At Last the Rogue Returns (Avenging Lords 1)

Yet while Lydia cared for Cecil, her motive for returning home stemmed from the need to ease Lord Greystone’s troubles. Should she need assistance, her hero was but minutes away. Like a gallant knight, he would come to her aid if Arabella kept her prisoner.

Dismissing the odd sense of trepidation, Lydia continued along the gravel drive.

The butler—the third one in as many years—failed to hide his surprise at her unconventional attire as he stepped back to permit her entrance.

“Thank you, Hopkins.”

Hopkins inclined his head.

“Where might I find Lord Lovell?”

“His lordship is—”

“There you are,” Arabella interjected as she made a surprise appearance in the hall. It was as if the crow had a permanent perch in the shadows and stood waiting for someone to peck. “Where on earth have you been?” Her tone was light and carefree, without a trace of anger. She even managed a smile as she shooed Hopkins away.

It seemed Lydia had cause to feel apprehensive. Arabella’s fake smile was as menacing as a madman brandishing a blade.

“Let us not play games, Arabella. You know perfectly well where I have been and why I left the house in such a hurry.”

Cracks appeared in Arabella’s calm facade. The fine lines around her eyes crinkled. Her lips twitched, desperate to form a scowl. The fact Arabella said nothing about Lydia’s odd clothes or loosely tied hair confirmed treachery was afoot. Like anyone who found themselves on enemy territory, it was wise to proceed with caution.

“Where might I find Cecil?” Lydia asked bluntly.

“He’s out riding. But come into the drawing room and take tea while you wait.”

“How long will he be?”

“Not long. Look I’ve no intention of berating you over those ridiculous clothes, or demanding you explain your foolish actions last night.” Arabella spoke calmly. “Rudolph likes you and got a little carried away. Men do, you know. There is no need to make more of the situation.”

Lydia suspected many men behaved as scandalously as Lord Randall. How ironic that they were free to saunter about in Society with unblemished reputations.

“Come,” Arabella continued, “let us find some common ground and begin from there.” She gestured to the drawing room door.

“When it comes to talk of common ground, I think we have plenty to discuss.” Lydia strode into the drawing room and sat in the chair flanking the fireplace.

Arabella tugged the bell pull and then sat demurely on the sofa opposite. The muscles in her cheek pulsed as she scanned Lydia’s attire.

“Having left the house in your nightclothes, I suppose I must be grateful you found something to cover your modesty.” Arabella tried to force another smile but the effort proved too taxing, and she sneered instead.

“Well, you’re hardly one to preach of modesty.” The time had come for honesty, regardless of the consequences. “I hear you often wander the woods in just your wrapper. If I’m not mistaken, Lord Randall happened upon you

there last night.”

The colour drained from Arabella’s face.

A timely knock on the door brought Ada. After scanning the maid for signs of mistreatment and finding nothing alarming, Lydia breathed a relieved sigh.

“We require tea, Ada. I’m sure even you can manage that.”

“Yes, my lady.” Ada curtsied, but as she retreated towards the door, she glanced back over her shoulder and jerked her head in the direction of the hall. Stone-cold fear flashed in the poor girl’s eyes.

Lydia gripped the arms of the chair. “While we wait for tea, I would like to speak to Ada.”

“You can go to her later.” Arabella’s nostrils flared. “I’m sure you have plenty to discuss, but the girl has work to do. That is why we pay her.” She gave a weak chuckle to disguise her annoyance. “But tell me how you come to know I suffer at night, that I walk in my sleep?”

“You walk in your sleep?” Oh, please. Did Arabella think her a fool?

“When it happens, I have no recollection of these odd night time events,” Arabella said.