After a long pause, Clara looked into her sister’s eyes. “I must see him again.”
Sophia considered that for a moment. “I suppose you could send him a note and tell him that you’ve received an offer. That might give him a little nudge.”
“But I don’t want to pressure him into proposing to me. I just want to see him and talk to him. Find out for sure if there is any hope.”
“But would you be prepared to refuse a decent man’s offer on the off chance that a notorious rake might reform?”
Clara stared out the window again. “I’m not sure. That’s what I need to find out.”
Clara sat alone in her room that evening and read all the letters again. After some careful deliberation, she knew that the time for playful flirtations must come to an end. She could not simply wait and hope that the marquess would appear at a society ball. She had to take the bull by the horns.
She dipped her pen in the ink and scrolled a quick note.
Dear Lord Rawdon,
I must see you. Can we arrange a time?
C.
Clara sealed the letter and gave it to a footman with instructions to deliver it immediately. He returned an hour later with a reply.
Miss Wilson,
The urgency of your letter intrigues me. My carriage will be outside of Wentworth House this evening at two a.m.
S.
Two a.m.!Clara could barely believe her eyes. Did he think she would be able to convince her chaperone, Mrs. Gunther, to escort her out to a gentleman’s carriage at that hour of the night?
Obviously not.
Which was precisely the point. He expected her to sneak out alone.
Clara squeezed her forehead in her hand. Could she do such a thing? Perhaps this was fate attempting to provide the evidence she required to prove that the marquess was not the man for her.
Or perhaps it was the opposite. This was fate delivering therealmarquess to her on a silver platter. Alone without pretensions. Without restrictions. There was no time, after all, to get to know the real man through superficial encounters in crowded drawing rooms.
He’d told her she could trust him to do everything in his power to protect her from ruin, and oddly enough, she did trust him in that regard. Every instinct she possessed—and she was operating wholly on instinct where the marquess was concerned—told her that he would not ravish her if he had the chance. He had on two other occasions proven that to be true when he’d instructed her to leave the Cakras Balls and not return.
Her belly swarmed with apprehension. Could she sneak out of the house undetected and not get caught?
By Jove, she was going to try.
Chapter 9
Dear Adele,
Have you met anyone interesting in New York? I hope there are some new faces, because sometimes I fear that I will be a complete failure here and end up back there before I have a chance to blink.
Love,
Clara
Wearing a dark gown, nojewels and sensible shoes, Clara tiptoed down the stairs, then down another flight to exit the quiet house through the servants’ back entrance. She left the door unlocked and moved quickly through the foggy night along the side of the house to the front—where indeed, a carriage was waiting in the shadows across the street, a considerable distance away from the nearest street lamp.
She approached slowly, her heart pounding like a mallet in her chest. This was an adventure, to be sure, but presently the excitement was translating into a dreadful, nauseating knot in her stomach, for she did not know what to expect. She had never been out alone at night before, nor had she ever agreed to such a scandalous, secret rendezvous with a rake. In his carriage. Just the two of them.
She neared the shiny black vehicle and circled around the back of it. The door opened onto the sidewalk and light from inside the carriage spilled onto the ground. The marquess stepped out into the chilly mist. He wore formal attire—a black jacket, white waistcoat and white necktie. No hat or gloves.
