Fifteen
Lord Ashton instructed Della to wait on the landing of the stairs that separated the rented rooms from the family’s home while he went up first to check that no one else was there. She kept the hood of her cloak pulled low over her brow. Once he’d confirmed the coast was clear, she padded quietly upstairs, through a hall with faded wallpaper, and into a little room that was arranged as a study. It wasn’t much, just as Ashton had said, but it was tidy and it carried subtle signs of his presence that Della enjoyed observing.
The walls were papered over in the same blue damask that the owner must have chosen for the hall some time ago. Over this, Lord Ashton had hung many decorative objects—maps from a variety of places, more than one portrait of individuals who seemed to share his eyes and firm jaw, and a series of watercolors that all looked to have been painted by the same hand (one of only middling talent). Della might have dismissed his artistic taste, but the obvious explanation was that he must have sold anything of real value to pay his debts and these remnants were all that he’d judged himself able or willing to keep. Rather than making her sad, Della found something hopeful in the act of trying to improve one’s surroundings in the face of a setback.
The room had a little window overlooking the street, shrouded by white curtains, with a writing desk set before it. Beside the desk were two slender bookcases that housed an assortment of volumes. At the end of the room, a door stood ajar. Through it, Della could just see Lord Ashton’s bed. She looked quickly away, her face heating. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here.
Della had taken more than her fair share of risks in her life, but this one made her unexpectedly nervous. Would Ashton think she intended to proposition him, rather than work on her writing as she’d claimed? She’d been too distressed to consider the appearances of things when they’d left the house. All she knew was that she needed one thing to go in her favor today, and he’d offered the means to make that happen. But now that she was here, in a room that smelled faintly of sandalwood just as he did, the gravity of Della’s decision hit her. She was in the place where Lord Ashton lived, wrote, and slept, looking at all the things he’d collected and kept nearest him. This was… intimate .
Lord Ashton didn’t seem to have noticed her sudden shyness. He moved quickly around the room, tucking away a few stray objects.
“Sorry about the mess.”
“Mess?” Della looked about the room. It was spotless. She’d seen him move nothing more significant than a notebook and a tie pin. “I’m glad you never came to my bedroom. The sight would have given you conniptions.”
Why on earth did you say that?
If she’d resolved not to proposition Lord Ashton, reminding him of her previous (and still recent) proposition wasn’t the best beginning.
He blinked, pressed his lips together for an instant, and then looked quickly to the desk, “Please, sit. Will this be enough space for you?”
Della obeyed, happy to have something else to focus on. “Yes, I should think so. But what about you?”
“I can sit there.” He motioned to a little settee in the opposite corner. It was far from the light of the window and there would be no place to set down his pages or ink to write, unless he braced his work on his lap.
“You won’t be comfortable. Do you have another chair? We can fit two at the desk.”
“If you’re sure…” Lord Ashton’s doubtful gaze rested on her a moment, then he went out into the hall and returned with a dining chair that he set beside Della.
It was a bit cozy for two people, but they were able to fit both their notebooks side by side. She would just have to ignore the way every rustle of Lord Ashton’s sleeve made her want to lean his way and trace the faint stubble on his jaw with her mouth.
The book. You asked him to come here to write your book. You need to finish this if you’re ever going to get more members for Jane. Despite everything, she could still do one thing right.
Della sat a bit straighter in her chair and set to work. She’d brought all her notes with her, though now that it was time to assemble them into a coherent whole, she rather regretted her habit of jotting down ideas on whatever was handy when they came to her—the back of a letter, the borders of the morning post, and only very rarely in the notebook she’d purchased for precisely this purpose. She’d shoved it all haphazardly into a bundle when she’d left her house and had a devil of a time getting it back in the proper order now. Once she’d finished organizing her things and actually started writing, though, she found the words came quickly. The chapter on the views was easy. She recalled the way the city had stretched out before them and the pure delight she’d felt at the sight of so many steeples and rooftops bunched together, each hiding an entire world within. Not only for herself, but for Ashton too. The sight had brought a warmth to his eyes that she’d wanted to fix there forever. The lines of strain around his lips and eyes had softened, and she’d known it must be something worth writing about if it had impressed him.
