AllFreeNovel
Share Us
s quickly as the pair of them had become friends, it only made sense that they’d already known each other. He thought back to the ball. The labyrinth. The rose. All the whispering and giggling between them. All the time they’d spent alone…
My sister is capable of making a man fall in love with her almost the instant he meets her. She is a born seductress, Amelia had told him.
How well he knew the power Victoria could have over a man. He’d come to the conclusion that Withington been in her thrall the whole time. Well, if the bastard wanted her enough to trade a lifetime of friendship for a heartless little succubus, he could bloody well have her.
In spite of his anger, his heart ached as he thought back to that day in the little cottage on the wold. Could she have really faked that? He’d felt it when she’d given her maidenhead. Or at least, he thought he had. Women had been known to falsify evidence of chastity before.
She’d played him for a fool. And she’d gotten what she deserved.
He watched the dreary city sliding past his window. It was raining again. He longed for the sun. Perhaps he ought to forget England and return to his travels. At one time, the idea would have sent a thrill of excitement through him. Now, it only filled him with gloom.
Later that afternoon, he was coming downstairs just as a member of his staff answered the door. He heard a woman’s voice.
“Who is it?” he called out.
“Lady Amelia Lennox, my lord.”
Bloody hell, what now? He took one look at her ravaged face and quickly ushered her in.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
“I’ve made a mess of everything,” she said, her face crumpling.
SILENCE. THE THUMPING had finally stopped. Victoria unplugged her ears and breathed a sigh of relief. She was surprised her sister hadn’t broken down the door.
That’s probably next. She’d certainly made enough noise.
The thought galvanized her resolve. She’d be damned if she would sit and listen to their pathetic apologies. They hadn’t believed her when she’d told them the truth. They’d done nothing but condemn her for a whore.
She levered herself up and tugged off her pillowcase. In fact, she’d be damned if she’d stay here another blasted minute. They could all go straight to hell.
Traveling clothes. Brush. Blanket. Parchment, pen, and ink. Her uneaten lunch and the silver that had come with it. The apples she’d saved over the last few days for Primero. Her pistol, taken from its hiding place behind her books. All of it went into her makeshift sack. She dug out her riding clothes from the back of her wardrobe, stripped off her gown, and quickly put them on over her corset. There wasn’t time to braid her hair.
She paused. Money. She’d need money. She had only a few pounds or so in her purse. It would not be enough. Going to her jewelry box, she drew out rings, bracelets—and strand after strand of pearls. How she hated them. Every time she looked at the damned things, she heard her father’s criticizing voice telling her she wasn’t patient enough, mature enough—good enough.
Patience be damned.
She opened her window and peeked out. She was in luck, for there was no one anywhere in sight. Turning, she looked at her room one last time. Sadness filled her, and she closed her eyes. All of her youth had been spent here.
I’ve made my choice. Tales of her “shame” might follow her to France. If they did, she would be ruined there as well. Everything she worked to build there would be destroyed.
No. She would make her way to the Continent and find the Romani that lived there. Their free life appealed to her. Hadn’t she spent time with Patrin’s people every year when they’d camped on Papa’s lands? Hadn’t she practically grown up with his daughter, Talaitha? Hadn’t she taught her how to ride like them? And hadn’t Patrin always teased her and invited her to run away with them?
If Cavendish could do it, so could she. She knew all of their customs and traditions. And she wasn’t afraid of hard work. Cavendish had said they were more friendly on the Continent, anyway. She would have no problem.
Leaving her youth behind her, she stepped out onto the sturdy oak limb. So familiar were the hand- and footholds that she could have scurried down blind. She’d miss that old tree. Perhaps someday another little girl would discover them. She hoped so. Perhaps one of Amelia’s children.
With great care, she made it to the stables unseen. “Come, Primero,” she whispered, taking down his saddle. She laid it on him and adjusted the straps and buckles.
Going to the last stall, she brushed away the blanket of hay covering a box of supplies she’d stowed there. Quickly, she grabbed two small bottles of wine, a whole cheese, and some candles and stuffed them all in a worn leather satchel along with the contents of her pillowcase.
Snatching a battered hat from one of the hooks, she crammed it on her head and took Primero’s reins. Casually, she walked him out, praying she looked like one of the stable hands taking him out for a bit of exercise.
She couldn’t go into London. That would be the first place they would look for her. If they even care. They’ll probably be just as glad to learn I’ve gone. Saves them the trouble and embarrassment of having to get rid of me. Now they can simply say I’ve run away.
The instant they made the open field, she leaped onto Primero’s back and leaned over his neck. Obeying her silent command, he sprang away. Victoria turned him toward the woods. She’d promised Julius she would never return to her little cottage, but those promises meant nothing now.
She would stay the night there and in the morning head south with all speed. There were other ports outside of London. Smaller ones where she could slip away unnoticed. The gown she had stowed in her pack, her pearls, and a letter—which she would pen tonight—would ensure her proper treatment.
