Page 33 of Lyon on the Loose

She had just made up her mind to seek Roland out when there came a soft tap at the door.

Her breath stilled.

Roland!

Stepping swiftly forward, she flung open the door—only to see Meggy, the under-housemaid. She struggled to conceal her disappointment while the girl bobbed a curtsy, then held out a sealed letter.

“This came for you a few moments ago, miss. It was delivered by hand, but the person who brought it hurried off straight after, so I don’t expect they’re wanting an answer.”

Lissy took the letter and examined the writing. She felt the blood draining from her face as she thanked Meggy and thrust the door closed.

Oscar’s writing.

What could he possibly mean by sending her a letter? Surely, he must know any approach from him would not be welcome. Breaking the seal, she read the contents—then read them again in disbelief.

I understand, he wrote, that you may not feel kindly toward me at present. I realize I have thrown away any hope of our being reunited in love by foolishly allowing myself to be led by Henry Sutton. That being so—and with no expectation of forgiveness—there is only one course left open to me if I am to claim the one who should by right be mine. I will broadcast the news of our elopement and your mother’s cruel attempt to separate us. I shall make every detail known so the facts can be verified; our address in London, the name of our landlord, and the number of nights we spent there together.

Lissy pressed her hand against her throat. Yes, they had slept in the same room, but never in the same bed. However, that was a distinction Society would not trouble itself to make.

Oscar continued:

Your reputation will be dust and ashes, your family name destroyed if you don’t return to me, your husband in all but name. I have already written letters and used my contacts. All it needs is a word from me, and the London tabbies will feast upon it.

The only way to prevent this is for us to become man and wife. I accept that the marriage might be awkward initially, but in time, you will see sense. It is in the best interests of both of us that your mama should give her unconditional consent to our union and retract her threat to disinherit you.

Don’t even think of disappointing me. We both know there is somebody else in the equation—Mr. Roland Chetwynd, who’s now calling himself Cowley in some cowardly effort to escape his obligations to my good friend Henry. Chetwynd will suffer, too, if you don’t accept my terms. You have until tomorrow, the night of Her Ladyship’s grand ball. Until then, my sweet Lissy.

Lissy realized she’d forgotten to breathe. She dragged air into her lungs and let it out in an enormous, shuddering sob.

Of all the underhanded, ungentlemanly, outrageous things to do! The man she had once loved and trusted was now threatening her very existence—and the lives and reputations of all who mattered to her.

The very last thing she needed now was for Roland to leave Mundlingham Castle. Her mother, her brothers, even the local constable—none of them could stem the tide of scandal once it broke.

Roland was the only person who could save her from utter ruin.

Chapter Sixteen

Roland stared at the letter in his hand, his temples throbbing. How dared that pathetic excuse for a human being, Treadwell, threaten Lissy! He would scoop the man’s eyeballs out with an egg spoon, stretch his neck with his bare hands, tie a knot in his disgusting tongue, and choke him!

“What am I going to do?” Lissy’s voice was level, but he saw the fear in her eyes.

“I don’t suppose I’d be permitted to flay him alive?”

She shook her head.

“Challenge him to a duel? I can’t imagine he’s a good shot. Or much of a swordsman for that matter.”

“That’s not what I want from you. I was hoping for a solution.”

“One that doesn’t involve violence? How can you deprive me of the pleasure I would glean from dispatching that little runt?”

She laid her hand on his sleeve. “Had I known you’d be so angry, I’d never have come to you. Please don’t do anything foolhardy.”

“Forgive me, but I’m already angry with him for stealing you away from your family and then attempting to kidnap you when your family orchestrated your return. Only the lowest kind of fellow manipulates a lady like that. And now, as we can tell from the note, Oscar Treadwell truly is the lowest kind of fellow, no matter how good his watercolor daubs might be. I’m sorry to say it, Lissy, but I cannot help believing it was always your inheritance he was after, and never your delightful self.”

It was greatly to her credit that her lip did not tremble, nor her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

Instead, she tilted her chin. “I can see that now. I was very foolish.”