Page 11 of Lady Arabella’s Reluctant Hero

She tried to speak. The right words would not come.

Likely because she did not know what words she ought to say.

Also because her throat seemed to have frozen over.

But he had already returned to his correspondence and no response was necessary. "Edgmond would do nicely. He is dull but he has prospects. Send him a card this week."

"Yes, Father." Those words came with no effort. They were expected and at the ready.

She waited in case there might be more, but after a long silence, she realized there was nothing more to be said. So she slipped away and shut the door behind her with a quiet click.

She stood in the corridor for a moment, just breathing. That familiar panic was already starting to rise, but she would not let it. Not here and not now.

Losing her senses wouldn't do her any good.

Had he read the gossip column this morning? Of course he had. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. That was why she'd been called. He'd read about the indelicacy and had already decided what he intended to do about it.

He'd marry her off to Edgmond. The most boring lad in London. There was no scandal to be had if her name was attached to his.

She drew in a deep breath and pressed her back to the wall to steady herself.

It was a good plan, really. Or it would be… If she wasn't already married.

She closed her eyes as a hysterical laugh threatened. She swallowed it down.

With hurried strides, she headed to her room. There was nothing for it. She had to find a way out. If she were to announce an engagement…

What would Pierce do? Would he make good on his threats to expose her? Or would he finally let her loose?

She did not know. But she couldn't merely sit here and wait to find out.

Crossing to the writing desk, she reached into the far corner of the top drawer. Her fingers found the old folded square of paper. On it was the address she'd written eighteen months ago, the first of only a few occasions when Pierce had requested that she meet him in person.

The address was for a hotel on the Strand. He kept a room there, for "business," if one could call his enterprise by such a noble name.

She stared down at the address as panic warred with determination. There was nothing for it. This situation had to end, one way or the other.

Pierce had nothing to gain once she was engaged to another. This could not go on any longer.

She folded her fingers around the slip of parchment.

Now she just had to make him understand that.

5

"Papa."

John looked up from the gossip column he'd been trying and failing to ignore.

His ten-year-old daughter stood in the doorway in her traveling dress, hair done up severely, and her expression mutinous.

He fought a smile as he leaned back in his seat. "Lucy. I like your hair."

She pursed her lips. "Mrs. Lennox did it."

She dropped into the chair across from his desk. The chair dwarfed her small frame, but she folded her hands on her lap with the air of a haughty matron about to deliver an ultimatum. "She also said the carriage would be ready at any moment. That was an hour ago."

This was not the first complaint about his second cousin, who'd kindly offered to join him in London—first as his sister's chaperone, and then as a guardian for Lucy on her journey back to the country.