Once she’d captured the feelings of that morning to her satisfaction, Della rounded out the chapter with some of the other vistas she’d explored since. Fleet Street, but also Primrose Hill, Parliament Hill, and the view of the city looking out from the upper stories of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. Though none were as exceptional as the bridge, she searched for some pretty language to dress them up. When she’d finished, she set down her pencil and noticed that her hand was all cramped up. She flexed it for a moment, trying to ease the stiffness in her knuckles.
Lord Ashton looked up at the movement, watching her in silence.
“How long were we writing?” she asked. She hadn’t thought to check the clock when they’d arrived, and she’d lost all sense of time this morning after being up most of the night.
“A little under two hours.”
Most encouraging. She normally didn’t get that far without an interruption at home. If only she hadn’t been gripping her pencil quite so tight in her excitement.
Lord Ashton was either a mind reader, or he’d grown tired of watching her flex and unflex her fingers, for he took her hand in his and began to massage her palm.
“Oh.” Heat flooded Della’s whole body, but she didn’t pull her hand back. She wasn’t sure that she would be capable of it even if she’d wanted to. Neither of them wore gloves, and the rasp of his fingertips over her skin combined with the gentle pressure everywhere it hurt nearly made her moan. She bit her lip and kept her dignity, silently relishing every minute.
“How did it go?” Lord Ashton asked.
“Very well, I think. I’ve finished the chapter on views, and I plan to start on theaters and nightlife just as soon as I’ve had a little break.”
But Lord Ashton only asked, “Do you need anything? Would you like to stretch your legs and walk for a while?”
You might kiss me, if you like, she nearly answered. That would be a lovely way to reward herself. But she managed to hold her tongue. It was only his kindness after the rotten day she’d had that made her thinking so muddled.
He was still massaging her palm.
“I suppose we can’t exactly stroll around Pimlico together,” Della said regretfully. She might have liked to explore his neighborhood if they’d been properly chaperoned. She’d never been to this part of town before. But it wouldn’t be wise to be seen coming out of the same lodgings.
“No,” Ashton confirmed. He finally released her hand, and Della clutched it to her chest with a faint sense of loss. “I can offer you a turn about the room. If you go slowly, you may stretch it out for two or three whole minutes.”
Della laughed at the jest, but decided to take him up on the offer. She rose to her feet and wandered to the bookshelves, peering at the titles. She was curious to see what they told him about his character and interests.
Mostly reference materials and scientific journals. Languages, histories, and a touch of economics. Ugh, how boring. But wait! Here were a few lonely novels: Dickens, Balzac, and most encouragingly, George Sand, whom Della admired. So there was hope for Lord Ashton yet.
He watched her investigation from the writing desk, unperturbed.
Della returned to her place beside him and wrote for another hour or so, a sense of urgency driving her onward despite the fatigue that dulled her brain. She had returned to the passage on gambling clubs, determined to secure the reputation of Bishop’s and make all of this worthwhile. Ashton was so silent, she could almost forget he was there, but for the soft rise and fall of his breath and the occasional brush of his knee against hers when Della shifted positions. It was her stomach that finally made her stop. Though she hadn’t even noticed that she was hungry while she was immersed in her text, an embarrassing gurgle from her midsection reminded her that between her distress this morning and her flight to Ashton’s residence, she hadn’t eaten all day.
“I’m rather hungry,” Ashton announced, gallantly pretending not to hear her. “Shall I go fetch us something to eat down the road? I won’t be more than a quarter hour.”
