Chapter 4 #2
Mr. Corbyn cast a glance upward as the creaking shifted to a different part of the ceiling, perhaps thinking the same thing.
“You should go,” he said, his voice clipped. “Now.”
Hannah bristled at this. “You’re very rude. You could at least say thank you for the money first.”
“Thank you.” He’d obviously only obliged the request in order to be rid of her.
He wasn’t even looking at Hannah as he barked out the words.
His gaze was still fixed above his head, where the creaking had taken on an oddly rhythmic quality.
Was someone up there using a rocking chair?
“Now hurry, before you hear something you shouldn’t. ”
“What does that mean?”
At that moment, the moaning began.
Oh. Hannah’s eyes grew round as she understood. It wasn’t a rocking chair.
Mr. Corbyn sighed, raking a hand through his hair and setting the burnished gold into messy waves. He didn’t seem surprised. He’d been expecting this.
“Do they…do that every day?” she asked timidly. The lady seemed to be enjoying herself a great deal, particularly given that they’d scarcely been at this for a minute. Hannah wondered what the gentleman was doing to make her shriek that way.
Mr. Corbyn cast Hannah an incredulous look. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
“No,” she squeaked. “Best not.”
How could he listen to them without feeling embarrassed? Hannah wasn’t sure where to look. But then, Mr. Corbyn probably had no trouble finding a woman to share his bed. That sort of thing must be so commonplace to him that he’d long since lost any sense of shame.
With a start, she realized he was staring at her.
As if he’d been reading her thoughts with that penetrating stare of his.
No, not penetrating. That was the last adjective she should be associating with Mr. Corbyn at a time like this.
Nor should she be wondering if he knew how to make a woman scream that way.
Hannah tried to swallow, and found her throat had gone entirely dry.
“Well, I’ll be off, then,” she said tightly, before she could embarrass herself any further.
A prolonged groan several feet above her left ear said that the gentleman upstairs was likely off as well.
She couldn’t bear to meet Mr. Corbyn’s eye as she fumbled for the doorknob.
“Wait.” His clipped baritone caught her on the landing like a fish on a hook.
“Y-yes?”
He looked at her for a long time. (Could she describe it as a piercing stare? No, that was just as bad. Why were all the descriptors for stares excessively sexual?)
“Take care not to make things worse for yourself, Miss Williams.”
“Pardon?” She was so flustered, she could hardly follow what he was saying.
His eyes seemed almost softer, as if their icy blue had melted a touch. “I don’t pretend to know what you’re doing, but I’ve seen what it looks like when someone cares more for their own anger than for their safety. It doesn’t end well.”
Oh dear. His voice was so serious, it gave her a frisson. But who was he to give her advice? The only thing that linked them was the fact that he’d been in the right place at the right time to help her outwit her mother. A fortuitous coincidence, but nothing more.
“Thank you, Mr. Corbyn, but there’s no cause for concern. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
It was true. For the first time in ages, everything in her life was going to plan.
* * *
But when Hannah returned to the town house, still giddy with the thrill of her daring adventure to find Mr. Corbyn, she found that nothing was going to plan.
She’d managed her secret excursion in less than an hour and had been hoping that she might escape notice entirely. Instead, she found the whole household waiting for her.
Jane answered the door herself. Their maid, Molly, must be occupied, or else Jane had been on the lookout.
The latter possibility felt more likely as she pulled Hannah indoors and hissed, “Where have you been? Everyone’s worried sick!”
Before she could answer, Hannah found herself shuffled toward the study, where her mother and Eli were conversing in low tones. They broke off as soon as they saw her.
Mama’s face looked pale and thin, the shadows under her eyes more prominent than they’d been since they’d left Devonshire.
“Where on earth have you been?” Her voice didn’t crack like a whip. It was barely the snap of a thin, dried-up branch.
Hannah squared her shoulders. Why should she feel guilty for leaving the house in the middle of the day? Nothing had happened. “I just went to pay a few morning calls.”
To a man who makes me feel as though my entire body is on fire whenever I’m near him.
Oh dear. Where had that thought come from? It was probably because she knew there was no chance she would ever be forced to marry Mr. Corbyn; it made her mind feel safe to entertain lustful imaginings.
“Morning calls?” It was plain this explanation hadn’t found any takers. Jane and Eli exchanged a speaking glance as Mama barreled on, her voice trembling with emotion. “Who would receive you after what you’ve done?”
That stung. Though Hannah knew people would react poorly to her illicit kiss (in fact, she was counting on it), there was no need to behave as if she were a leper. Surely a few loyal friends would still admit her into their company.
“We know you took the money that Della brought over this morning,” Eli added grimly.
Hannah whirled to Jane. “You told on me?”
“I was surprised when I found it gone. You can’t expect me to lie to my own husband,” she replied, her voice defensive. “Hannah, we’re worried about you. You haven’t been acting like yourself at all. Are you in some sort of trouble?”
Now they were worried. Too little, too late, as far as she was concerned.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Hannah said brightly, pointedly ignoring the déjà vu this conjured, so soon after Mr. Corbyn’s odd parting message. “I’m perfectly well.”
Mama extended her hand, palm up. “Give me the money.”
“I can’t.”
“Enough, Hannah.”
“I don’t have it anymore.”
Hannah wasn’t mean-spirited. She didn’t enjoy causing her family grief. But she had to admit, there was a certain shameful thrill in knowing she’d kept one step ahead of them.
“Where is it? What have you done now?” Mama cried. “For goodness’ sake, you’re taking years off of my life! Don’t you care how poorly this reflects on the whole family? When your father hears about this…”
“Oh, are you speaking to him again?”
Hannah couldn’t say which of them made that little gasp. It was as if the entire room drew a collective breath at the same instant from their identical, gaping mouths. The silence that followed was far more oppressive.
It was Eli who finally broke it. He rose to his feet, linked his arm with Hannah’s, and murmured, “Come upstairs.”
She didn’t protest. She had an uncomfortable fear that she’d gone too far, but how was she supposed to back down when everyone kept treating her like an escaped convict?
I can’t back down. If I do, this will all have been for nothing.
Eli didn’t say one word to her on the way up the stairs and down the hall to her bedroom, but the tension coming off his body was loud enough. Hannah was trembling by the time he put his hands on the knob, sure she was in for the worst dressing-down of her life.
But Eli only motioned her inside and stood in the doorframe. After a long sigh, he said, “You should cool off for a bit. Let’s talk about this at supper.”
“It’s two o’clock,” Hannah pointed out. “What am I supposed to do until then?”
“Sit quietly and give everyone time to recover. Preferably without running away again.”
He shut the door without further discussion.