Page 62 of To Seduce a Stranger

Before she could claim ignorance, he pointed at a spot beneath his sketch, directing her attention to what was printed there: last week’s society gossip. The print had been smudged by his pencil and by his hand, but the words were still legible:

Our newest duke was seen in Town yesterday, sporting the latest fashion, though we recommend he dismiss his tailor, for this particular suit—half Chancery, half ecclesiastical—seems to have more than a few loose threads. Meanwhile, the Disappearing Duchess

A fold in the paper hid the rest of the item from her eyes. For that, she felt oddly grateful.

Our newest duke. It could only be a reference to Robert. So, he had gone ahead with his plans to challenge his father’s will, even if it meant annulling her marriage.

Although the paper trembled in her fingertips, she lifted her chin and met Jack’s eyes. “It sounds to me as if this particular writer, at least, seems to think the duke’s suit frivolous.”

But Jack’s sardonic expression wiped even that meager reassurance away.

Convulsively, her fingers tightened, crumpling the paper into a tight ball that fell from her nerveless hand and onto the floor between them. “Wh-what do you w-want?” Fear was a chestnut burr in her throat. Trying to swallow it, to speak past it, was torture.

“Your . . . cooperation.” An unpleasant smile curved his lips. “The Duke of Langerton has offered a substantial reward to anyone with information that leads to your return. You’ve seen the state of this place. I could use the money, Your Grace.” Charcoal- and ink-stained fingers reached out to curl around her upper arm.

“You’re right. I am the Duchess of Langerton. But you’re not the Earl of Beckley.”

Her charge was nothing more than a whisper, but it was enough to make him drop his hand, to drive him back a step. In his less-than-sober state, he stumbled, lost his footing, and wound up on the floor.

Seizing the opportunity, Charlotte raced along the corridor, through the empty kitchen, and into the blinding morning sun. Instinct told her to get far away from him. Until she saw Sykes’s horses harnessed and Garrick leading them toward the drive, however, she did not realize how far she could go.

“Wait!” She waved a frantic hand. The carriage wheels creaked as they came to a halt. “You are returning to London, Mr. Sykes?”

About to leap onto the driver’s perch, he paused with one foot on the step. “Aye, missus. This moment.”

She had been a fool to run from one stranger in a dark coat. How many desperate men were now chasing her, hoping for a reward? Her days of hiding must be at an end. Robert would run her to ground like a fox and stand by while the dogs of Society ripped her to shreds. It was past time for her to meet him face-to-face, answer his accusations with dignity, and hope that the resolution of the matter would bring lasting peace, and with it, freedom.

“Will you take me with you, Mr. Sykes?”

A wrinkle of surprise flickered across his brow. “No baggage, missus?”

She shook her head.

For a moment, she thought he meant to refuse. Glancing over her shoulder, she scanned the yard, fearing to see Jack on her heels. When she turned back, Sykes gave a nod. “All right.”

As she hurried forward, Garrick sprang to open the carriage door. “I’m afraid I have nothing to offer you for your trouble, Mr. Sykes.”

From the coachman’s box, he called down, “No trouble, missus. Jus’ don’ keep the horses standin’, if you please.”

“Oh. Oh, no. I wouldn’t.” She clambered in with a nod of thanks to Garrick. “Merci.”

Only as Sykes chirruped to the horses and the carriage lurched forward did Charlotte consider what Edward would think when he discovered she had gone. And from there, her mind did not have far to go to wonder what he would say if—or when—Jack told him who she was.

Would he forgive her for not telling him the whole truth?

Last night, her words had felt like all the truth that ever needed to be told. She had bared her soul to him, had explained who she was in every way that mattered. In every way but one. And really, how much did a title signify? After all, she was a duchess in name only, as Robert was so desperate to prove. And she certainly bore Edward no ill will for keeping his title a secret.

She glanced out the window at the scenery that had already begun to slide past. In leaving Ravenswood she was leaving half her heart behind. But she couldn’t go back. If she did, she might soon find herself headed to London in Jack’s company instead. And if anyone was going to claim some sort of a reward for her return, it would be she.

Only this time, she was not thinking of the money.

With fumbling fingers, she dropped the window in the carriage door and leaned out. “Garrick!”

Sykes checked the horses, but did not stop them. Garrick came loping to the side of the carriage, out of breath. “Aye?”

“Tell—” she began as the carriage rolled slowly forward and Garrick jogged alongside. “Tell Mr. Cary—” But the words that came to her tired, anxious mind were a jumble of French and English. They could not be entrusted to another to relay. As Sykes’s spry horses leaned into the bit, Garrick struggled to keep up. In another moment, he would be too far away to hear her words. “Tell Mr. Cary I’m sorry.”

Once she’d dealt with Robert, she would come back to Ravenswood, explain everything in person. She would make Edward understand how she felt.