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Should Samuel go to his attorney? To the watch? Had Ellie seen this? Heaven above, in light of the report in the paper, what must she think of his insistence they run off? He must explain to her…
He drew in a long breath. No, his attorney first. He would set the matter right. Then Ellie would see that the paper, and Richard, lied.
Samuel pushed away from the building’s support. He tugged his coat straight and set off across the square for his carriage, rolling up the offending paper as he went. He would see his man, Levington, then return home. No doubt, his mother was in a state. Had Richard even considered her when he’d told his little fairytale to the paper?
Once Samuel spoke to Levington about what steps to take to set matters right and reassured his mother, then he would find Richard.
Richard had best hope Samuel also found some level of decorum because he’d never been so livid. Once he had Richard before him, Samuel wasn’t entirely certain what he would do. It wouldn’t have much to do with words, though.
Chapter Eleven
Ellie lay atop her bed in Lizzy May’s London home, sobbing. At some point that morning, she’d managed to shuck her evening clothes and don a simple, conservative day dress. She’d also combed out and braided her hair, and bathed her face in cold water, for all the good that did. Her eyes were so puffy, she could hardly see the blurry water washed world on the other side of her tears. And she’d found not a moment of rest, her mind racing between the joy of Samuel’s kiss and their plan to run away, and the knowledge of how surely he’d played her for a fool.
Would a good man have kissed her when he thought she was Lizzy May? Of course not. He hadn’t meant to seduce Ellie. He had no feelings for her. He wanted Lizzy May, a Duchess, to intervene on his behalf when his treason came to light. He’d only pretended to be sweet, and caring, and quiet, and intelligent. He probably didn’t even need to wear spectacles. It was all part of his ruse. Ellie let out a thin wail and buried her face in a pillow.
Somewhere below, the front door slammed. The butler’s voice sounded, and a deep baritone. Footfalls pounded up the staircase.
Ellie sat up. Could it be Samuel? Had he come to take her away? Did he love her after all and would not accept the refusal implicit in her missing their meeting?
But what about his French tart? And the treason?
“Lizzy May?” the baritone voice called, in the upper hall now, and Ellie flung her face back into the pillow. It was only the Duke, come from the country at last.
Loud knocking sounded as he pounded on Lizzy May’s door and Ellie winced, knowing her sister still felt unwell.
“Lizzy May, we need to speak. Now.”
Why did he sound so angry? Ellie sat up again, tears slowing as she worried at her lower lip with her teeth. Had he somehow learned Ellie had nearly run off with a traitor? Did he blame Lizzy May?
In the hall, a door swished open. Ellie could hear her sister’s voice, too muted to understand but filled with worry. A few hard footfalls sounded and the door slammed.
Concern mounting, Ellie slid from the bed. She tiptoed across the room on the thick carpet and slipped out into the hall.
“…writing that you’re too ill to go out,” the Duke was saying, voice hard with anger.
Lizzy May began to reply and Ellie hurried down the hall, her sister’s softer voice unintelligible until Ellie pressed her ear to the door.
“…out once. I swear. Matthew, whatever’s got into you?”
“Into me? What’s got into you, with this behaviour? Do you know how it feels to have your solicitor send word that you’re urgently needed in London because your wife’s cuckolding you with a traitor?”
“What?” Lizzy May gasped.
“He sent along several articles.” Papers rattled. “They say you’ve been keeping company with a Mr. Samuel Carmichael. You were seen whispering and flirting at a garden party, and again at the theatre.” Paper rattled. “And then I reach London this morning to find that you disappeared at last night’s ball for nearly an hour, at the same time as Mr. Carmichael.”
Ellie bit at her lip.
“But I haven’t—”
“And if that’s not bad enough,” the Duke bellowed over Lizzy May’s protests, “The man is a traitor.”
“Stop shaking that so I can read it,” Lizzy May said, sounding as if her own temper rose. “Oh my. A French mistress and Napoleon?”
“So you admit, you’ve been seeing this Carmichael?”
“I admit to no such thing, Matthew Everett Lloyd Mclintock, and I advise you to stop glaring at me in that atrocious manner. You might try modulating your tone a bit, as well.”
Silence filled the room, but Ellie could practically feel the anger boiling out.
