to look unconcerned when someone mentioned his name to their hostess.
‘Mr Durden? No, he is not here tonight.’ Lady Beverley gave a little laugh and her twinkling eyes rested upon Charity. ‘It seems that even the company of our celebrated actress could not persuade him out of his reclusive ways, for I made a particular point of telling him that you would be here, my dear.’
Charity smiled, murmured something appropriate and moved away to join her colleagues from the theatre. She was soon caught up in a lively discussion about plays, and their actor/manager’s plans for the remainder of the season. All too soon the clock was chiming eleven, the hour she had set herself for going home.
‘Will you not stay longer?’ Lady Beverley urged her. ‘I have had so little chance to talk to you. If you are worried about walking home alone, I can always send for the carriage.’
‘Thank you, ma’am, I would not dream of troubling you to fetch out your carriage for such a short journey. It is but a step and I am perfectly content to walk. And at this hour there will be plenty of people on the streets.’
‘But it would be no trouble and the night is yet young. Do stay, Mrs Weston. I am sure one of our friends here would escort you back to your house—’
Charity was touched by her hostess’s concern, but she was adamant.
‘You are very kind, but my maid is ill and I do not want to leave her alone for too long.’
Seeing she could not be persuaded to stay, Lady Beverley waited for her to collect her cloak and accompanied her to the door, sending her off with the promise that she and Sir Mark would attend the first night of the new play.
Warmed by such an abundance of goodwill, Charity put up her hood and set off for North Street. It was snowing and she walked briskly, keeping her cloak pulled close about her. The streets were quieter than she had expected, but she guessed very few people would linger out of doors on such a chilly night. She turned the corner into North Street and into the biting wind, so she lowered her head and pulled her hood farther over her face to keep the icy flakes from her face. She had glimpsed a travelling coach standing at the roadside a little way ahead of her and she felt sorry for the coachman huddled in his greatcoat, and for the horses as the heavy flakes began to settle over the equipage. They would all be glad to get home tonight.
As she walked past the carriage she heard the creak of the door opening but took no notice until a pair of strong arms seized her and a gloved hand covered her mouth. She was lifted off her feet and bundled unceremoniously into the carriage.
Chapter Five
C harity struggled hard against her captor. With the door closed and the blinds drawn it was black as pitch inside the carriage, and she felt an uncontrollable panic rising within her as it jolted into motion. Her first thought was that she had been abducted by her father, until she heard herself addressed by a cheerful and decidedly Irish voice.
‘Whist now, me pretty wildcat, just stop yer spittin’ and scratchin’ and I’ll let you go.’
She was unaccountably relieved—her situation might be dire, but nothing outweighed the terror that her father instilled in her, despite her years away from him. She stopped struggling and felt those strong arms release their iron grip. There was a deep chuckle and the suffocating hand was removed from her face.
‘There now, that’s—’ The words ended in a smothered exclamation as she threw herself in the direction of the door and began to scrabble at the panelling, trying to find the handle. ‘Hell and confound it, woman, will you be still!’
She was hauled back onto the seat and a vice-like grip clamped her against a large solid body. She could see nothing in the darkness, but she forced herself to be calm and use her other senses to get her bearings. The man holding her must be big, because she was considered tall, yet her cheek was pressed
‘Mr Durden? No, he is not here tonight.’ Lady Beverley gave a little laugh and her twinkling eyes rested upon Charity. ‘It seems that even the company of our celebrated actress could not persuade him out of his reclusive ways, for I made a particular point of telling him that you would be here, my dear.’
Charity smiled, murmured something appropriate and moved away to join her colleagues from the theatre. She was soon caught up in a lively discussion about plays, and their actor/manager’s plans for the remainder of the season. All too soon the clock was chiming eleven, the hour she had set herself for going home.
‘Will you not stay longer?’ Lady Beverley urged her. ‘I have had so little chance to talk to you. If you are worried about walking home alone, I can always send for the carriage.’
‘Thank you, ma’am, I would not dream of troubling you to fetch out your carriage for such a short journey. It is but a step and I am perfectly content to walk. And at this hour there will be plenty of people on the streets.’
‘But it would be no trouble and the night is yet young. Do stay, Mrs Weston. I am sure one of our friends here would escort you back to your house—’
Charity was touched by her hostess’s concern, but she was adamant.
‘You are very kind, but my maid is ill and I do not want to leave her alone for too long.’
Seeing she could not be persuaded to stay, Lady Beverley waited for her to collect her cloak and accompanied her to the door, sending her off with the promise that she and Sir Mark would attend the first night of the new play.
Warmed by such an abundance of goodwill, Charity put up her hood and set off for North Street. It was snowing and she walked briskly, keeping her cloak pulled close about her. The streets were quieter than she had expected, but she guessed very few people would linger out of doors on such a chilly night. She turned the corner into North Street and into the biting wind, so she lowered her head and pulled her hood farther over her face to keep the icy flakes from her face. She had glimpsed a travelling coach standing at the roadside a little way ahead of her and she felt sorry for the coachman huddled in his greatcoat, and for the horses as the heavy flakes began to settle over the equipage. They would all be glad to get home tonight.
As she walked past the carriage she heard the creak of the door opening but took no notice until a pair of strong arms seized her and a gloved hand covered her mouth. She was lifted off her feet and bundled unceremoniously into the carriage.
Chapter Five
C harity struggled hard against her captor. With the door closed and the blinds drawn it was black as pitch inside the carriage, and she felt an uncontrollable panic rising within her as it jolted into motion. Her first thought was that she had been abducted by her father, until she heard herself addressed by a cheerful and decidedly Irish voice.
‘Whist now, me pretty wildcat, just stop yer spittin’ and scratchin’ and I’ll let you go.’
She was unaccountably relieved—her situation might be dire, but nothing outweighed the terror that her father instilled in her, despite her years away from him. She stopped struggling and felt those strong arms release their iron grip. There was a deep chuckle and the suffocating hand was removed from her face.
‘There now, that’s—’ The words ended in a smothered exclamation as she threw herself in the direction of the door and began to scrabble at the panelling, trying to find the handle. ‘Hell and confound it, woman, will you be still!’
She was hauled back onto the seat and a vice-like grip clamped her against a large solid body. She could see nothing in the darkness, but she forced herself to be calm and use her other senses to get her bearings. The man holding her must be big, because she was considered tall, yet her cheek was pressed
Similar Books
