“As a father, I can’t say I recommend it.”
Violet started, and a small cry of shock and surprise escaped her lips. She hadn’t heard anyone enter the drawing room after Rosalie had left.
Her heart hammering, she whipped around and took in the tall, foreboding figure that was closing the door decisively behind him.
Her heart seemed to stop, and a cold sweat broke out on her brow.
Her father was here.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“No,” she whispered, her shock and fear so strong that she took an involuntary step backward. “No!” she repeated more loudly.
“Yes,” the former Lord Carfield said, an ugly smile creasing his face. “It’s me.”
Violet took another step back, all her instincts yelling at her to get as far away from this man as possible.
You should scream. Scream bloody murder. Scream until the housekeeper sends for the Bow Street Runners and Rosalie runs from here as far away as she can.
Except, if Violet screamed, Rosalie wouldn’t run away. She would run into the drawing room, and then both of them would be trapped with their father.
It was better to remain silent and keep her father here, away from Rosalie. Maybe that way, her sister might be able to find a way to escape.
“I would remain silent if I were you,” her father warned, as if reading her mind. “You’ve always been a sensible girl—the most sensible of all my children—so I think you know what will happen if you try to scream for help.”
His hand drifted to the inside of his jacket, where she knew there was a pocket, and she swallowed. She was almost certain that he was concealing a gun there.
Even if he wasn’t, he still had the ability to kill her. Jebediah Crampton was tall and strong. Although he was less muscular than the last time she’d seen him—prison, and then a life on the run, had surely taken its toll—he was still a formidable force, and she knew that he could leap across the room and wring her neck or bash her head in easily and quickly enough. Probably before she even had a chance to scream.
“I won’t scream,” she muttered, her voice distant. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Good girl,” he purred, then gestured to the door. “Now, first things first—where is the key to this door?”
“The housekeeper has it,” Violet replied.
Jebediah frowned, but then he grabbed a chair, dragged it over to the door, and shoved it underneath the handle at 45 degrees.
“Close the curtains,” he barked at her.
She reluctantly went to the windows and pulled the curtains. As she did, she stared out at the square, hoping someone she knew would pass by and she could wave at them for help. But no one appeared, and she was forced to draw the curtains, concealing her and her father from the outside world and bathing them in eerie darkness.
“Now we won’t be interrupted,” Jebediah said as she came to stand near the bouquet of violets again. He gave her a smile, but it was so cold that it sent a chill down her spine.
“W-what are you doing here?” she forced herself to ask.
Her palms and the back of her neck had begun to sweat profusely, and her legs started to shake.
“You wound me.” Jebediah tutted, taking a menacing step towards her. “Do I really need a reason to come to visit my newly married daughter? After all, I wasn’t even invited to the wedding! If anything, this visit is overdue.”
“You are on the run,” she whispered. “It’s dangerous for you to be here. If anyone sees you?—”
“No one will see me. And if they do, I have men stationed outside who will warn me and delay anyone who tries to enter and arrest me.”
Violet swallowed.
So he came prepared.
“If you’re looking for Rosalie, she isn’t here,” she said wildly. “She’s with Iris.”
