She whipped her head toward Calstone in surprise. Had he fallen asleep? Truly?
She measured the distance between the duke and the door. This... well, even Harriet had to admit this turn of events couldn’t be considered anything but quite astonishing.
Dare she take the chance?Is this a test?From the simple-minded duke?
Nooo, surely not.Yet there was only one way to find out.
As a clock struck in the distance, she slowly rose to her feet, careful not to disturb the sleeping man across from her.
The light snoring never stopped.
She smiled, shaking her head at the duke.
She had no plans to send Leeds and his trusting follower on a merry chase. But a little trouble wouldn’t hurt either. Would he think she’d return home? There was no place the marquess couldn’t ferret her out. He had proven that much. But he wouldn’t expect her tonotwant to flee again.
She smiled at the thought. And it would be nice to take a bath in the comfort and familiarity of her own rooms one last time.
Small pleasures.
A plank beneath her foot creaked as she reached the door, and her breath caught at the slight sound that may as well have echoed off the walls of the drawing room.
She slipped from Leeds’s home, heart pounding in her chest.
The crisp morning air embraced her like a long-lost friend. It could not be considered the break of dawn by any means, but most of Mayfair’s elite were likely just waking or still enjoying the pleasure of their cocoons. The city streets were practically deserted, save for a lone carriage rattling by in the distance, some servants leaving for their daily tasks, and a few country-risers.
Her steps slowed.
Did she burst into her home, slip through the side gate, or rap on the door knocker?
Scratch the first.
Annihilate the last.
Side gate it is.
No.
No.
Why not just turn the knob and enter and breeze past the butler, Lee?
Yes, why not?
What did it matter that she didn’t feel as though she belonged? Or, perhaps more truly the case, that she did not want to face her father.
She, Harriet Hillstow, was no coward.Herdetermination had also ever been unfaltering. She would return home as if she still lived there—which she did—take a bath, and regain her wits.
“Lady Harriet?”
Harriet nearly leaped out of her skin.
She whirled around. “Lord Rochester?”
His brow wrinkled in concern. “Are you unwell?”
Why did everyone keep asking her that?
“I am healthy as a horse. Why? Do I look unwell?”
