entirely respectable and definitively marriageable.

He would be unfailingly loyal to his wife, and the fact that she had unfinished business—seductions to perform, kisses to secure—was not reason enough to dismiss him as a worthy candidate.

It would be selfish to place her own foolish needs above her sister’s.

Even though she had almost worn him down, the cost of kissing Jane’s future husband would be too great to try again.

Since the duke was the only man Jane had specifically expressed interest in, Belinda would withdraw the threat of seduction and dedicate herself to helping her sister secure his interest.

She climbed back out of bed.

Refusing to second guess her inclination to speak with the duke as soon as possible, she changed into her warmest gown and carefully avoided being caught by a servant while sneaking out of the house through the garden door.

Once she was on the street, she hailed a hack and paid the driver to let her out three blocks from the theatre.

Creeping through the darkness while searching for a particular carriage on a crowded street was not as easy as sneaking into a carriage parked in the mews behind her home.

At the rate she was going, she wouldn’t locate it before guests flooded out of the theatre and it drove away with the duke inside.

Unwilling to accept that the outing would be a failure, she continued searching, and then, just as she was about to lose hope, the duke’s crest appeared, illuminated by the light of the moon.

Unfortunately, locating his carriage didn’t do much good because instead of waiting atop like she’d expected, the coachman was standing near the door, smoking and casually chatting with another similarly dressed man.

Belinda shifted in the shadows behind a nearby carriage.

Cold and impatient, she tried to think of what she could do to get him away from the door. Nothing came to mind. Nothing except causing a distraction. It wasn’t a good option, but it was the only one she had.

With the theatre patrons inside, it was as quiet as a London street could be. Would a loud noise be enough to interrupt the men?

It was worth a try.

Slipping around the carriage she had been hiding behind, she scoured the area for an object she could use to create a diversion.

As usual, fortune did not smile upon her by providing anything that would make a suitable clatter, so she slipped deeper into the shadows, whistled as shrilly as she could, and then dashed around the side of the carriage.

The horses tossed their heads and stamped their feet at the noise, and one of the men on the other side of the carriage—she couldn’t tell which one—cursed loudly.

A quick peek from her hiding spot confirmed that both men had gone to calm their respective horses instead of seeking the source of the whistle.

While they were distracted, she crept toward the duke’s carriage and up to the door.

She grabbed the handle, but before she could pull it open, she felt the presence of a man behind her.

She turned her head, and the coachman’s bushy eyebrows shot up when his gaze collided with hers. “Lady Belinda.”

“How do you know who I am?” she asked suspiciously, still clinging to the handle.

She’d been quite careful to make sure he hadn’t seen her face when she slipped out of the carriage after the dinner party. Sinking into the shadows created by her hood, she had vanished through the garden gate without looking back.

“This is not the first time you’ve attempted to stow away in this carriage. The duke warned me that you might try again. You might have sneaked past me once, but you won’t do so this time,” he proclaimed rather confidently, his hand finding his hip.

“I hate to be the one to remind you, but I didn’t attempt to sneak into the duke’s carriage the first time. I succeeded.” Pulling the door open further when the wind tried to push it closed, she added, “I require an audience with the duke, and I’d prefer to escape the elements and wait inside.”

His arm shot out, blocking her from climbing in, but not forcing her to close the door. “His Grace doesn’t want you hiding in his carriage.”

“Since you know I’m here, it won’t be hiding. More like…waiting.”

He didn’t drop his arm.

How inconvenient .

She released the door and then turned and leaned against the side of the carriage with an exaggerated sigh. “You believe the duke would prefer for me to wait for him outdoors, is that it?”

“Not at all. I think he would prefer you not wait at all. It is dangerous for you to linger here. You must leave before the theatre lets out.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I cannot do that. It is imperative that I speak to the duke.”

“You’re a lady,” he sputtered. “Speak to him over tea or inside the theatre.”

“The conversation I wish to have requires privacy.”

“This isn’t the proper way to secure a private moment,” he argued, making a valid point.

Burrowing deeper into the folds of her pelisse, she tried to look as if she were willing to wait indefinitely, even though she’d have no choice but to slip back into the darkness if he didn’t let her in the carriage.

She could not risk being caught by her brother the very day that she’d promised she’d be more careful.

“It’s bloody cold with this wind. I don’t suppose you have a flask of something to help keep us warm?” she asked.

He gasped. “Most certainly not.”

“I hope I don’t catch a chill.”

The wind helpfully billowed through the narrow space between the carriages.

“You may not stay here with me,” he declared again, leaning into the wind like it didn’t faze him.

“I don’t have much choice if you won’t allow me in the carriage.

If I go into the theatre, my sister will gloat for the rest of our lives.

If I go to the duke’s townhouse, I’ll have to sneak inside.

What if his mother is home? Can you imagine what would happen if I encountered her?

” She had no idea if his mother was even in London, but she still affected an expression of shock.

“If I return home, I will be unable to converse with the duke. As far as I can tell, waiting with you is the only viable option I have. Unless…”

“But waiting here isn’t a viable option. As soon as the performance ends, I’ll be driving around to pick the duke up. It won’t be safe for you here. If you won’t go inside, you’d be better off lingering outside the theatre.”

“And allow my family to find me? I think not.” She shifted, still resting against the carriage and making it impossible for him to drive away.

“I hope you don’t run me down when you leave.

” She made a face. “I’d hate for you to have to explain to Lord Greydon why you abandoned his sister in the street and then ran her over. ”

“Get into the carriage,” he grumbled after a beat of silence.

“Thank you, kind sir.”

She reopened the door and disappeared inside.

* * *

It was chaotic when James exited the theatre.

People were laughing. Carriages were pulling in and out of traffic.

Coachmen, including his own, were shouting at each other.

In order to escape the swirling noise, James ducked inside as quickly as he could.

The door had already swung halfway closed when his coachman shouted, “Your Grace.”

He didn’t need to wonder why he was being hailed, because he immediately noticed he wasn’t alone in the carriage. For the second time that week, a stowaway awaited him in the shadows.

The leap in his pulse was undeniable.

Why had she sneaked past his coachman a second time?

And why was he so happy about it?

“Lady Belinda,” he drawled, trying to pretend he hadn’t spent the evening wondering why she hadn’t come with her family. He’d feared that she was avoiding him, but seeing her sitting calmly across from him eradicated that worry.

“Duke.” She propped her chin on her fist and asked, “How was the theatre?”

Her tone was off, but in the dimness he couldn’t read her expression. “Is something amiss?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “How was the theatre?”

His certainty that something was different only increased with every word she uttered. Why was she lurking in the shadows? Had she settled on a new strategy?

“It was crowded,” he answered, and then remembering her observation that being parked outside her brother’s townhouse would draw attention, he tapped on the roof.

Once he’d assured the coachman that all was well and that he wasn’t angry about his unexpected guest, the carriage smoothly pulled into the street.

“You seem to have a strong aversion to crowds,” she remarked as they started to move.

“I spent my formative years in the country, so it’s hardly surprising that London has been an adjustment.”