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“Of—of course you are. I will do the same.”
“So...”
“That’s a complicated question.”
“It appears to me that there are only two possible answers. I am not requesting details at this time.”
Good. Because no details would be forthcoming. Not now. Not anytime. Ever.
Ever.
“Yes.”
Lady Crewood sniffed, pulled her gloves from her reticule and tugged them onto her hands. She stood, and Matthew did as well, feeling abruptly awkward and lanky. She held out her hand. “Then I shall see you tomorrow afternoon. At what time?”
“Three.” He took her hand, brushing his lips over her knuckles.
“Excellent.” She turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “May I go now?”
The Lyon’s Den owner nodded. “We will talk more later.”
“I’m sure.” And with that, Lady Crewood turned and left, pulling the door closed behind her.
Matthew turned to Mrs. Dove-Lyon. “What just happened?”
Her smile held a sly humor. “I would say that Lady Crewood knows how to turn a room.”
Sarah felt asif she had slid into an icy pond.
The panic that had gripped her in the Lyon’s office had evolved into a burst of rage—How dare that woman think she can rule my life!—then settled into a numbness that began at her feet and slipped its way up over her legs and into her gut. Now she barely felt her feet or fingers as she walked the three blocks toward her home, a narrow three-story structure on Little St. James Street. Her eyes down, Sarah forced one foot in front of the other, her boots scraping the pavement.
Other sounds of the city swirled around her. Wheels on cobblestone, the jangle of bridles and reins. Squeals of children, the laughter of women, the calls of men, the click of heels. Giggles from girls in a landau, heading home from St. James’ Park.
A flash of orange appeared in her peripheral vision and Sarah jerked sideways.Flames!She halted, her breath catching in her chest as she forced herself to look directly at the fiery color. No. Flowers. Lovely orange and red blooms near a neighbor’s door. Sarah stared at them, unable to move as she let her breath ease out, return to normal.This is not right! I cannot do this!
“Lady Crewood?”
How can one moment be normal and the next my life tumbled arse-over-kettle by some—
“Lady Crewood?”
A touch on her elbow startled Sarah, and she yelped, spinning toward the speaker.
Matthew Rydell stood next to her, his face drawn as he examined her. “Are you all right?”
She shook her head and stepped away, annoyed that her words held a hitch in them. “Yes. Of course.”
“Are you positive? You look lost. Confused.”
Sarah scowled. “Of course, I’m confused. Not ten minutes ago, I agreed to marry a man that fifteen minutes ago I did not even know existed. A man who seems to have worked it all out with someone who has a hold on my life before I even set foot in the room. How would you feel?” Sarah paused and looked around. “Why are you even here?”
“I am walking to White’s. My carriage will meet me there later.”
“And you decided to take the back street?” Little St. James Street, a narrow L-shaped street that ran from Cleveland Row around to St. James Street, seemed out of his way. Most people simply walked up Cleveland Row to where it met St. James directly.
Twin spots of red highlighted Embleton’s cheekbones as he hesitated.
Sarah stiffened, her annoyance deepening. “You require health and frugality. I require honesty.”
