20. Breaking Free #2
They held their breath as heavy footsteps passed by their hiding place.
Through the slats of the door, faint light cast shadows across Alex’s face, his profile tense, watchful.
She tensed too, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat.
In response, his arm tightened around her, not just to keep her still—but to shield her.
In the passage, just beyond the closet, a gruff voice muttered, “I thought I heard something.”
Lucinda froze. Alex’s hold grew just a fraction firmer.
“Must have been the dog,” another man replied.
“I thought Rudi was gagging it again.”
“Nah, Carrick needed him out front for a scuffle. He didn’t have time to wrestle with the mutt. We better deal with it before Madam has our heads for letting it kick up a fuss.”
Alex’s fingers curled around Lucinda’s shoulder. They remained like statues as the men continued down the corridor, their voices fading behind curtains.
Lucinda didn’t dare to breathe. But pressed as she was against Alex, she felt the slow rise and fall of his chest—so steady, so reassuring. His sandalwood scent and something deeper, something purely him—surrounded her, grounding her.
“Breathe, Lulu,” he whispered, his lips brushing her hair. “Slowly, now.”
Her exhale trembled against his collarbone. He loosened his hold slightly, though his hands lingered, as if reluctant to let go.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was rough with concern.
Lucinda tilted her head back, forsaking her precarious cap. She was completely mesmerized by the worry in his eyes, which only added to his handsomeness.
“P—Periwinkle is,” she stammered.
A slow, devastating smile curved his lips. “Periwinkle?” he echoed, voice rich with amusement. “I see.”
The closet seemed to shrink, the air between them charged. She could count his lashes at this proximity.
“Alex, it’s not true,” she whispered.
His brow furrowed. “Peri isn’t hurt, then?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not engaged to Miles.”
Something flickered in his eyes—relief, longing, something deeper still. His thumb traced her cheekbone, tenderly.
“I know, my darling.” The endearment curled through. “Miles told me everything. If I hadn’t been a prideful fool—if I’d stayed by your side—” His voice broke. “You wouldn’t now be suffering Creswell’s attentions. Faith, Lucinda—I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Alex, you don’t owe me apologies—”
“I owe you everything .” His hand slid to cradle her nape, urgency bleeding into every word. “Because I’ve tried—God help me, I’ve tried—to imagine a life without you, and it’s empty . Lucinda, when I held you in my arms for that waltz—”
He was silenced by Rudi’s voice thundering down the passage.
“What do you mean, locked? I left the key there.”
“It’s no matter, Rudi, the mutt’s not making a sound.”
“Well, it ought to be!” Rudi snapped. “Which one of you pocketed the blasted key?”
No answer was proffered and a distant thump was heard as Rudi threw his weight against the door. There was a pause while Lucinda waited for the inevitable discovery through the keyhole or under the door.
“Idiots,” Rudi roared. “Downstairs, quick! I can see the blasted room is empty.”
A confused murmur came from his men. “How?” one of them asked.
“I don’t care. Now move! That delivery boy has the dog!”
The sound of heavy feet thudded in obeisance to this order, moving past the closet once more and causing the floorboards to shake.
The men barreled through the curtain partitions, toward the end of the corridor, where the servants’ stairs spiraled down to the kitchens.
Their departure left only a fleeting sense of relief.
The cellar door had been Lucinda’s point of ingress, and now it was certain to be the most heavily guarded.
“Alex,” she whispered, “we’ve no means to escape now.”
To her astonishment, Alex seemed glad. “No need to fret, the cellar is precisely where I hoped they’d go.”
Lucinda blinked. “But how will we get Peri out?”
“The front door,” he said, opening the closet to spy into the corridor.
“But Miles said there would be too many footmen guarding the front rooms.”
“That might be a danger if they had a mind to look at us,” Alex countered, looking back at her wild red hair. “Here,” he said, handing her back her oversized cap. “Getting your curls under that again will be a start.”
Lucinda replaced her cap. “Why won’t they look at us?”
“Do you hear that?” The distant murmur of voices carried an unmistakable note of excitement, punctuated by bursts of laughter and exclamations of triumph. “That is the sound of my friend at the hazard table holding everyone spellbound.”
“You are quite deranged.”
Without looking, his hand found hers. “Trust me, Lulu. We’ll be free of this place soon.” Alex moved with quiet confidence toward the carpeted main stair. The passage was mercifully empty as they continued their stealthy exit.
The guards and servants, normally stationed along the hallways, were occupied with Rudi or captivated by Johan’s winning run.
Reaching the ground floor, they came upon the low-slung curtains at the Hazard room entrance.
