Page 30 of Seduced By a Scoundrel

“I can take you both home,” he decided. “The carriage can easily seat four. I am sure she won’t mind.”

Sybil knew that some battles needed to be lost for the war to be won. And that sometimes a frontal attack was not the best tactic. She nodded mutely and let him help her into his carriage. It was just as warm as she had expected, with hot bricks for the feet, plump cushions, dark blue velvet curtains.

And if he thought she would stay there, he was mad.

Her choices were thus: being trapped in this perfect carriage with perfect Keir and his perfect fiancée while covered in mud to make perfectly polite conversation. Or run on foot back home in the freezing drizzle and hope no one else tried to mow her down.

No contest.

She flung herself out of the carriage the moment Keir strode away, waving a farewell at the coachman who called after her, alarmed, and then she proceeded to sprint down the pavement in a way no gently bred lady would have ever contemplated.

And it felt good.

Finding his carriage empty did not feel good.

Keir’s hands curled into fists and the muscles at the back of his neck seized abruptly. The rain was turning to ice, but it was probably steaming as it hit his shoulders. He helped Lady Violetta inside, keeping his stoic, polite mask secure. He glared up at his coachman, Arthur, who was already holding up his hands placatingly, and with more than a hint of alarm. Keir smoothed out his scowl. Marquesses did not scowl. Marquesses did not go chasing after wayward ladies in the middle of the night. They did not chase ladies at all.

To hell with that.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“She ran off as soon as you were out of earshot, my lord,” Arthur replied. “Clever girl.”

The streets weren’t safe. They were cold and dark and slippery and filled with coachmen who were not careful. But she was clever and, moreover, would not appreciate his worry. He had no right to it. It was all out of balance. The hiss of panic through his chest was overblown. Unnecessary. Real all the same.

He nodded and climbed in to sit across from Violetta. He would see her home and then make sure that Sybil was also at home. Safe. Warm.

“Your friend was very kind,” Violetta said softly as the horses were urged into a steady walk.

“My friend?” He tried not to sound as impatient as he felt. Why was it taking so long? Anything could happen to Sybil. To a woman who was recently locked in the cellar of a man he very much wanted to strangle. He had made inquiries, in point of fact. But the Marquess of Eastbourne was in the process of being stripped of his title and had already fled to the Continent. Keir had toyed with the idea of finding him. And by toyed, he meant he had made plans, talked to the people he would need, both legal and criminal, but had not yet committed to action.

Not yet did not mean never.

In the meantime, he did have men stationed at the docks, waiting to alert him if Eastbourne dared return to England.

He also had a beautiful woman sitting across from him waiting for him to respond like a gentleman instead of whatever it was he was doing. “I beg your pardon?”

“Miss Taunton,” Violetta elaborated, and Keir wondered if he had thought about Sybil so hard that he had conjured a conversation about her. With the lady he was meant to be courting. Bloody hell. “She put herself in my mother’s path, which took no small amount of courage.”

Keir nodded. “She was sorry to have caused you trouble or embarrassment.”

“Yes, I believe she was.”

There was not much to say after that. Remarks on the evening’s entertainment, the celebrated violinist hired to play throughout the supper, the flowers. The turn in the weather, if the Thames might ice over to allow for skating.

All very appropriate.

Sybil would have said half a dozen wild and unsuitable things by now.

He should not find that so charming.

The carriage finally pulled up to the Pontefract townhouse, where the curtains in an upstairs window jerked closed. Violetta smiled. “My mother.”

“Ah.”

Keir stepped down and offered his arm. Violetta alighted like a winter sprite, her thick white cloak edged with fur, diamonds glittering in the frigid air. Keir waited for the butler to open the door before bowing, as was expected. “Lady Violetta, I bid you goodnight.”

And then, as soon as the door closed again, Keir thundered back to his carriage. “Home, Arthur.”