Chapter Eleven

E ver since Mr. Thompson's arrival, Mr. Dawson had kept his distance from her. He had been gone most of the day and the only time she saw him was over dinner. He had kept good on his word that she could keep her distance from the men.

But tonight at dinner, Mr. Dawson paid closer attention to her, asking her a few questions about her day and making a point of noticing how she was never around after the meal.

He never demanded that she join them after dinner but something in the way his attention skimmed over to her and honed in on her every fidget and grimace had warning bells ringing in her head.

He wanted something from her. He was paying her too much attention. He was thinking about her and that in and of itself was nauseating.

He had wanted her to stay after dinner so there were four of them for cards. She made a point of being an abysmal player, losing horrendously until Mr. Thompson claimed that she must be too stupid to play the game.

The way Mr. Dawson's gaze cut over to her told her he knew better. He was on to her.

She murmured an excuse and fled the room, but heard Mr. Dawson's chair move.

Out in the hall, he caught her elbow and spun her around just as she reached the stairs. "Miss Innsworth, you are odd today."

She swallowed. "I feel a little ill."

He stepped closer to her, hovering and sneering. "I do not think that is it at all."

His accusation left her speechless. She couldn't start an argument with him now or risk angering him further. But she didn't know how to retaliate, how to mediate whatever it was he wanted from her now.

His other hand slid around to her back and he pulled her forward a step until their bodies were nearly touching. She strained every muscle to keep herself away from him.

He said, "I spoke with Mama and she has agreed that we will have the marriage banns read starting next week."

She stared at his cravat, at the crisp white fabric and shadowed folds.

He said, "Nothing to say, my dear?"

She opened her mouth to try to say anything but the only thing careening around in her head was No!

His hands splayed on her back and then drifted forward to curve around her waist while his other hand still gripped her elbow. "I suppose your lack of words will make our marriage so much easier. Especially the wedding night. It is better if a wife is seen and not heard."

Her stomach flopped in disgust and she had to suck air past her parted lips to keep from doing something awful. If she could just focus on doing whatever she needed to do to walk away from this as soon as possible, then she would be fine.

He dipped his head down, the thin line of his lips looming over her. "I would appreciate a token of your goodwill for our coming nuptials."

If he put his mouth on her, she might not be able to hold back the vomit rising inside of her. She shuddered and put her hand on his chest to press him away. "I am afraid I do not feel well."

He leered at her. "Nothing to fear." He pressed a wet kiss on her cheek but his mouth didn't leave right away. He opened and closed his mouth a few more times, his mouth moving like the maw of a fish.

Her stomach clenched and she whimpered, attempting to keep her body under control. He mistook her whimper for something else and said, "There, there, those are sounds I like."

He slobbered down her neck and she started to sway, her breathing refusing to cooperate and her entire body tightened. Then he pulled away and she waited a moment for her eyes to adjust, not having realized that her vision had started to fog.

He licked his lips. "I see that we will do very nicely together. Remember that you are mine." He walked a few steps away and just when she thought she could let her legs give out, he turned and added, "You will stay in tonight. No more escaping into the forest."

He walked back into the drawing room and she sat on the floor, feeling like a heap of humanity. She couldn't sit here forever but her head felt like it was full of sticky jam and any coherent thoughts or actions couldn't fully form.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She could breathe. She could stand. She could walk. She had one goal and it was to leave this house as soon as possible.

Grateful she had already packed her things, she threw her cloak over her and then grabbed her bag before listening carefully at the door.

He knew she left every night. Even last night. If he had followed her and caught her doing the things she had done with her highwayman, she wasn't sure what would have happened. It would have been bad.

Although, she didn't doubt her highwayman. She had to get to him.

She opened her door and peered up and down the hall. She couldn't leave the way she normally left. There was a door that exited the music room and if she could sneak downstairs without a servant seeing her, she could leave out the French doors behind the house.

It would be risky, but everything right now was a risk. She quietly padded down the service stairs but at the back door, just as she suspected, a footman lounged in a chair, keeping guard.

She went back up. She would have to sneak down the front stairs. She waited while a maid crossed at the bottom, counting the moments in her head before peeking again. The maid was gone and Elizabeth stole down the steps and rushed down the hall, quickly sneaking into the music room. She paused, checking behind her, saw no one, then closed the door and crossed the room past the pianoforte.

She pushed on the handle to the French doors. They stuck. She pushed again, tamping down a wave of panic rising up her chest.

Locked!

She whirled, frantically eyeing the room. She couldn't leave out the front door. Someone would hear that. The back door was guarded. She didn't have a key to these doors.

She stared out the window, at her freedom that was physically near yet unattainable.

This house would not be her prison for the rest of her life.

Inspiration fell like a blessing. Raising a shaking hand, she pushed the tab over the locked window, cringing at the mild screech of sliding metal. Raising the window, she dropped first her bag down, then herself.

She checked over her shoulder constantly on her walk to the village inn. The full moon illuminated her way, but that meant if she was followed, someone would see her that much easier. She finally pushed open the inn door and was immediately greeted by the innkeeper.

He had been expecting her, but his manner was hesitant and stilted. Either he disapproved of her interaction with the highwayman, if he even suspected it, or he was likely judging her as a fallen woman for running away into the night alone.

It didn't matter. In a few moments, she would be safe in the room, ready to ride off in the night with the protection of her highwayman.

She ascended the inn's narrow stairwell, giggling at the irony of being kept safe by a criminal.

Opening the door to her room, she was full of that same bubbling feeling she had experienced the night she first met Lysander, a mix of swelling joy and hope and a sense of something more awaiting her.

She stepped into her room. "Lysander?"

The door shut behind her. "I told you that you were mine and that you were not to leave."