“Thank you so much,” she said. The stress of the day was catching up with her all at once, and she felt pitifully grateful for his kindness. “No one has ever…” She broke off, not sure what she’d intended to say. Della had plenty of people in her life who’d given her presents before, or helped her with something. Plenty of people who loved her, even. She had her parents, Annabelle, Peter, Jane, Reva, Eli, and countless other friends.
But until today, she couldn’t say that anyone had looked at her with so much patience, asked her, “What do you need?” and listened to her reply with total sincerity.
He’d given her exactly what she asked for. Not what he thought would be best or what she was supposed to want instead.
“Anyway, thank you,” Della finished awkwardly.
He held her gaze for a short moment, his eyes darkening to the hue of an ancient forest, then gathered his hat to leave.
Once Ashton had gone, she was forced to acknowledge that she was simply too tired to work anymore without sustenance. Della rose from the desk and crossed the room to collapse on the little settee in the corner. It immediately let out a groan and sank eight inches beneath her weight.
Goodness. And Ashton was planning to write on this thing? It must be as old as the house itself. She hopped back to her feet and paced the room instead, trying to stretch her legs. They felt like lead. It would have been so nice to rest for a moment until he returned with something to eat…
As she circled the room, Della’s gaze slid to the crack in the open door leading to the bedroom. There was nothing spectacular inside; no four-poster with velvet curtains. But the plain wooden frame and thick mattress perched atop it looked like heaven right now. She couldn’t, could she?
It would be inappropriate. That was the viscount’s bed, where he spent each night. ( Naked, perhaps? Oh dear. ) Della had absolutely no business slipping off her shoes and padding softly into the room, running a finger along the soft linen sheets, and finally resting her head upon his pillow.
Oh, but it was heaven!
She inhaled deeply, imagining Lord Ashton beside her. With his scent all around her and the brush of his sheets against her skin, it wasn’t too difficult. All she wanted was to bury herself in a comforting embrace and pretend yesterday was a bad dream.
***
Lyman returned only five minutes later than promised with two roast beef sandwiches wrapped in a parcel of brown paper, but found the room empty.
His heart skipped a beat. Had someone come home and found Della here? But there was no sign of anyone.
“Della?” he called softly. No answer. Wait, there were her shoes on the floor. He set their collation down on the desk and nudged the door to his bedroom open. Della was sprawled diagonally across the bed, snoring softly.
Lyman crossed the room and sat gingerly in the space behind the bend of her knees. Half of her skirts were trailing off the side of the bed, but her legs were firmly on the mattress, her stockings exposed where the fabric had twisted up a little way. He didn’t know whether he should wake her or let her sleep, or perhaps try to reposition her in a more comfortable manner. Then again, if she’d managed to fall asleep in her stays, comfort must not have been her primary concern.
Miss Annabelle had said she didn’t think her sister had slept all night. Rest was probably more important than food now. Better not to disturb her.
The gentlemanly thing to do would be to put a blanket over her and go wait in the next room until she wakes up.
But Lyman drank in the sight for another moment. He didn’t have the right words to say what he felt now. If Della were awake and asked him to ravish her, he would have been hard-pressed to refuse. But the feeling swirling in his chest was about more than desire.
He’d never had a woman sleep in his bed before.
He and Ellen had kept separate bedrooms when they’d lived together. Later, his lovers were ladies in charge of their own households. He’d slipped in at their invitation, then slipped out again before any curious neighbors could spy him in the light of day.
This was something new. Lyman wasn’t sure he knew what to do with it—how to fit this development into their agreement to keep a distance between them.
Slowly, he lay down in the empty space around Della’s body (a difficult feat, as she’d flung her limbs out in every direction). If he’d been married to a woman he’d loved, might they have passed the night this way instead of retiring to separate rooms each evening? It felt strange to have another person so close.
“Di’ you find sumthig to eat?”
“ Christ! ” Lyman nearly jumped out of his skin. “I thought you were asleep!”
“Mmph.” Della’s voice was slurred and thick. “Awake th’ whole time.”
