Lady Lyte's Little Secret. Deborah Hale
up behind them on the road, flag them down and cart Ivy back to Bath? What if they’ve stopped at an inn to change horses and you drive clean past them?”
The look that flitted across her face told Thorn she hadn’t taken that, or a great many other possibilities, into account. To be fair, he’d had more time to consider and plan since he’d discovered Ivy missing from their modest rented premises in a less fashionable part of town.
“I’ll inquire after them whenever I stop for refreshment or a change of horses.” Felicity took up the gauntlet of his challenge. “It shouldn’t be that difficult to pick up their trail. And if I must follow them all the way to Gretna, I’m quite prepared to do it. Now kindly give me the light so I can see to dress and pack.”
Almost as an afterthought, she added, “You could oblige me by waking my driver and footman and informing them of the urgency of my errand.”
“No, Felicity. I won’t let you do this.” Thorn held the lamp away from her when she lunged for it. “It will be a difficult journey, perhaps even dangerous.”
Her eyes flashed like a pair of finely cut topaz. “You are not my keeper, Mr. Greenwood. And though you have shared my bed, you are not my husband. If I elect to do this, you have no power whatsoever to prevent me.”
Impossibly mulish woman! Did she have to fling both her rejection and her superior station in his teeth? Thorn fought to quell his slow-burning temper. It would serve her right if he let her indulge in this folly.
To his surprise, she caught his free hand in both of hers and softened her voice. “I thought we agreed Ivy and Oliver must be stopped. Why are we arguing, then? What other choice do we have?”
Wasn’t it obvious? Thorn battled the intoxicating effect of her touch to frame the only reasonable alternative. “I shall go, naturally. I can make better speed on horseback. Ride cross country, if need be, to intercept them.”
She appeared to give his offer at least passing consideration. Though his pride bristled at the notion that his taking action in the matter had never crossed her mind, Thorn tried to marshall his arguments in good order.
“I can seek information from hostlers, toll collectors or other folk a lady might hesitate to question.”
He was winning her over—Thorn sensed it. He battled an inclination to spout any nonsense that might keep Felicity holding on to his hand a second longer.
“Once I manage to overtake them…” Thorn brought forth his most convincing argument. “…I do have the power, as my sister’s guardian, to compel her to return home with me. You would have no such influence over her or your nephew. For this and for all the other reasons I’ve mentioned, I am the logical choice to pursue them. Only…”
“Yes?”
Thorn would rather have cut out his tongue than admit this, especially to her. As the hot blood rose to burn in his cheeks, he let the hand in which he held the lamp sink so Felicity might not witness it.
“I do not have the resources at my disposal that I once had.” Though he mustered every scrap of dignity at his command, Thorn could not look one of England’s wealthiest women in the face as he tried to keep from gagging on those words.
They had never spoken of the enormous disparity in their fortunes. Indeed, they had never talked at length on any but the most superficial of subjects. Still, she must know his family had fallen from prosperity.
His humble address down the hill should have been a clue, in a town where the price of housing rose in direct proportion to the elevation of the neighbourhood. His clothes—well tailored, but several years out of fashion, could easily have given him away. The fact that he didn’t keep a carriage should have confirmed any suspicions.
In all likelihood she had known his situation before she’d ever approached him with her intriguing, potentially scandalous invitation to become her lover. A wealthier fellow might have taken offense.
Oh, just spit it out, man!
“My father left rather considerable debts behind him when he died, several years ago. I have been making good headway in settling them and have every hope of seeing my family prosperous again, one day.”
Thorn addressed himself to the doorjamb, several inches above Felicity’s head. “At the moment, however, I find myself short of ready money. Since we both have an interest in seeing your nephew and my sister prevented from marrying, I suggest we join forces. If you will finance the journey, I will spare you the bother of undertaking it by going in your stead.”
At some point during his little speech, Felicity had let go of his hand. Thorn held himself tall and tense as he waited for her answer. He still could not bring himself to glance down into her eyes, lest he see some gentle mist of pity in them to complete his humiliation.
The seconds stretched taut as a fiddle string, until Thorn feared something must snap with a harsh jangle.
It did.
In a single swift motion that left him agape and unable to stop her, Felicity pounced for the lamp, plucking it from his hand. Then she darted back over the threshold of her bedchamber and slammed the door.
Before Thorn could break from his paralysis to push it open again, a solid-sounding bolt snapped into place.
“Felicity!” He hammered on the locked door. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Her voice drifted out to him, cool and composed. “I think that should be obvious, sir. I regret I must decline your generous offer.”
Thorn heard scurrying footsteps and whispers from the first floor. Some burly young footman might arrive at any moment to evict him from the premises. He wondered that Lady Lyte’s servants had shown him so much forbearance until now.
He ceased knocking and lowered his voice. “Did you not listen to a word I said?”
“Listened, considered and made my decision,” came Felicity’s somewhat muffled reply. “I appreciate your offer to go in my stead, but I have elected to undertake the journey myself. I’m sure you overestimate the difficulties involved.”
“I’ve done nothing of the sort, in fact—”
“Mr. Greenwood, please!” Her voice sounded exhausted of patience. “I have made up my mind, and I will not be swayed, least of all by your bluster. Time is of the essence, and I have any number of preparations to undertake.”
And I need you to get out from underfoot. She didn’t say it, but the implication hung in the air, as palpable as the stench of glue rising from a hatter’s workshop.
“I pray you will spare your dignity and mine by letting yourself out quietly. Otherwise I shall be obliged to ring for one of my servants to escort you from my house.”
Inside her bedchamber, Felicity strained to catch Thorn’s answer as she tossed clothes into a case.
His arguments for being the one to go after Oliver and Ivy had been most compelling. She’d very nearly yielded to his logic. One final consideration had induced her to refuse.
Thorn Greenwood possessed too soft a heart, and his reasons for wanting to prevent this foolish marriage were far less urgent than her own.
What if, having intercepted the young lovers, Thorn allowed the pair to convince him that they were truly in love and fully understood the consequences of their actions? As if they could understand.
He’d probably relent, sanction their union with his blessing—even give the bride away. Then they’d all three return to Bath and present her with a fait accompli. What could she do about it then?
Felicity pushed down the little mound of clothing and snapped her case shut.
Thorn might have legal influence over his sister, but she had financial influence over Oliver, and she would not scruple to exercise it if necessary. This whole elopement put Felicity in mind of a high stakes card game. One in which she had