Another triumphant shout went up from within, at which point, Periwinkle fretted.
Lucinda tried to hold him close but his whimpers grew louder. Alex then stilled her hand.
“He’s heard Miles,” he whispered. “Let him go. This will work to our advantage.”
With little fighting spirit left, Lucinda let the greyhound bound free with a yelp, and sagged against the wall.
“Johan has them in the palm of his hand,” Alex whispered close to her ear. “We’ll slip through like smoke.”
Lucinda nodded weakly at him.
“You’re struggling,” he said, concerned. “Why didn’t you say—”
“We haven’t the luxury of stopping.” Pushing off the wall, she said, “Let’s get out of here.”
Without another word, he slipped an arm about her shoulders, steadying her to reach the front door, where he ushered her into the cool night air.
Behind them, Periwinkle had run limping and barking into the Hazard room.
Curses were let loose and gamblers were dizzy with the dog’s erratic course.
Madam Bittermann cried aloud for the animal to be caught, enlivening the distracted footmen to scurry around the legs of the guests to capture the elusive animal.
Peri made several panic-stricken circles until he spotted Miles’ open arms and rushed into them.
From his vantage point, Johan glanced at the doorway and noticed Alex, with his arm around someone, moving toward the entrance. He smiled and darted a glimpse at Madam Bittermann, wondering if she also saw the shadows pass. To his relief, she was consumed by the hubbub.
Outside, the oppressive heat of the gaming house fell away, replaced by the bracing chill of the London night. Alex glanced around the darkened street. The doorman, Carrick, was arguing with another gentleman some yards away. Thankfully, his coach was in the other direction.
“Our window is small—let’s not waste it.”
Lucinda drew in a shaky breath, but her knees buckled as they descended the shallow stoop.
Alex steadied her. “Careful now,” he murmured.
“I shall do perfectly well,” Lucinda insisted, though she grew paler.
“You’re many things, Lucinda, but well is not one of them,” Alex countered. “I’m not about to let you crumble here.”
He tightened his hold on her elbow, guiding her toward his coach standing but thirty feet down the road. But as they neared, Lucinda stumbled again, her strength spent. With a muttered curse, Alex swept her into his arms.
“Alex—” she began.
“Hush,” he murmured, his tone brooking no argument. “This is no time for misplaced heroics. Peri has already found his way to safer arms. Now it’s your turn.”
She said no more, too weak to resist such a lovely offer. Alex wanted to take care of her. The blissful concept settled on her slouched, drowsy form.
Sinclair’s coachman perceived his master’s approach, opening the door and letting down the steps in good time.
His curiosity, getting the better of him with lingering looks, did not go unnoticed by his master.
What appeared to be a disheveled boy was propped into a corner upright, but it collapsed onto the seat cushions instead.
“Not a word, Timms,” Alex said in a tone that discouraged curiosity. “My Aunt’s bootboy found himself some trouble, that’s all. Get us to Marlstone House with all possible haste.”
“Very good, milord,” Timms said, though a bemused expression lingered as he climbed back onto his seat.
Eyes drooping with exhaustion, Lucinda lifted the brim of her cap. “A bootboy?”
“Considering your attire, what other plausible excuse could I give?”
“ ‘Tis a wine porter’s rig, Alex,” she grumbled from beneath her cap, “and there was no need to carry me like some swooning damsel.”
“Perhaps not,” he agreed, his voice softening.
“But I found I could not resist the opportunity.” Removing his jacket, he folded it with deliberate care before placing the precious creation of Henri Verdelle under Lucinda’s cheek.
The fine wool carried the lingering warmth of his body, and she instinctively nestled into it.
“If you must know, I rather enjoy playing the knight errant for once—especially when the damsel in question is you.”
Her incorrigible curls made yet another escape, but Alex found he had no desire to see them tamed.
“You’ve shown extraordinary courage tonight, my dear. What you’ve done for Peri…few could have managed it. You might allow someone else to shoulder the burden, from time to time. Preferably me.”
Her eyelids fluttered open, and she fixed him with a hazy, searching look. “Would Lord Sinclair volunteer for such a task?” she asked dreamily, closing her eyes again.
He leaned closer, his breath stirring the loose tendrils at her temple. “For you, my dear Miss Harrington—” His fingers, once more, traced the curve of her cheek with aching tenderness, “—I would count it a privilege.”
She smiled but didn’t open her eyes. “I shall endeavor…to remember that,” her words slurred as sleep overtook her.
He watched the steady rise and fall of her breath for a moment, then, unable to resist, pressed a feather-light kiss to her brow. “See that you do,” he whispered.