“You weren’t,” he insisted, sitting back up. “You were—” He’d been about to say, snoring, but thought better of it at the last minute. Never mind. Perhaps she was too tired to even realize she’d been insensible in the short time he’d been away. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. I wasn’t going to take advantage,” he assured her quickly. “I was just—”
What had he been doing? Pretending he knew what it felt like to share a true union with someone, instead of a cold parody of it? He couldn’t settle on an explanation that didn’t sound ridiculous.
“I know.” Della had opened her eyes by now and turned to watch him through heavy lids, though she made no move to rise. “I’m sorry I came in without asking. I only wanted to rest my head a minute. I hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” he said softly.
For a moment, there was a charged silence. Until Della broke it with a whisper. “You could join me if you like.”
Lyman could scarcely breathe. He must have fallen asleep beside Della and slipped into a dream.
You shouldn’t. It will only make things harder when you part ways.
But Lyman didn’t want to stop and consider all the reasons he should refuse. He didn’t want to be rational. What he wanted was to forget himself for long enough to be with Della—to drink up every drop of pleasure she offered and damn the consequences. Lyman lowered himself back upon the bed. Not as he had a minute ago, when he’d taken care not to touch her. This time he would touch her everywhere.
He settled his weight on top of Della as he claimed her lips. Lyman was already growing hard, and pressed his hips into hers, but was frustrated to find only infinite layers of fabric to meet him. She winced slightly.
“Forgive me. Am I too heavy?” Lyman withdrew, propping himself on his elbows.
“It’s not that,” she assured him. “Just that this gown isn’t meant for lying down in.” With a wicked smile, she added, “Could you help me?” and rolled onto her stomach, exposing a long line of buttons to his reach. Lyman set to work on them at once, but the blasted things were so small that it was hard to push them through the delicate fabric loops on the other side. It was rather like trying to unwrap a long-awaited present, only to discover that the giver had seen fit to bury it beneath five layers of paper and twelve types of ribbon.
“I’m going to need your help getting back into all this again,” Della pointed out, once they had finally succeeded in wrestling her free of her gown and Lyman was growling his frustration at the laces on her corset. “Try not to rip anything.”
“Might we not burn it instead?”
Ladies’ maids were criminally underpaid, if they had to do this twice a day.
But when the task was finally done, the sight of Della naked was worth it. Holy hell.
Lyman groaned, falling upon her like a starving man before a feast, running his hands over every inch of her generous curves. Her full, round breasts and the gentle slope of her belly before it reached the spread of her hips. She was so soft. Like silk everywhere.
Della had already removed several of his layers while he’d still been undressing her, and Lyman’s clothes quickly joined her gown on the floorboards.
“We have to be careful,” she warned him. “I don’t want any accidents.”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “There’s plenty we can do together without any risk.”
***
Della considered this pronouncement, though it was quite difficult to concentrate while Ashton was running his lips down the sensitive skin of her throat and his hand was toying with her breasts. She shivered.
She wanted to undo him completely. To drive him wild with desire and smash his typical restraint into pieces. But he was the one driving her self-control away.
He has an unfair advantage, really, as my self-control isn’t much to start with.
Della ran her hands down the firm planes of Ashton’s body, over the scruff of hair on his chest, down his waist, until she landed on his cock and gripped it firmly. His answering groan was delicious. She began to stroke, relishing the heat of his skin in her palm and the urgent pace of his breath. Ashton copied her example, slipping his fingers inside her. He didn’t ask for any guidance this time, falling expertly into the rhythm she’d shown him before. Della was truly lost now.
They pleasured each other this way for a few minutes, until Ashton caught her wrist and pulled her hand away.
“No more,” he rasped, his face tight. “I want you to finish first.”
“I don’t mind,” Della reassured him. “I’d like to see you come apart.”
“ I mind.” He was using his Stern Viscount Voice, the one she hadn’t heard much of since they’d grown more friendly. She might have missed it, at least a little. “I intend to ravish you completely. You may only touch me again once the job is done.”
