Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
So I stand, taking one last long encouraging breath, but when I step round the corner, they are gone. ‘What?’ I search the room, seeing no sign of the Duke or Sampson. ‘Damn it!’ I curse, hurrying to the door and bursting out onto the street. I search, up and down the street, the daylight fading rapidly. They are nowhere to be seen. I circle on the spot, my head in my hands, damning myself to hell for wasting time trying to build that courage. Eliza did not say where he was meeting the owner of the printing machine manufacturer, so I know not where to even begin my search. ‘Evening,’ a female voice says, a voice I recognise.
I scowl at the night-time air before me, contemplating ignoring her and walking on, but, God dammit, she is a lady and she is out alone. I may not like her, but my conscience, regrettably, would not allow me to sleep at night should anything happen to her.
I face Lizzy Fallow. ‘Lady Millingdale, what are you doing out alone at this hour?’
‘Have no fear, Frank, I slipped out undetected. The advantages, I suppose, of having an elderly husband.’ She saunters over, and I step back, wary. ‘Oh come on,’ she coos. ‘Don’t you miss our intimacies?’
‘No, I absolutely do not.’
She keeps coming at me, and I keep moving back.
‘Liz––’
She throws herself at me and kisses me like a desperate woman, and I am completely taken aback. Caught off guard. Just standing there in a state of stunned silence while she shoves her tongue down my throat. What in God’s name is she doing? I raise my hands to push her away, but the sound of a horse neighing fills the street, and she dives away of her own accord, looking around, flustered, while I blink rapidly, at a loss for words. Then she runs off, disappearing into the darkness. She is mad. And that kiss? I roughly wipe at my mouth, feeling tarnished. I felt nothing. No warmth, no tingles, no energy, no passion. Nothing.
Which makes me all the more certain I am taking the right course of action. I must find the Duke. Make my pleas. Ask for his blessing and mercy. Convince him not to revoke the machinery that helps us run our business. I cross the road towards where I left Esther Hamsley’s mare, but I am just shy of the street, passing an alleyway, when I hear familiar voices. I freeze and listen. The Duke. And … I frown. ‘Fleming?’ I whisper to myself, daring a peek round the bricks to confirm it. I am right. There, halfway down the alleyway, by the back entrance to Kentstone’s, is Winters and Fleming. I was not privy to their acquaintance.
‘Go to hell,’ Fleming spits, marching off.
All right, so they are not friendly. Very hostile, in fact, if the Duke’s heaving form is a measure. He looks towards me, and I shoot back round the corner. What in God’s name is going on? I know not, but I have a very unnerving feeling in my stomach.
I hear the sound of his boots hitting the cobbles, and on instinct and instinct alone, for I must establish why Fleming has ordered the Duke to hell, I jog across the road and dip down another alley, concealing myself in the shadows. Winters emerges from the alley, and I watch as he peers left and right a few times, and then he stalks off, anger pouring from him in droves.
My mind a fog of questions, I turn and start pacing to think.
And come nose-to-nose with a white horse. I inhale, freeze. My eyes travel up the head, the body, until I am staring at the rider’s scarf pulled high up, their hat sitting low, casting a shadow across their face, making their eyes impossible to see, even with the benefit of moonlight. The horse pads, and I exhale as a gloved hand is extended towards me. Without thought or hesitation, I reach for my coin purse and hold it out slowly, extending the time the rider must wait.
‘I am but a poor nobody,’ I say, searching, hoping, praying for a glimpse of her face, anything to tell me who she is.
She doesn’t speak, just takes the velvet pouch and tosses it aside.
There’s a few moments’ silence, and though I cannot see her eyes, I feel the burn of them. An accusing burn. Then she kicks her horse, and it rises up on its back legs, forcing me to stagger back and fall to the ground. My backside hits the cobbles hard, and I wince, but I make fast work of collecting myself, getting back to my feet.
She cracks the reins again, but the alleyway is narrow, and the horse struggles to turn, so she resorts to coming at me. Straight at me. I am standing in the middle of her path, and I will not move. I won’t! What is this madness? ‘Come on, come on,’ I chant to myself, wondering if I have lost my mind. Definitely.