Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“The only repayment I require is your safe conduct home.”
She lowered her face, reassured, while he scanned the area, trying to divine their location. If he had to guess, they were somewhere near Bishopsgate, but all the family homes and shops were dark and quiet compared to West London. By the time he found a respectable inn with rooms to let and adequate accommodations for the horse, he felt enormously tired.
He gave the innkeeper news of the fire near Covent Garden, and told the man Miss Layton was his sister. The good innkeeper stared suspiciously at her opera costume, but as they’d requested separate rooms, he held his peace.
As for Miss Layton, she seemed too tired to object to the false pretense, or indeed to anything. Refusing the offer of a cold dinner, she allowed Wescott to see her upstairs to a small garret beneath the rafters, where the servants were already setting up a bath. No, it was not a venue for a seduction, which was unfortunate, for an assignation with this actress would have made a fine tale to share with his friends.
“I’ll be next door,” he told her. “Please wake me if you rise before me in the morning. We’ll do well to return home as soon as we can.”
“Yes, I will. Thank you, Mr. Drake.”
He left her reluctantly, then asked for a dinner tray and his own bath to distract him from preposterous thoughts. What would his mother think if he took a mistress from the stage? An actress? The whispers might eventually reach her ears, or God forbid, his father’s. His parents were terribly faithful, and ridiculously in love with one another, so his poor reputation pained them. There would be another uncomfortable conversation about respect and morals, and the expectation of marital fidelity, now that he was practically engaged to Lady June.
He soaked in the dented hip bath for nearly half an hour, washing away smoke and smut, and the lingering scent of the girls at Pearl’s Emporium, then he dried off and sprawled naked upon a narrow cot, imagining the clean, downy blankets that comprised his bed at home. His valet would have turned down the covers, awaiting his return, but there was no such coddling here. Nearly an hour elapsed before servants came to take the bathtub and dinner tray back down.
He wondered how Miss Layton was faring in her adjacent room, but resisted the urge to look in on her. A warm fire, a stiff drink, and comfortable surroundings filled his thoughts just before he tumbled into a bone-tired sleep.
Chapter Two
A Nightmare
Lady Ophelia Lovett sat shivering in the tin bathtub, huddled against the stale night air that seeped in the windows. She’d finished with her bath, but there were no attendants to bring her a towel, which she’d left just out of reach on the edge of the bed. Nor did she have a clean, warm chemise to change into. She had only the garish, soot-stained opera costume, and the tangled black wig, which was likely ruined beyond repair.
Her father could replace them for the theater company. Such an expense wouldn’t touch the Earl of Halsey’s deep pockets. In fact, her father was so wealthy that her rescuer could kidnap her and demand a ransom beyond his wildest dreams, if he discovered who she was.
And would you mind so much if he stole you away, Ophelia?
She stood in the tub and let the cool air attack her skin. It was what she deserved, because she’d sort of, a little bit, been imagining what it might be like to be kidnapped by the dashing Mr. Jack Drake. He was so tall and strong, and so virile in a way she wasn’t accustomed to. It had given her a protected, excited sort of feeling when he held her against his massive body.
Oh, what kind of lady was she, to harbor such thoughts?
She was no lady at all. She pretended to be one because her parents expected it, but inside her mind, where no one could see, she always wished for more adventure than her narrow place in society would allow. She wished for freedom, for space to breathe outside the dutiful cage her parents had created for her. She would have offered up her “God-given voice” in an instant if she could have traded it for some chance at novelty and excitement.
Like a kidnapping? Ophelia, you are the very worst of women.
How awful of her to dwell on lurid, ridiculous kidnapping fantasies when there were so many more serious things to worry about. Were her parents safe? Had they escaped the fire? Did they search for her? And what had happened to Jacqueline? It smarted to think her maid had deserted her, run away with the panicking crowds, when the woman was expressly charged with her care.