Della couldn’t very well argue with that. In fact, the command in his voice was doing just as much for her as his touch. “Very well,” she replied breathlessly. “How do you plan to begin?”
“Tell me what you want.”
“No, no,” Della insisted. “I like it better when you take charge with that scolding tone of yours.”
“I don’t scold.” Ashton drew back, affronted.
“You do, but it’s enjoyable in the proper setting.”
He scoffed but seemed to consider this. When he looked at Della again, his face had grown more serious.
“Spread your legs for me.” His voice was low and clipped. Like a determined schoolmaster.
Della was quick to obey, sucking in a breath at his boldness. This was the side of Lord Ashton she’d hoped to uncover.
Ashton positioned himself on his knees at the foot of the bed, watching her for a long moment. His face remained impassive, as if the sight of Della’s sex didn’t move him, but his cock still stood at attention.
He raised his eyes to meet Della’s where she lay. They shone with anticipation. “I’m going to pleasure you now, but I don’t want you to climax too quickly. Only when I say it’s time.”
That would be difficult, if he kept talking to her this way. She was so eager she could scarcely keep herself from leaping on him. Ashton gripped her thigh, his hand hot and rough against her skin. He cocked one eyebrow, as if testing the waters, but the only thing to escape Della’s mouth was a desperate whimper.
Now. Please.
He bent his head over her sex, his tongue flitting over the sensitive flesh so quickly she dug her nails into his arms to anchor herself. After so much anticipation, the sudden contact sent a wash of sensation over her body. When he thrust his tongue inside her, she cried out.
Ashton withdrew immediately. “I said slow .”
“Please,” Della begged. “Slow might kill me.”
A self-satisfied smile flitted over Ashton’s face, but he suppressed it quickly.
When he spoke again, he enunciated each word. “If you can’t control yourself, perhaps we should do something less stimulating.”
The groan that escaped Della’s lips was an explosive mix of arousal and frustration. “I can control myself,” she ground out. “Try again. Please. ”
He made a liar out of her within a minute. Though Della bit her lip to keep from crying out the second his tongue reached her, she couldn’t fight the pressure that had been building inside her. She squirmed beneath him, her body responding faster than her mind could seize control. Ashton was spreading pure ecstasy between her legs. How was she supposed to resist this onslaught?
I can’t. He was simply too good at this, and she’d been waiting too long. Della grasped his shoulders and clung for dear life as her climax shuddered through her, sharp and inevitable.
Ashton raised his head to frown at her. “That still wasn’t slow.”
“I couldn’t help it,” she murmured weakly. The rush of her own heartbeat was still sounding in her ears. “I was too excited. Let me do the same for you now.”
“No. I’m not finished with you yet.”
Really?
“This might be a bit much.”
“Is it?” Ashton asked mildly, creeping back up the bed until their faces were level once more. “I said I planned to ravish you completely and you agreed. It seems you underestimated my thoroughness.”
Though he was still attempting to look stern, a giddy laugh escaped Della’s lips. She wasn’t sure what was in store for her, but it promised to be enjoyable.
Ashton leaned over her and kissed her deeply. His hand traced the contours of her breast. His touch was lighter, more patient than it had been a moment ago. But the firm reminder of his own need pressed into her thigh. How could he stand to wait so long for his own pleasure?
Della slid her hands down to cup his rear and pull him closer, until his arousal came to rest against her sex. A low rumble in Ashton’s chest signaled his approval. She loved the weight of his body atop her own; the insistent reminder of his need.
“I want you inside of me,” she pleaded. Anything less wasn’t enough. She wanted to know she’d had everything Ashton could give her, even if it couldn’t last forever. “If you think you’ll be able to withdraw in time?”
