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Chapter Ten
Her heart was pounding as she pulled on her black cloak. She pulled the hood up, over her hair. Underneath, she was still fully dressed. She merely waited, by the fire.
Dinner had felt like forever. She and Mr. Conolly had locked eyes several times. Those looks had said so much. She had found herself blushing, turning her gaze away.
To know that no one suspected them. To keep such a secret was positively delicious. She had no doubts that he would show up.
“It’s almost eleven, My Lady,” Annette said.
“Are you sure that you’re able to wait up?” Arabella asked. She would need assistance, unbuttoning her dress, particularly with the bruising to her ribs.
“I’ll be fine, My Lady. I won’t be able to sleep until I know you’re back safe.”
“Whatever could hurt me, Annette?” she asked.
Annette shook her head. “Idle fancy, My Lady. Perhaps I’ve read too many of Anne Radcliffe’s novels.”
Arabella laughed. “Perhaps you have.”
“Good luck, My Lady,” Annette said.
Arabella waved to her, then stepped out, through the door, closing it softly after her. The hallway was darkened, but she knew her way, as well as she knew the freckles on her nose.
She passed her parents’ rooms, and heard nothing. There was no light, spilling underneath the doors. Even Lord Drysdale’s rooms were silent and dark.
She entered the servants’ hallway, which was behind the walls. She moved through the darkness, into the direction of the East Wing, where Mr. Conolly was staying. As she walked, she heard footsteps, walking in her direction.
“Mr. Conolly?” she whispered.
“Yes, My Lady,” he replied.
As she neared him, she held out her hands, finding his in the darkness. She felt a draft of air.
“Careful,” she said. “There’s a staircase that way.”
“Should we dare a light?” he asked.
“We could,” she said.
There was the sound of a match, then light, as he lit a candle. The small flame flickered. She motioned to their right, where there was a bit of an alcove. They moved that way.
* * *
Once they were situated in the alcove, Lady Arabella took his hand again. He looked down at their clasped hands, his pulse racing. So much could go wrong if they were discovered here.
“Have you thought about what I’ve said?” she asked.
“How could I not? It’s all that I could think about,” he replied.
She raised his hand to her cheek. He cupped it in his hand. He brushed a curl back, behind her ear, drawing the tip of his finger over her soft skin.
His eyes were on her lips—pink, plump, slightly parted. He listened as her breath caught.
She was like a magnet—drawing him to her. Socially, they were on completely different planes, but there in the dark, they were two people, and they belonged together. She was his perfect match, in every way, but the one which mattered—the one which would mean that they could be together.
“Mr. Conolly?” she asked, her voice low, husky, in a way which caused his whole body to react.
He cleared his throat. “Yes, My Lady?”
