He leaned closer, pretending to inspect a tray of meringues on the table in front of them. “Lord Horace seems to have changed his mind about you.” His voice was grave, as though he was delivering bad news.
“Has he?” She glanced in Horace’s direction and saw to her dismay that he was watching her. He didn’t look pleased.
“He isn’t looking at you like an old friend, Tina.”
Suddenly she felt as if she were the one being hunted. She stood up, her shawl sliding from her shoulders before she could stop it. He bent and retrieved it for her. She reached out to take it, but instead he slid it about her shoulders, his fingers brushing bare skin.
Tina gave a gasp; she couldn’t prevent it.
He was very close, and she wanted him even closer.
“Tina . . .” he half groaned.
“I beg your pardon, Eversham. Sir Henry wants a word.” It was Horace, eyes narrowed, clearly suspicious that something was going on. Richard gave him a look as if he’d like to strangle him, then with a bow to Tina, turned and walked away. Horace took her arm in a proprietary grip.
“Don’t like that fellow,” he said in a voice that was far too loud. “Don’t know why Sir Henry keeps inviting him.”
Tina opened her mouth to argue and then changed her mind. What was the use of increasing Horace’s suspicions? Instead she said, “I am rather tired, Horace, and Signor Veruda is giving me a headache. I think I will retire. Good night.”
He looked put out, as if he’d expected a gushing thank-you for rescuing her from the awful Mr. Eversham, but suddenly she didn’t care what he thought. She just wanted to be alone, to sleep away her fears and anxieties.
And to dream of a totally impractical future that was all about Richard Eversham.
Chapter 20
Lady Carol was pretending to be asleep. Her head was badly cushioned by the worn squabs, and every time there was a bump it jolted her, so that now she had the beginnings of a headache. Still it was better to pretend to be asleep than watch Sir Thomas scowling to himself on the opposite seat of the hired coach.
The visit to his brother Harold had not gone well.
There had been the usual recriminations and mutterings about Sir Thomas’s shortcomings as a responsible adult, but they’d been prepared for that. And to give him credit, Harold had agreed to pay some of their more pressing bills. It was the manner in which he’d done it that rankled with his brother.
Harold hadn’t handed Thomas the money—he’d refused point-blank, saying his brother could not be trusted. Instead, he’d directed his steward to pay the bills, humiliating enough in itself but even more so when he gave the man his instructions right there in front of them, using it as another chance to belittle Thomas’s money-management skills.
No wonder he was scowling.
Lady Carol wriggled to try to get more comfortable, wishing she were home in her bed. At least now they would be spared losing the house for a little longer, but they would still lose it. Harold had made it clear he would not be coming to their assistance again, no matter how dire things became or how much they groveled. This was it.
She’d tried hard not to blame her husband for their mess, but she couldn’t help it. It was his fault they’d lost everything, and it gave her a dark, achy feeling in her heart. She might never be able to forgive him. Worse, she might never be able to love him again. Theirs had been a happy marriage—oh, they’d had their good and bad times, the same as anyone else, but compared to some other unions she’d witnessed, theirs was a truly happy one.
Or it had been until now.
She glanced out of the window at the passing forest. Ironically, they were only a few miles away from Arlington Hall, where Tina and Charles were staying. Lady Carol sighed, wondering how they were managing and whether either of them had secured a proposal of marriage yet. She hated herself for thinking of it, but she couldn’t help it—she’d never intended to be the sort of mother who pushed her children in the path of rich partners and marriages of convenience, and here she was, doing exactly that.
And she blamed Sir Thomas for that, too.
The sudden jerking stop of the coach brought her out of her dark thoughts. Sir Thomas reared up like an angry serpent. “What is happening?” he roared, reaching to open the door.
Before he could touch it, however, it was opened for him from the outside, and Lady Carol gave a muffled scream.
A man stood there wearing a black hat and a mask hiding all of his face apart from his cold, pale blue eyes. He wore black gloves and in one of his hands he held a long-barreled pistol, which he pointed at her husband.
For a heart stopping moment Lady Carol thought he was going to discharge the weapon, and that Sir Thomas was going to die right in front of her shocked gaze. T
he whole world seemed to slow and solidify, and in that instant she knew that if he were to die, then life for her would also cease.
The highwayman laughed, a dry, dead sound, and said, “What’s happening? Why, a spot of highway robbery, that’s what!”
Lady Carol heard another laugh and looked up from the awful sight in front of her. There were two other men, sitting astride their horses. They both wore the same black masks covering most of their faces, and they both held pistols, and their coachman lay on the ground, unconscious or dead.