“I’ll be careful,” he promised her, his face suddenly serious. “But there’s always some risk, and you know I won’t be able to offer you any security if there’s an accident.” He paused, appearing hesitant. “I have French letters if you don’t object to my using one. They prevent conception and I could withdraw as well.”
Della wouldn’t have expected Lord Ashton to have such a thing at hand, as they were generally looked upon with disdain. But she supposed a man in his position needed to be sure. She appreciated the extra measure of care he offered, at any rate.
“All right.”
Ashton rose to open the drawer by his bedside, found it empty, and was obliged to spend a moment trying to locate the condoms before he found them in the commode against the opposite wall. He returned to the bed with a sheepish look that made him seem younger. Once he slid the condom over his length, he paused to look at Della, his eyes darkening. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she replied without hesitation. She was probably too sure—not only about bedding Lord Ashton, but about most everything in her life. Della knew that she leapt into things without thinking them through. Her friends and family would be the first to point it out.
But she didn’t think this was a mistake. It wasn’t only that she’d found Ashton attractive from the first moment of their acquaintance, nor that she wanted to claim the victory of seducing a man who’d been so aloof at first. Somewhere along the way, it had become far more than that. She’d come to respect Ashton. To trust him as well as her dearest friends. There was something about his patience, his steadfast forbearance in the face of any setback, that Della found enormously comforting. She might once have considered such dependability to be only a step above boredom, but now she saw things very differently. It was a rare and amazing quality, to offer someone else what they needed.
She wanted to give Ashton what he needed too.
He eased himself inside her, breath hitching. Della still felt warm and loose-limbed from her climax, and she took him with ease. A low groan escaped her lips at the sensation it produced. Ashton captured the sound with a kiss, his tongue exploring hers.
He rocked his hips in a slow, deep rhythm. Too slow, she might have said an hour earlier. But now that she was thoroughly relaxed, Della found that she could better appreciate Ashton’s insistence on thoroughness. She kissed him back, burying one hand in his hair while the other one gripped his back, pulling him close. She loved the feeling of his firm chest pressing down on her softness. He seemed to savor her body as well, running his hands eagerly over every curve. But best of all was the tension that hummed in his every movement. Ashton was like a rope pulled so taut it seemed destined to snap, yet still he held firm.
“Please,” she murmured. “Let go. I want you to lose control.”
Ashton gave a strangled groan as he thrust a bit deeper. “I’m supposed to pull out, remember?”
I don’t care, she nearly said. This feels too good to stop. But she caught herself in time. That was her reckless side again. She would regret it if she found herself in a family way.
“I need you to let go,” he commanded, with none of the cool assurance he’d shown before. This sounded more like a plea. “And quickly.”
Ashton slid his free hand down from her breast to find the place where they joined, and wedged his fingers between them, pressing down. Della whimpered. He increased his pace, driving her mercilessly toward climax again.
“That’s it,” he ground out. “I told you I wasn’t finished with you yet.”
“Ashton,” she gasped. “Please.”
“Please what?” He seemed to be fighting to keep his voice steady.
“Don’t stop. Don’t— Oh! ”
Della gasped as pleasure overtook her yet again. A wave of heat seemed to wash over her entire body, radiating outward to her limbs. Ashton rode it with her for only an instant before he pulled out and spent himself against her belly, his face contorting. She drank in the sight. When his own climax had passed, he bent his forehead down to rest against her shoulder, struggling to catch his breath.
They were both silent for a long time. Della didn’t think she would be capable of speech for some time yet. Whether it was Ashton’s skill as a lover or the effect of too little sleep, the room was still spinning.
He was the one who finally spoke, murmuring the words into her skin in the form of a kiss. “Thank you. I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in…” He paused. “Well, I don’t know how long.”
He rose to the basin to clean himself up. Once he’d put his trousers back on, he turned back to Della with an appreciative glance.
“There are still sandwiches if you want one.”
