Page 4 of A Lyon for Luck
“No,” she said. “Well, yes… to the elopement, yes. But not the timeline. I think if it all possible we should leave sooner.”
“Sooner than tomorrow?” he clarified.
“Tonight,” Daphne said. She couldn’t say what it was precisely that prompted her sense of urgency, but it was undeniable. “We need to leave tonight. My mother and father are very difficult. I had to sneak out today to come here. I will not be able to leave during daytime hours again tomorrow. But I can slip out again after they’ve retired for the night. Midnight… it will give us a head start should they decide to pursue us.”
His eyebrows lifted once more. “Do you believe they will?”
“I honestly do not know. I have never seen my father so determined about anything as he is in forcing this match between myself and Lord Pozenby. I fear there may be other factors at play I am not aware of…so, to err on the side of caution I feel is the wisest course.”
“Very well. Your direction?”
“Meet me in Hyde Park. At the bridge over the Serpentine,” she suggested. “If someone sees you near the house or if they see me getting into a carriage, it will raise questions.”
It was clear from his expression that he didn’t like it. “It is unsafe.”
“It’s the only way… I know you do not understand, but you must trust me on this. And if I am not there, know it was not my choice.”
“If you are not there, I will come for you. No man worthy of being called such would stand by while you are forced into a marriage with that wretched creature.”
Daphne breathed a sigh of relief. “I am very happy to hear you say that. Let us hope it does not come to that.”
Daphne did nottake the carriage all the way home. Rather, she hadthe driver let her out at Hatchard’s where she promptly purchased a book—literally the first novel she could grasp—and then walked home. It was a ruse that she could only hope her parents would fall for, as there was no chance her absence had not yet been discovered.
As she neared her home, it was clear that her fears were well-founded. She hadn’t even reached the steps when the door flew open and her father appeared, his face florid with anger.
“Where have you been? Explain yourself, girl!”
“I went shopping for a new book,” Daphne replied. “I have been cooped up inside for so long that I simply couldn’t stand any more.”
He came down the front steps and grabbed her arm, squeezing and twisting painfully as he dragged her into the house. “You do not leave this house unless it is in the company of your mother or myself. Is that understood? I’ll not have you embroiling us in another scandal! You’ve done enough already.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong!” Daphne protested. The pain in her arm had shocked her to the point that she could no longer recall the reasons to appear quietly compliant. “Maybe I should. Maybe if I do something unbelievably scandalous then even that wretched Lord Pozenby will refuse me!”
They were inside the door, standing in the foyer with the stairs rising up behind them when her father grabbed her other arm then, shaking her until her teeth rattled. “Mind your tongue! Be grateful any man will have you as a wife. Had it been up to me instead of your mother, I would have cast you into the street and scandal be damned! Running off as you did!”
“I didn’t run anywhere. I was abducted!” she shouted, heedless of his temper. It was the injustice of it all, the terrible unfairness of being punished for the misdeeds of others which robbed her of sense and reason in the face of his clearly irrational outrage.
“The outcome is the same,” he snapped dismissively. “You’re still spoiled in the eyes of the ton. Ruined beyond repair. And now utterlyworthless to me but for one thing… Pozenby desires you enough to overlook it! And you’ll be his. You’ll be his before the sun sets on you tomorrow. And you’ll be out of my hair forever.”
Daphne couldn’t even speak. Her father’s grip on her arms was bruising and painful as he all but dragged her up the stairs. When he shoved her into her room, she stumbled, falling to her knees on the floor. Before she could even get to her feet, she heard the key turning in the lock. It wasn’t the first time she had been locked in her room. But she vowed in that moment that it would be her last.
There was one way out. A way that had been shown to her by none other than the woman who took her place—the Viscountess Lynley. Out the window, and down to the garden. From there, she would need to scale the fence rather than go through the gate. That way she could remain under the cover of the trees and shrubs so that no one would see her. And no one would stop her.
As silently as possible, Daphne gathered all the things she would need. There was one place she could go. One place where no one would even consider looking for her. The home of her former betrothed and her only ally—she would go to the Viscountess Lynley. They would help her. They had to.
She could only pray that her instincts about Lord Aldwyn, Fletcher Quill, were correct.
Chapter Three
He arrived ata quarter till midnight. The park was all but deserted, which was normal. It was the only normal thing about his night. Climbing out of the carriage, he waited by the edge of the bridge, prepared for anything. Her words replayed in his mind. If she didn’t come, it wasn’t by choice. What would he do? Go to her house and demand entrance? Scale the side of the building and mount a rescue? He didn’t know. He wasn’t unwilling to do so, not by any stretch of the imagination. He just fervently hoped it would not come to that.
By nature, Fletcher was not a reckless or impulsive man. And yet, he was standing in the middle of a darkened park at midnight, waiting for a woman he hardly knew to meet him for an elopement. But it was necessary. It was the only way forward for him.And for her.
The very idea of such a vibrant and beautiful woman being subjected to the filth that was Pozenby left a bad taste in his mouth. That her parents were so cold and unfeeling as to push for such a match when she clearly did not want it—it was a travesty.
The sound of carriage wheels crunching over gravel alerted him to someone approaching. Turning in the direction, he noted that thecarriage wasn’t simply driving by. It was slowing down, coming to a halt before him. Bracing himself for any possibility, he waited. But when the carriage door opened and a well-dressed and terribly familiar gentleman emerged from it, his confusion only heightened.
“Lynley,” he acknowledged as the viscount approached him.
