Page 9 of One Waltz with the Viscount

‘Will you not need to bid your host and hostess goodnight?’

‘They will forgive me for slipping away.’

‘Very well,’ Sarah said, rising to her feet. She smoothed the fabric on her dress, resisting the urge to grip the material of her skirt in her hands and lift it above her ankles, as if getting ready to run.

Lord Routledge led the way out of the library, treading quietly and motioning for her to keep directly behind him. Sarah’s focus was on getting out of Shrewsbury House without anyone catching her, but as they crept down the hall she couldn’t help but be distracted by the opulence. Even in the darkness she could see it was by far the grandest residence she had ever set foot inside. The carpet on the floor was thick and plush, and beautiful cream wallpaper decorated the walls. There were paintings hung at regular intervals, colourful scenes of foreign shores as well as a few portraits of serious-looking men and women in the fashions of bygone decades.

They reached the stairs and the soft hum of conversation drifted up, although there was no one visible in the hall. Lord Routledge touched her shoulder and then leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke, sending involuntary shivers across her skin.

‘Come downstairs as soon as I signal to you.’

Sarah nodded, feeling her heart lurch as he set off down the stairs.

He paused at the bottom, looked around and then beckoned her down. Now she did lift up her skirts, not wanting to trip on the material and end up in an inelegant pile for all to see. She hurtled down the stairs, and was halfway down before she looked up to see Lord Routledge’s panic-stricken expression and the hand he held up to stop her descent.

Sarah froze, flattening herself against the wall as best she could, but aware that if anyone looked up they would see her acting oddly.

Below an elderly man walked up to Lord Routledge and clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Good to see you out in society again, Routledge. A man cannot stay in mourning for his wife for ever.’

Lord Routledge muttered something Sarah could not hear, a scowl crossing his face, before he managed to fix a smile as he addressed the old man.

‘Enjoy your trip back to Yorkshire, Lord Humphrey, I hope the journey is not too arduous.’

Lord Humphrey murmured a few further platitudes, clapped Lord Routledge on the shoulder again and disappeared into one of the open doorways.

Immediately Lord Routledge beckoned for her to move. Sarah was paralysed, frozen to the spot, and she had to force her legs to start working again so she could descend the stairs. It felt as if it took for ever to cover the final eight steps, but once she was at the bottom Lord Routledge immediately put a guiding hand in the small of her back and propelled her along the hall. They were outside in a matter of seconds, the door closing behind them with a reassuring click, but Lord Routledge did not stop there.

‘Bend your head and look to the ground,’ he said quietly. ‘There are still a few carriages waiting outside, with inquisitive footmen who have nothing better to do than gossip. If they get a good look at you, the whole of London will be talking of the pretty young woman acting strangely as she left the Shrewsburys’ ball.’

‘Perhaps we should go our own ways now,’ Sarah suggested.

‘I may not have been at my most gentlemanly tonight, but please do not think I would be callous enough to send you out into the streets of London unaccompanied at this time in the morning.’

Sarah glanced around her, with a sinking feeling she realised he was right. It was past two o’clock in the morning. No one respectable was out on the streets at that time, and she had to walk a good distance to get back to her lodgings.

At home she wasn’t in the habit of taking a stroll in the middle of the night, but if she did she would know which parts of St Leonards to avoid and which would likely be safer. Here, in the city, everywhere seemed like it could be teeming with danger.

‘I can’t ask you to walk me home. It’s miles away.’

‘You don’t have to ask. I’m not even offering. I am insisting.’

‘Thank you,’ Sarah said softly. Throughout much of the night she had felt exasperated that her plan had failed, panicking that she might be found out. It hadn’t left much time for her to consider what a favour Lord Routledge was doing her. Not only had he helped her escape unseen from Shrewsbury House, he was now planning on walking miles out of his way across London to ensure she got home safely. She glanced up at him, not for the first time wondering what his motivations could be.

Bending her head, they walked briskly down the path, out through the gate and onto the street. They passed the five carriages that were sitting motionless at the edge of the road, waiting for the gentlemen to finish playing cards inside before transporting them home.

‘You do not have a carriage?’ Sarah asked. She would not normally consider setting foot inside a carriage unchaperoned with a man, no matter how helpful he had been the rest of the evening—if anyone found out her reputation would be in tatters—but given that she had already spent a long time alone with Lord Routledge, adding on a private one-on-one carriage ride could hardly make things worse. What was more, she was exhausted and craved the comfort of a swift journey back to her narrow single bed in the rooms she was renting whilst in London.

‘No,’ he said with a grimace. ‘A decision I am coming to regret right now. I normally relish the walk both before and after a ball. It gives me time to clear my head before I get home.’

‘That is a pity.’

‘Where are your rooms?’ he asked.

‘Close to Fleet Street.’

‘Then we had better get walking, Miss Shepherd.’