Food! Della felt far too lazy to put all her clothes on quite yet, but she managed to tug her shift over her shoulders and drag her feet to the writing desk where Ashton had set their meal. She sighed with contentment as she finally tucked in. The first bite was heaven.
“May I ask you something personal?” Della said, once she’d had the chance to get a few mouthfuls into her stomach.
“I could hardly object at this point.”
Della liked the easy way in which Ashton acknowledged what they’d shared. She’d half feared he would suffer regrets once they left the bedroom.
“Why do you always postpone your own pleasure? You were the same way after the casino. You scarcely let me touch you.” She’d never met a man quite this patient.
Ashton’s face fell. He seemed a bit uncomfortable as he answered. “When I still lived with my wife, we weren’t…” He broke off here, searching for his words. “Let’s just say there wasn’t much passion between us. She thought it unseemly to discuss what happened in the bedroom, and I never knew what she wanted. I always felt that I’d failed her, even before I lost the house.” He drew a long breath. “It’s important for me not to feel that way again. I want to know that the woman I’m with is satisfied.”
“Well, I most definitely am,” Della said with a gentle laugh. She took another bite of her sandwich and swallowed before she spoke again. “But I hope you don’t put too much pressure on yourself. It’s normal for things not to be perfect every time, you know. I would have been content just to be close to you.”
Ashton appeared surprised by this, but took a bite of his sandwich and said nothing.
“May I ask…” Della hesitated, not wanting to intrude, but letting her curiosity guide her anyway. “If you and Lady Ashton weren’t in love, why did you marry in the first place?”
“The same reason most people with a title marry,” he said ruefully. “Our families pressured us into it. My father was on his deathbed and wanted to see his legacy carried on before he passed. Hers was eager to consolidate the family fortunes and see her children styled as lord and lady one day. Everyone seemed to want the match except me, and I didn’t have the heart to fight it.
“I was very angry with my father after he died. I blamed him for my situation. He’d left me without any other family, and things with Ellen were already starting to fall apart. I began to spend all my time carousing with friends instead of at home. A self-indulgent sort of rebellion that didn’t help anyone.” Ashton offered Della a bleak smile. “You already know the rest.”
“How awful.” Della took his hand in hers and gave it a small squeeze.
“I don’t want you feeling sorry for me. My present circumstances are entirely of my own making.”
“Even so, I’m sorry you were put into that situation in the first place. It makes me very glad my own parents don’t care one fig if I marry.”
“They may care if you don’t return home all night,” Ashton countered, with a glance to the clock on his mantel. “It’s getting late.”
“I doubt they’ll notice that either,” she replied with a laugh. But he looked at her oddly, as if she’d said something wrong. “What’s the matter?”
Ashton seemed to struggle for a moment, then said, “Nothing. It’s not my place.”
“I don’t mean that they don’t care about me,” Della added quickly, guessing the source of his concern. “They’re very kind.”
He looked her square in the eye as he spoke. “If I had a daughter—or a son for that matter—I would make it my business to know if they were safe.”
“But I’m perfectly safe here. Would you rather they locked me up in a tower, and I never had the chance to sneak into your bed?”
He raised his hands in surrender. “That’s why I told you it wasn’t my place. I can hardly criticize when I’m the person they should be protecting you from.”
“Nonsense,” Della said heartily. “They trust me to make my own decisions, and I think I’ve made an excellent decision in coming here.”
She rose to her feet and kissed Lord Ashton to underscore her point. “I regret nothing, and neither should you.”
At that moment, heavy footfalls sounded on the stairs outside.
I may have spoken too soon.
“Are they on their way up here?” Della asked, worry creeping into her voice.
“Shh!” Ashton looked frantic. He motioned for her to hide in the bedroom (she took the last half of her sandwich with her; she was not dealing with whatever this was on an empty stomach), before he slipped out the door. A pair of masculine voices filled the hall a moment later, though Della couldn’t make out their words. Whoever it was, he was definitely nearby. Oh, goodness.
How was she to get back home?