“About Lady Lovell,” he began, but then paused. “There’s something you should know.”
“Is it that she’s a spiteful, manipulative wildcat?”
“Clearly she’s all of those things. She is also an adulteress.” He grimaced as he delivered the news. “I saw her with Lord Randall in the woods, wearing nothing but a silk wrapper. Let’s just say things between them became heated. There was panting involved and a lot of growling.”
Lydia jerked her head back, and yet she was not shocked. Moralists often protested to disguise their own lack of principles. Poor Cecil. Her brother was a prize fool. And as for Lord Randall, she had always found his character severely lacking.
“I’m not at all surprised,” she said as Greystone cradled her hand. “Greed flows through Arabella’s veins. Money forms the basis of all her wants and desires.”
Greystone’s quizzing gaze searched her face. “Then you are aware that Lord Randall’s intentions towards you are less than honourable in that regard. I’m of the opinion he wants to marry you to gain control of your inheritance. They plan to leave the country together and travel to Italy.”
Anger flared. Oh, again, it came as no surprise, but the need to scupper
their plans took hold, the need to make them pay for underestimating their quarry.
“There had to be a viable reason why Randall would want to marry me after learning of the gossip in London. After all, why would a man with such lavish tastes choose a simple country girl like me?”
Greystone brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Perhaps because in a world full of liars and cynics you bring hope and honesty. You have the strength of heart to fight for what you believe. You’ll wait in the dark as a devil approaches and refuse to surrender your position. You have the face of an angel, the passion of a goddess. What is not to love?”
For a moment, Lydia was dumbfounded.
“Well,” she said, struggling to catch her breath. Her throat grew so tight it took a few seconds to speak. “No one has ever said such nice things to me.”
“Oh, I could lie here for hours and add to the list. I also suspect Lord Randall is not averse to marrying you for similar reasons. He tried to persuade Lady Lovell it wasn’t your name he called out whilst in the throes of passion.”
Lydia’s stomach roiled. “He didn’t?”
“He did. I had to resist the urge to pounce on him and wring his damn neck.”
“Heavens, the thought of him thinking about me while … Oh, it makes me want to retch.”
Greystone fell quiet as he studied her with an intensity that made her heart race. “It’s not safe for you to return to Dunnam Park. A hefty dose of laudanum given without consent and you could find yourself in Randall’s carriage on your way to Scotland.”
While Lydia doubted Lord Randall would go to such extreme lengths, Arabella was capable of anything. “Then if I’ve no choice but to travel to London, I can’t do so in my nightdress.”
“There is another option. One I hope you may have already considered.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Oh, and what is that?”
“Greystone!” Mr Drake’s voice boomed through the corridor beyond the bedchamber. “Greystone!”
“God damn,” Greystone muttered. “Wait here. Don’t move. There is something important I need to say.” He released her hand and slipped out of bed. Grabbing his breeches off the floor and dragging them up over his hips, he marched to the door and exited the room.
Lydia heard muffled voices. From the sharp tone and clipped words it sounded unpleasant. She clutched the sheets to her chest and waited with bated breath. Had Cecil and Arabella come looking for her, demanding the right to search the manor? Would the witch charge into the bedchamber and attempt to drag her home?
Greystone entered the room. One glance at his dark, pensive expression and she knew to expect the worst. Teeth gritted, he stepped closer. She could feel the violent rage bubbling beneath the surface, kept at bay by sheer force of will.
“What is it?” With a firm grip on the sheets, she came up on her knees. “Has something happened? Is something wrong? Tell me.”
“I’m not sure where to begin.” He strode to the bed and handed her a letter. “Your brother’s coachman brought this.”
The seal was broken, and so she peeled back the paper folds and scanned the first few lines.
Each new word brought Panic’s nimble fingers one step closer to her throat until the bony digits clamped around tightly ready to choke out every last breath.
“No!” she gasped. “It must be a mistake.”
Lydia noted the crest pressed into a blob of red wax at the bottom of the missive, noted the signature she knew was her brother’s. Still, she could not believe he meant to follow through with his threat.