20. The Trunk

Chapter twenty

The Trunk

L ouisa flexed her shoulders and gritted her teeth. This blasted trunk was as heavy as a sack of cannonballs, but there was no venal footman this time to carry it for her. Lord Kendall was well-loved in this house, and he would have been told in a trice if she'd asked one of his servants to perform any havey-cavey business.

She tripped over her cloak as she tried to manoeuvre the trunk down the narrow staircase, and her bulging reticule nearly slipped out of the pocket sewn into the side of her outer garment. She had no idea how she was going to get the trunk out into the courtyard and onto the street, but she had no intention of leaving with only the clothes on her back. She pushed open the small door leading out of the servants' staircase and shoved the mammoth portmanteau through it.

"My lady?" said a deep voice.

Her spine stiffened as she raised herself to her full height. She had been certain that the library would be unoccupied in the small hours of the morning, but instead, the faint light of the candle illuminated the lower half of a man's face, a man who knew that the woman tiptoeing out of the domestic staircase was no servant.

"Who are you?" she whispered fiercely, already suspecting the truth as she asked the question.

He lifted the candle to show his face more fully, revealing tanned features with a firm chin and soulful brown eyes. His wavy chestnut hair was more untamed than usual, and his cravat had wilted over his black evening wear. But his black coat had not crumpled a bit, filled out with the strong shoulders that she had first noticed in Hatchard's book shop. Shoulders attached to arms, arms attached to hands, hands that—in a brighter world—ought to be encircling her waist.

Louisa's face flamed red in the darkness. In that moment, she knew that if Gyles Audeley wanted to stop her flight from Kendall House, he could. He had only to lift a finger and she would be halted. He had only to speak a word and she would be frozen in place. And in that moment, she hated him for the power that he had over her.

He stepped forward gently as if she were a deer in the forest thicket that he did not want to startle. "Might I assist you?"

Louisa's insides began to churn.

Silly, silly girl. You know hardly anything of this man other than a girlish memory your imagination has expanded to herculean proportions. He is only offering help because of his good breeding—it is the same milksop politeness he displays to Penelope Trafford.

The annoyance provoked by imagining Miss Trafford wilting on Gyles Audeley's arm lent an edge of exasperation to her voice. "Yes, I could use your assistance. This trunk is too heavy for me to lift without dragging it, and I need it carried out through the courtyard to the corner of the street."

The long clock in the library chimed three o'clock. "A strange time of night to be toting a trunk," observed Gyles. His voice was still soft. Soothing. Gentle.

"Lord Kendall asked me to leave the premises immediately."

Liar! Why would you tell him that? He'll think the less of you for it later.

"But where will you go?"

"That is none of your affair," she blurted out, before she remembered that she needed a little more honey to catch the fly that would carry her brass-bound trunk. "Please, Mr. Audeley, if you would be so kind."

He looked at her thoughtfully, the candle casting a warm light on his tan face. "Very well, my lady. If you will wait in the courtyard, I will follow with your trunk."

There was an earnestness about Gyles' face that made Louisa believe him. Through the vagaries of fate, this eccentric gardener with his thoughtful consideration might be her godsend once again.

She nodded her agreement and, clutching the reticule that she had laid atop the trunk, made her way through the dark library and out the short corridor that led to the back door. The house was all quiet and the door was locked, but she had kept her wits about her the last few weeks and had pocketed the butler's spare key when no one was looking. After a few seconds fumbling at the lock, she opened the door and slipped outside. The cold night air slithered inside her cloak, but her pounding heart kept her warm enough for what lay ahead.

She closed the door behind her and began to wait on her accomplice. Two minutes passed. Then five. Either the trunk was too heavy for Gyles Audeley, or he had decided to betray her flight and was even now shaking Lord Kendall awake from his bed. Her violet-brown eyes sparked with annoyance. Should she count the trunk—and the clothes that proclaimed her status as a lady—as a loss and move on? Or should she go back and see what was taking him so long?

They'll put the hounds on your trail before long. You can't count on Lord Kendall to keep you safe. And your uncle and Mr. Digby will be at the door as soon as morning light dawns with that special licence up their sleeves.

After another five minutes, she decided she no longer had the luxury of waiting. She was just moving toward the courtyard gate when the back door opened and Mr. Audeley stepped outside. By the light of a distant streetlamp, she could make out the large trunk perched on his left shoulder. His right hand was clutching some kind of bag or satchel, and he leaned awkwardly to the side as he balanced his heavy load.

"This way," she hissed, forging ahead toward the street. Gyles followed her, stopping for a few seconds in front of a planter box in the courtyard. She rolled her eyes. Was Gyles Audeley so captivated by his prize rose bush that he could not resist looking in on it in the middle of the night? Would he need to stop and count the number of buds and leaves on each branch?

With relief, Louisa discovered that the courtyard gate was well oiled. There was no grinding squeak of iron hinges as she pushed it open. She remembered the last time she had walked the London streets in the dead of night, only to see Mr. Smythe tumble from a hackney. Would there be any drivers passing Kendall House at this hour? Or had they all taken their custom elsewhere now that the ball-goers had dispersed ?

The clatter of wheel rims on cobblestones sent a wave of relief through her. "Cabby!" said a deep voice, and she was surprised to discover that Mr. Audeley had hailed the man without waiting for her to do so.

The hackney came to a stop and Louisa began to give the driver instructions while Gyles fastened the trunk to the back of the vehicle. She climbed inside only to have the door open a moment later and another figure take the seat opposite her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, recognizing the interloper's face by the light of the carriage lantern.

"I'm coming with you," Gyles Audeley announced, tossing his satchel onto the seat next to him. But even though his tone was pleasant, there was a mulish set to his chin and his brown eyes glinted with determination. Instinctively, Louisa Lymington knew that this pursuer would be far harder to elude than those she had fled in the past.