Even more determined.
Still, the excursion had not been without gain; she now had one trump card in hand. She intended to use it wisely. That meant clearing the time, location, and privacy hurdles simultaneously. She had no idea how rakes managed it. Perhaps they simply waited for opportunity to arise, then pounced.
After waiting patiently all these years, and having finally made up her mind, she wasn’t inclined to sit back and wait any longer. The right opportunity was what was required; if necessary, she’d have to create it.
All well and good, but she couldn’t think how.
She racked her brain throughout the day. And the next. She even considered taking up her Aunt Mildred’s permanent offer to take her about within the ton. Despite her disinterest in society’s balls and parties, she was aware such events provided venues in which gentlemen and ladies could meet privately. However, from snippets Trentham’s cousins had let fall, as well as his own caustic comments, she’d gathered he had little enthusiasm for the social round. No point making such an effort herself if he wasn’t likely to be present to be met, privately or otherwise.
When the clock struck four, she tossed down her pen and stretched her arms over her head. She was almost at the end of her letter-writing exercise, but when it came to venues in which to be seduced, her mind remained stubbornly blank.
“There has to be somewhere!” She pushed up from her chair, irritated and impatient. Frustrated. Her gaze went to the window. The day had been fine, but breezy. Now the wind had eased; evening was closing in, benign if cool.
She headed for the front hall, grabbed her cloak, didn’t bother with her bonnet; she wouldn’t be out long. She glanced around, expecting Henrietta, then realized the hound was out for her constitutional in the nearby park, led on a lead by one of the footmen.
“Damn!” She wished she’d been in time to join them.
The gardens, both front and back, were protected; she wanted—needed—to walk in the open air. She needed to breathe, to let the coolness refresh her, to blow away her frustration and reinvigorate her brain.
She hadn’t walked outside alone for weeks, yet the burglar could hardly be watching all the time.
With a swish of her skirts, she turned, opened the front door, and walked outside.
She left the door on the latch and went down the steps, then followed the path to the gate. Reaching it, she peered out. The light was still good; in both directions the street, always a quiet one, lay empty. Safe enough. Pulling open the gate, she walked through, tugged it closed behind her, then set off walking briskly along the pavement.
Passing Number 12, she glanced in, but saw no sign of movement. She’d heard via Toby that Gasthorpe had now hired a full staff, but most were not yet in residence. Biggs, however, returned there every night, and Gasthorpe himself rarely left the house; there had been no further felonious activity there.
Indeed, since she’d last seen the man at the bottom of their garden, and he’d run off, there’d been no further incidents of any kind. The sense of being watched had receded; although occasionally she still felt under observation, the feeling was more distant, less threatening.
She walked on, pondering that, considering what it might mean in terms of Montgomery Mountford and whatever it was he was so intent on removing from her uncle’s house. While arranging to be seduced was certainly a distraction, she hadn’t forgotten Mr. Mountford.
W
hoever he was.
The thought evoked others; she recalled Trentham’s recent searches. Direct and to the point, decisive, active, yet try as she might, she couldn’t imagine any other gentleman masquerading as he had done.
He’d appeared very comfortable in his disguise.
He’d looked even more dangerous than he usually did.
The image teased; she remembered hearing of ladies who indulged in passionate affairs with men of distinctly rougher background than their own. Could she—would she later—be susceptible to such longings?
She honestly had no idea, which only confirmed how much she’d yet to learn, not just of passion, but of herself, too.
With every day that passed, she became more aware of that last.
She reached the end of the street and stopped on the corner. The breeze was stronger there; her cloak billowed. Holding it down, she looked toward the park, but saw no gangling hound returning with footman in tow. She considered waiting, but the breeze was too chilly and strong enough to unravel her hair. Turning, she retraced her steps, feeling considerably restored.
Her gaze on the pavement, she determinedly turned her mind to passion, specifically how to sample it.
The shadows were lengthening; dusk was approaching.
She’d reached the boundary of Number 12 when she heard footsteps striding quickly up behind her.
Panic flared; she whirled, backing against the high stone wall even while her intellect calmly pointed out the unlikelihood of any attack.
One look at the face of the man rushing toward her, and she knew intellect lied.