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“Not her,” interrupted Fairford. “She owes me everything, including her life, and will remain true to me in all things. In fact, once my lady wife has borne my heir and met a tragic end, I believe I shall marry Mrs. Childers.”
“Surely not, m’lord!” exclaimed Grimsby. “The woman is naught but a common actress.”
Silence.
Then, meekly: “Sorry. Very sorry, m’lord. I only meant that a man of your stature deserves—”
“Mrs. Childers may very well be Lady Childers in the near future,” his master snapped coldly. “I advise you to remember your place when you speak of her.”
“Yes, m’lord.”
“Think of it, Grimsby!” chuckled Fairford, cheerful again. “Once my bloodline has been secured, I’ll finally be free to do as I please. And having her pla
y stepmother to the brat will be the ultimate revenge on the redheaded bitch, don’t you think?”
Sabrina’s hands flew to her mouth, preventing the escape of anything other than a slow, silent exhalation of dismay. Beneath her quiet terror, she felt a dangerous stirring of indignant rage.
“Of course, m’lord,” she heard Grimsby say. “Good night, m’lord. I shall awaken you an hour before dawn.”
“By George, it just isn’t right for a gentleman to have to be up before the sun,” whined Fairford. “When this is over, I shall be sure it never happens again. Now, get out. And sleep with the carriage tonight. I expect everyone in the vicinity has learned of our presence, and I want no thievery to get in the way of my plans tomorrow.”
A rhythmic creak of strained wood moved away from the wall. A door opened and then shut. Sabrina dared not even breathe as footsteps paused in front of her door. After a long, tense moment, however, they progressed onward. Quietly, she released the air from her lungs.
The man she’d set out to marry was a murderer! It didn’t matter that someone else had committed the actual killings; he’d ordered those deaths with the same sort of nonchalance as one orders a new suit of clothes. There was blood on his hands.
She had to escape. Her terrible error in judgment would be a fatal one if she didn’t manage to find a way out before it was too late. But how? There was no way Fairford would just turn around and take her home, and they were a great many miles away from London, in the middle of nowhere.
Fear and hopelessness fought for supremacy in her breast.
Henry.
His face flashed before her—his sparkling violet eyes and warm smile. Her head lifted, and she swiped at her eyes before the flood of tears could begin and alert the monster next door. If she could just get to Henry and explain, perhaps he would forgive her for being such a fool and help her.
But would he still want her?
It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was getting out of here. Now that she had an escape to plan, however, her legs refused all commands. Fear of treading on a noisy floorboard paralyzed her, so there she remained, motionless, until a log shifted in the hearth behind her, causing her to flinch.
A distinct rumble intruded upon her consciousness a moment later. It was the sound of snoring. Fairford was asleep. Deeply so, from the sound of it.
This knowledge freed her from terror’s spell, and she tiptoed over to the satchel she’d brought up with her. Quickly, she pawed through it, finding clean stockings, a spare cloak, a hairbrush, and a pair of combs. There was a small amount of money, too: a little over ten pounds tied in a kerchief.
She grimaced with disappointment, mentally kicking herself for not bringing more. It would have to be enough. A small bottle of wine and an apple joined the contents of the bag. Other provisions would have to be bought along the way in one of the many little villages along the road back to London, for she dared not send to the kitchen here for food.
He’d be sure to follow her as soon as he learned she was gone, but if she had a good head start…
All she needed was a horse.
Her only other gown had been hung to let the wrinkles out. Her shaking fingers smoothed over mint brocade and creamy lace; how odd to think she’d come so near to being married in this. A clean change of clothes might be needed, so she took it down and refolded it, stowing it with the other items. The outfit she’d worn today was dark blue and would better serve for an escape in the dark.
Looking to the door and the heavy trunk she’d put in front of it, she frowned, again berating herself. The whole bloody place would stir if she tried to move it. The window looked as if it hadn’t been opened in an age, but it was her only other option. She had to try. Maybe he’d downed enough liquor to keep him unconscious.
Biting her lip, she tried the latch. Surprisingly, it released with only a small complaint. Easing it open, she looked out. There were no trees to climb down, but there was a narrow ledge she could follow until she reached the long, low slope above the entryway.
Motion below made her hastily draw back from the casement. She peeked out to see Grimsby walking out into the courtyard toward the stables.
She would have to wait until later in the night, and she’d have to find a horse someplace else. The nearest village was only a short distance away, just to the west, the innkeeper had said. The moon should be bright enough to guide her.
Quietly, she dressed, struggling once more to tighten the stays of her corset unaided. No wonder women never traveled alone! She managed to get it secure and donned the blue gown.
