Page 64 of An Extraordinary Lord

But he couldn’t bear remaining here a moment longer. He’d go out of his skin if he did. The walls were closing in upon him, and he couldn’t sit still. He needed to patrol, burn off energy, clear his head—now.

“Then I’ll be back at dawn.” Merritt snatched up the jacket he’d tossed over the back of the sofa and walked away, out of the Armory and into the night.

Seventeen

The tiger opened the carriage door and stepped back.

Veronica paused in the doorway, her eyes raised to the hulking warehouse which stood bleak and cold in the darkness. The Court of Miracles. The closest thing she had to a home.

And the last place she wanted to be.

But she’d already had the driver spend the last hour driving in circles around west London as if patrolling from the back of the carriage instead of on foot and still in her ball gown. She’d told herself that she needed a glimpse of the city to see what was happening tonight. But there was no riot, not even a stirring of one, and no reason she could fathom why there wasn’t. The sky was crystal clear, the moon bright—the perfect night for destruction. She’d puzzled long enough on her drive that every quarter of an hour or so the driver would call down to ask if she was ready to head to her destination, and always, she asked him to continue driving on instead so she could view more of the city.

The simple truth was that she didn’t want to go home. She wanted to stay as long as she could in tonight’s swirling magic of music, bubbling champagne, glittering lights, and gowns. With Merritt.

But the inevitable end had arrived. The fairy tale was over.

She mumbled her thanks to the footman and stepped onto the muddy ground. Her beautiful slippers sank halfway into the filth. She grimaced. Ball costumes were not made for life in Saffron Hill.

She paused to hand up a coin to the driver in gratitude. Instead of hiring a hackney for her, Merritt had placed her inside one of the grandest carriages she’d ever seen, right down to its matching team of four horses and the tigers in their blue velvet livery. With a glance at the unfamiliar insignia on the door, she asked the tiger, “So you work for Lord Rivers, then?”

“No, ma’am.”

Well, thank goodness for small—

“His Grace the Duke of Hampton.”

Her shoulders slumped as she muttered, “Of course.” Just another reminder of how very different their two worlds were. Merritt was best friends with dukes and earls; she stood in filth nearly up to her ankles. “You’re out on an adventure tonight, then. I suppose the duke doesn’t frequent neighborhoods like this.”

The tiger laughed. “You’d be surprised what that duke gets up to, ma’am, him and his friends.”

Her heart bounced painfully. “Like Lord Rivers, you mean?”

“Aye. He’s unusual, that one.”

Veronica couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at her lips as she muttered beneath her breath, “You have no idea.” She handed the tiger a second coin. “Thank you.”

He gave a quick nod, then swung up into his perch at the rear of the carriage. He pounded on the roof to signal to the coachman, who flipped the ribbons and started the team forward.

Veronica watched until they disappeared from sight around the corner, not wanting them to see her enter the old warehouse and report back to the duke where she’d gone. She might be dressed like a princess, but she lived like a pauper.

“I still have my pride,” she whispered to herself as she walked up the steps. What little of it was left.

She pushed at the old door, but the heavy thing wouldn’t give. Someone had closed it up too tightly against the night. She had no choice but to lower her shoulder and shove into it as hard as she could. The door gave way, the creak of old hinges accompanied by the faint tearing of fabric against the splintered wood. The sound sickened her.

She looked down at her shoulder and the ripped gown. Her heart would have broken at the damage if it hadn’t already been ripped in two tonight.

She closed the door behind her and paused a moment to take in the building around her. Silent, still, and dark, despite the dozens of people crammed inside for protection against the night. There was no difference between this derelict building and countless others like it scattered across London where the poorest of the poor sought refuge.

“Except that I live here,” she breathed out, barely loud enough for a whisper. She’d never been ashamed of this place before and the friends she’d made here who were like family to her. Until tonight.

Now it had become just another reminder of the glaring difference between her world and Merritt’s.

Best that it had, too, she decided as she squared her shoulders and walked through the maze of sailcloth walls. Because she had to find a way to cauterize the wounds that had been sliced into her heart and go on with her life.

Merritt was gone now, slipping away as easily as if he’d never been there at all. But the hole he’d unknowingly left would take a very long time to fill. If ever.

When she rounded the top of the stairs, she saw a figure standing in the makeshift hall. The woman’s white night rail blended with the sailcloth like a ghost in the fog. A tingle swept down her spine, fading only when the girl’s face emerged from the shadows.