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The Duke of Tiverwell’s barouche-landau pulled up in front of Charles’s office. Arabella’s father got out first, turning and holding out a hand to help first the Duchess, and then Arabella out.
As soon as she stood on the road, Arabella looked at the door, to find that Charles was coming out to greet them. She smiled at him, their secret, forbidden love passing between them. She thought of him, leaning in to kiss her, his lips parted, his eyes on hers. His hand on her lower back, and how his touch made her whole body react.
He bowed gallantly. “Your Graces, welcome,” he said, his gaze going to her. “And Lady Arabella. Are you well?”
“Very well, Mr. Conolly. Thank you.” She loved it when he wore dark blue. It brought out his eyes in a way that made her blood absolutely sing through her veins.
“Are you all coming inside?” he asked.
“No, Sir,” the Duke replied. “The two ladies are off to gather their necessaries for the upcoming ball at Lady Linton’s.”
“Oh,” Charles replied, raising his eyebrows. He looked disappointed.
Arabella beamed at him. “Take care of my father whilst we are gone, Mr. Conolly—won’t you?”
“You have my word,” Charles stated gallantly. “He will be well taken care of, My Lady—never fear.”
“Listen to the two of you!” her father roared, with a laugh. “As if I’m old and doddering about! I could fence the both of you, at the same time, with one of my hands, tied behind my back.”
Arabella winked at Charles, who waved, then held the door open for the Duke.
“Come, Mother,” she said, slipping her hand into the crook of her mother’s arm. “We have much to do.”
The two ladies walked along the street, their footmen following behind. When Arabella glanced back, her father had entered the office. Charles was just glancing at her. Her pulse thundered.
If anyone could convince her father to change his mind, it would be Charles. She hoped that he would be able to do it, soon. When she turned forward again, she saw that the sidewalk was thickly crowded in front of them.
“Let’s cut through the alleyway,” Arabella suggested.
“Let’s do,” her mother agreed.
Arabella frowned. There seemed to be a dark, rust-colored stain, running down the gray stone of the alley. It began as little drips, but then, there was quite a lot of it. She gasped, as she saw a gentleman, lying face up.
The Duchess of Tiverwell screamed, her hand like a vise on Arabella’s arm. Only then, did Arabella realize that they knew the gentleman.
