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Mr. Finch was a short man whose round, maternal face was surprisingly kind. His double-breasted brown wool coat stretched taut across his large stomach and chest. It was hard to be afraid of such a man.
“I’ve been looking for Lady Agatha on behalf of her beloved stepmama,” Mr. Finch continued, “the Countess of Auster. She and her physician are very worried for her stepdaughter’s…mental state.”
Temperance’s heart sunk to her feet.
No one knew she was here, save Mr. Barton, his mother, and their household staff. Mr. Barton had been her father’s loyal solicitor, and he wanted to protect her. She had no doubt about that. No visitors had come to Mrs. Barton’s in the two weeks she’d stayed here. No one had seen her in this house except for the servants…and Mr. Stokes earlier today.
Whether her instinct about Mr. Stokes had been right or not, she might never know. The fact was, she’d been right to be worried and to trust her gut. Someone was here, asking for her by her real name…
There was only one possible explanation.
They had found her. They came to take her to the Countess of Auster and Bartholomew, to force her to marry him to take control of her money… And then God knew how many more bruises she’d be given.
Or if she kept refusing, to put her in Bethlem Royal Hospital—Bedlam.
The asylum.
All for thirty thousand pounds’ worth of inheritance.
Temperance’s stomach twisted in knots. This was it.
She was trapped.
“Oh, I—I—I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” the housekeeper stuttered. “There is n-no such lady here. Good night.”
She tried to close the door, but before she could do so, Mr. Finch’s gaze flickered up the stairs and collided with Temperance’s.
In that moment the friendly, polite mask fell from his face and revealed a true hunter. Sharp brown eyes. Cold. Smart. A bloodhound’s.
Temperance took an unsteady step back.
As the housekeeper attempted to shut the door, Mr. Finch slammed it open so strongly that he crushed the housekeeper between the door and the wall. Surprisingly fast for his short legs, he was soon running up the stairs, his two companions at his heels.
No!
Temperance darted down the hallway towards her bedchamber, snatched her escape bag and her pelisse, and ran towards the servants’ stairs. She barely felt the floor under her shoes, nor heard her loud breathing in her ears, nor the sound of pounding shoes of the three men behind her.
“There’s no more running, Lady Agatha!”
Temperance opened the door and pelted down the narrow stone stairs, lungs tight with panic.
Just breathe. Breathe—and run.
She tried not to miss the next stair as the fabric of her dress tangled between her fast-moving ankles and she awkwardly put on her pelisse. Only then did she have her hands free to lift her damned skirts. Her pursuers were faster, stronger, and had no gowns to hamper them. Temperance tugged her skirts up as high as she could and flew down the stairs.
“Lady Agatha!” came Mr. Finch’s call above her. “Stop!”
Not likely.
She raced along the servants’ corridor and past the kitchen, the cook and kitchen maid exclaiming in surprise. At the end of the hallway, she swung open the door and ran across the back court, through the back gate, and down the street into the darkness of the November night.
They were right behind her, but she still had a slight head start.
At the end of the street, Temperance looked back over her shoulder. Three large silhouettes shot out from the back gate. Panic flooded through her. She sped up as she turned the corner and almost slipped on the iced-over cobblestones, but she scrabbled to regain her balance. She kept going, her lungs burning as she gasped for air, her ears filled with the drum of her heart.
Streets flashed by with shifting architecture as she sped through Cheapside. Simple frontages gave way to decorative cornices, each home with glowing windows and presumably happy families within. Families like that which she had lost.
Temperance kept crossing street after street, turning left and right and then left again at every corner she could. She needed to put Mr. Finch and his men as far behind her as possible, even as her chest ached and her legs pleaded with her to stop.
