Lydia glanced down. She’d bought a dress off one of the barmaids in the inn’s public room, and though she’d tried to select abarmaid with a similar figure to her own, she’d not quite managed it. The frock dragged on the ground and did not in the slightest fashion contain her bosom.
Her hair hung in lank clumps over her shoulders. There was a smear of red currant jelly on her wrist. The handkerchief she’d tucked into her bodice in a vague attempt at decency had slid to the side, and if she took too deep a breath, she suspected her left breast might literally burst free.
Her mother would have an apoplexy.
“Ah,” she said. “Hmm. Perhaps I can smuggle you into my bedchamber. I can, er, dress. And then we can sneak out again and pretend we’ve only just arrived.”
She peered at Arthur doubtfully. He was scowling at the buff-colored brick facade of the house in a way that suggested it had done him some personal injury. He seemed unlikely to fit in her wardrobe.
“This way,” she said, and led him in the direction of the servants’ entrance at the rear of the residence. He followed her, wordlessly, all the way up the stairs. They encountered a handful of servants, all of whom were familiar with Lydia’s propensity for sneaking about. If they had questions about her rather remarkable appearance and the bearded giant at her side, they did not ask them aloud.
When they reached the third floor, she pushed open the door and led Arthur out into the hallway, in the direction of her chamber. Halfway there, she paused and looked up at him.
She could not make him out. He looked distressed, his face almost a glower. He put one hand to the papered wall beside her head.
“Is everything all right?” she whispered.
He caught her about the waist with his other hand. “Aye. No. I don’t—ah God, Lydia—”
His head dropped, his mouth nearly brushing hers, and desire for him outweighed caution. She went up on her toes, bringing her mouth to his. He groaned softly, helplessly, against her lips and kissed her hard.
One of the chamber doors flew open and crashed into the wall.
They broke hastily apart. Lydia peered underneath Arthur’s arm and found herself staring directly into the stupefied face of her brother Ned.
“Ah,” she said, “Ned. Good afternoon.”
Wasit afternoon? The days had started to run together.
Ned’s mouth was open, working soundlessly as he tried to say something. His gaze took in her disheveled state, her slowly surrendering handkerchief, and then moved to Arthur beside her.
“Strathrannoch?” Ned said hoarsely.
Well. It appeared Jasper had been home long enough to inform the family of her supposed marriage.
“Aye,” Arthur said. “I’m—”
He did not have time to finish his statement. To Lydia’s astonishment, Ned sprang forward like an outraged jungle cat, launched himself at Arthur, and toppled both of them to the ground.
Chapter 21
… I’ve four separate letters from Lydia in Sussex assuring me that she is well. Does that strike you as… ominous?
—from Theo Hope-Wallace to Jasper Hope-Wallace
“Ouch—bloody—fuck!”
Arthur wrestled himself out from underneath the shortish blond fellow who was doubtless one of Lydia’s ten thousand brothers. Despite his significant disadvantage in both height and reach, this particular Hope-Wallace fought like a deranged tiger. Arthur had feltteeth, for God’s sake.
He planted his boot in the man’s midsection and shoved. Something tore. He felt a draft on his shoulder.
“Ned!” Lydia seemed to be shouting, but only in a whisper. “Stop it! Calm down, you blockhead!”
Ned paused, panting from exertion. “Going to—murder him—for you—Lyddie—”
“For heaven’s sake,why?”
Despite the fact that his arse was on the ground, Ned appeared to be gathering himself for another spring. “Look at you!What has he done to you? You’rebleeding, Lyddie! Yourhusband, Jasper said—but Theo looked him up—he’s a damned penniless fortune hunter!”
