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“Do you know?” The excitement in his voice was obvious.
“It’s too early to say.” The fatigue and lack of appetite was likely due to her anxieties. “I’ve been in such a quandary, Matthew. I didn’t know if I should force his decision by claiming I would ruin his reputation, but I have no proof of misconduct.”
“Well, I might—”
He stopped talking abruptly.
“Matthew? Matthew?” Still no sound from the other side. Then she heard whispering, too quiet to discern the nature. She stepped away from the door, fearing who might be there. If it was Henry, surely, he would be shouting?
A key turned in the lock. Dara braced herself. However, the face that peeped through the crack wasn’t Matthew’s or Henry’s; it was Estelle.
“Milady.” The maid opened the door further. “You must be quick.”
Behind Estelle was Matthew. Dara gave Estelle a swift embrace of thanks.
“My clothes...” She wore the ridiculous nightgown.
Matthew removed his overcoat and draped it over Dara’s shoulders. She slipped her arms into the sleeves. The coat dwarfed her; she smelt him, and it warmed her heart to have him close to her flesh.
“No time for dallying, luv.” He took her hand. “We must leave, now.”
She wanted his warm embrace, his soft kisses, anything to stem the sense of dread that haunted her bones. “But... he’ll come back and find me gone, and I’ll be no better off—”
“We’re past worrying about that, Dara. He’ll make your life a misery one way or the other.”
“Why did you come for me?” she asked, ignoring his impatience.
He tipped up her chin. “I’m sorry, lass. I made a mistake. I should never have let you return. He’s threatened you and treated you with malice. He’s not worthy of you. Paul has more sense than me.”
“No, no. I chose to return. It was what we agreed. My marriage is my responsibility—”
“And your happiness is mine,” he said firmly.
“Milady.” Estelle fretted in the background.
“Come on.” He harried her down the corridor toward the stairs. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Estelle closing the door and locking it again.
They reached the far door when a voice boomed from the other end of the long passage.
“Halt!” the deep voice echoed. It nearly brought Dara to her knees. Estelle ran straight past Lord Coleman, who paid her no heed.
Two dogs bounded up to them, teeth bared and ears pointing forward. Matthew kicked at them.
“Off with you!”
However, the hounds were persistent. Dara hid behind Matthew, cowering in fright. It was only when she stood on tiptoes and peered over his shoulder, she saw the ominous figure of Lord Coleman storming down the corridor, his riding whip in one hand, a sword in the other.
“So this is the devil who stole my wife.” Henry stopped short and waved the point of the rapier in Matthew’s face.
“Actually, I borrowed her. Such a grand welcome... brother.” Matthew said coldly.
“Brother? No, that’s a lie. She told me it was a lie.” Henry’s sword wavered as much as his voice.
She, Dara assumed, was Henry’s grandmother. She’d seen her portrait on the wall above the grandest fireplace in the hall. A dour woman with icy eyes and thin lips.
“I’m Matthew Denzel.”
“Denzel,” Henry stuttered. “There was a tenancy under the name of Denzel; the farm was bought by the duke, my grandfather, for one of his tenants.”
