“He had such news from London.”
That didn’t make any sense. “London?”
Lilly angled to cut. “Yes, London. Mr. Harrow went on business and returned in time for last week’s Assembly.”
Is that where he’d been? Is that why he had not come to her all those nights? Watching Lilly preen, Arabella understood the girl had been waiting for him, expecting him that night she’d taken such pains to be so very beautiful.
Unsure what to say, Arabella muttered, “Is that the kindness you speak of?”
“He kept his word to me. He rushed back.” Lilly glowed, adulated. “Should I not be flattered?”
Something about it seemed very wrong, and the wrongness was Arabella—what she’d allowed. The small amount of guilt that had been nagging at her for planning a trip to London she had not informed him of vanished. Thoughts of him vanished.
Edmund, who had silently observed the exchange, asked, “Would you care for some air, your ladyship? The weather is quite fine today.”
There was a gentleman, a kindhearted soul.
“That would be lovely, Mr. Jenkins.”
* * *
Days of rough road and the jarring discomfort of a coach had left Arabella discontent. Magdala was at her side, certainly as uncomfortable, if not more so, yet she continued to keep her back straight, her countenance stoic. Payne had the worst of it, driving the horses through the mud of early autumn without breaking pace, yet he moved with diligence, uncomplaining on their mission.
Hugh and Mary had been left behind, Arabella and Payne in agreement that neither of them should be exposed to the gossip and questions of outsiders or foreign servants. The stable boy was too innocent, having come through his troubles with the goodness Arabella lacked. Mary was just too easy a target, safer cosseted in the house where Hugh had been given the grand duty of guarding her.
All of it had been arranged by Griggs. The house they were to take, the servants acquired for their short stay hand selected by the man for a specific purpose. They were to see her and talk about it. They were to spread the story of the wayward baroness rising from the flames—assuming Arabella played her part correctly.
To say she wasn’t terrified would be a lie. It was the only reason she had not cursed at Gregory when he’d appeared the night before. Instead, she’d welcomed him with the fervor of rolling hips and ravenous kisses. He’d spun them over, lay under her, and let her take her frenzied pleasure in a way Arabella had not known a man and woman could join.
Still, she had not told him of London, imagining him arriving the following night to find the house cold and dead. The thought made her clench as he thrust into her body, and she fell apart so beautifully even his hand over her mouth had not muffled all the noise. He’d crossed that void with her, groaning, grunting at her display, each pulse of his liquid release felt splashing against her womb.
Looking down at him in that moment, taking in the twisted beauty of a man panting, his brow tight, she longed greatly to slap him. Instead, she had fallen to his chest to catch her breath, to rub her cheek on the coarse hair that highlighted unfashionable strength.
Sleep had come, tangled as they were. When she’d woken with the rising sun, he was gone, but the bed was still warm as if his ghost remained behind. Sitting up, Arabella told herself that if she could face Gregory, if she could take him as she had, she could face the nightmare duty of being seen in London.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t sick with worry the two days it took to reach their destination. Arabella had debated on bringing Magdala, having Payne step in to make the final decisions. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust the Spanish woman. It was that she was unsure if Magdala had any idea what they’d be stepping into.
It seemed the Spaniard was up to the task. Already she was bossing her mistress about. “You need to eat, my lady. You did not touch a bite yesterday.”
Of course she hadn’t, Arabella would have been ill all over the coach. At the inn, at the halfway point, even dinner could not be forced down.
“I cannot.”
“If you begin your visit weak... you begin your visit weak. Eat.”
Arabella had swallowed a bowl of gruel, glaring at the fire, mouth sour. But the housekeeper could not coerce lunch or dinner even when they were settled in the fashionable London townhouse the following day. Morning came, sleep having evaded the baroness, but she stood with all the false regalness she could muster as Magdala acted lady’s maid and dressed her for a stroll.
Everything was followed by the rules of etiquette Arabella had studied tirelessly for weeks. She took her meals separate from her staff, she condescended to all around her, and only spoke with Payne when he came to her sitting room in private.
Once the door closed and it was them, only then could she breathe. “What have you heard?”
“William Dalton knows you are here.” Payne allowed Arabella to hide her face against his knee as he spoke. “He is in Bath, at present. It is as Mr. Griggs believed. Your visit caught the new Baron unaware.”
“There has not been a single invitation. What is the point of being here if I am not being seen?”
“It’s only been two days, Arabella. Continue walking Hyde Park, ride Mamioro so others can see you sit the horse that killed your husband. When you dare the court at St. James’s tomorrow the stir will begin.”
“Do you have any idea how much I’ve spent at the dressmakers for this trip? Even Magdala was staggered by the bill. We’re going to be eating nothing but horse oats when this is over and I am certain Mamioro will not share.”