The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

“Sleep in here tonight.” Fabian moved to the bed and drew back the coverlet. “It’s warm and more comfortable.”

A vision of their passionate lovemaking flashed into her mind, and the need to feel close to him came upon her again. Feeling his large, warm body next to hers would bring comfort during the long night ahead. Sleep always eluded her when her mind was full of memories of the past.

“I suppose I should straighten my chemise.” Dismissing her embarrassment, she eased her arms out of the garment, turned it the right way and thrust her arms back into the sleeves. “Does it matter which side I sleep on?”

A weak smile touched his lips. “No, not tonight.”

“Good, then I shall take the right-hand side.”

He watched her climb into bed, came to stand beside her and pulled the sheets up around her shoulders. With a sigh, he stroked a lock of hair from her cheek. “Sleep well.”

His awkward stance unnerved her. “Are you not joining me?”

He bent down and kissed her on the lips, a tender and gentle display of affection that sang to her soul. “Rest assured, when I return I shall lavish you with the attention you deserve.”

The muscles in her core pulsed at the prospect. “Return? Have the night’s activities left you famished?” Hours had passed since he’d eaten at the banquet. “Call for a cold platter. I’m sure there was food left from the feast.”

“While I have a huge appetite, that is not the reason I must leave.”

Leave? The word carried an air of finality, suggested a lengthy separation. It was as though someone had punched a hole in her stomach and wrung the muscles tight. “Am I allowed to ask where you’re going?”

“There is an urgent matter that requires my attention.”

“And you did not think to mention it before?” Despite his affectionate manner, his eyes were a hard, obsidian black. Since telling her story, she’d sensed a suppressed tension that was in no way aimed at her. “Are you leaving the island?”

He inclined his head. “I shall be back in a few days. In my absence, everyone will look to you for guidance. Mackenzie will assist you.”

“You’re going to London.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I have business there. We will discuss the matter upon my return.” He did not give her an opportunity to object, but removed a few items of clothing from the armoire, bowed respectfully and marched out of the room.

Chapter Twelve

“Forgive me, my lady. It’s not my place to question your instructions, but his lordship will have my hide if he knows I left you alone with the prisoner.” With a grimace, Mackenzie’s gaze shifted between Lillian and her new maid, Mary.

“I am not asking for your permission, Mackenzie.” Fear forced Lillian to speak in the stern voice of a matron. She had to know if the rogue had an accomplice. “We have no notion when his lordship will return, but I demand access to the dungeon so I may question this Aubrey fellow.”

The hollow ache in her stomach returned. Four days had passed since she’d told Fabian her story. Every day, she climbed to the roof of the keep and stared out to sea. Watching. Waiting. Praying he was not lying in a watery grave. Every night, she slept in Fabian’s bed, inhaling the scent of the man who commanded her every waking thought, visited her in her dreams, too.

“The dungeons are no place for a lady.” Mackenzie squirmed on the spot.

“Then bring the prisoner to the great hall, and I shall question him there.” For the last two nights, she’d watched the strange goings-on from the bedchamber window, seen the light swaying to and fro in the distance.

“Please, my lady, listen to reason.” Mackenzie made an odd puffing sound. “His lordship will flay me alive if anything happens to you. Is there no compromise? Will you not allow me to accompany you?”

There were other questions she wanted to ask, and she would rather have no witnesses. Lord Cornell’s desire for vengeance was great indeed else he would have been content with her ruination. She had to know why Cornell wanted to hurt Vane.

“Aubrey can do me no harm. Words do not hurt.” The lack of conviction in Lillian’s tone was evident. One man’s comments could not penetrate her steely reserve, and yet a barrage of snide whispers proved as painful as being pelted with pebbles. “But you may accompany me as far as the steps.”

“Will you not allow me to question the prisoner?”

Mary sighed. “Mackenzie, have you not heard what your mistress said?”

The Scot’s eyes softened whenever he gazed upon the fiery-haired woman at Lillian’s side. Since hearing about the men’s distrust of Doyle’s wife, Lillian had welcomed Mary to the castle. From the woman’s caring and friendly manner, one would suspect she had a heart as large as Mackenzie’s.

“Can I help it if I want to protect the lass?” Mackenzie implored.