Chapter Eighteen
THEY reached London late in the afternoon.
Ian had been considering each of his options and decided it was best they not meet Harrell in his own home.
“You don’t trust my father there?” Lyssa asked.
“We have much to say to him. Neutral territory is best.”
She lowered her gaze to the reins in her hands.
The frown line he was beginning to anticipate every time she worried formed between her eyes.
He leaned over and covered her hand with his for reassurance.
“All will be well,” he promised. “After all, you are already mine.” Every night on the road he’d held her in his arms. And last night, he’d dreamed she carried his child.
Nothing could take her away from him now.
Her gaze met his. She nodded. “Must we tell him about my stepmother?”
“What do you wish?”
She pressed her lips together. “I wish that we did not, and yet, what choice is there? I’m happy to remove myself from her sphere but what happens if some day in the future—?” She didn’t finish the thought. “His life could be in danger.”
Ian nodded. Of course, he had no illusions as to what Pirate Harrell’s response would be to an accusation against his wife.
Harrell didn’t strike him as someone who would appreciate having his judgment questioned.
And no matter how much Lyssa talked in the positive, he also knew Harrell would not accept him.
The test of Lyssa’s love would be if, when confronted by her father, she still choose Ian. He believed in his heart she would.
And yet life had played far too many dirty tricks to not consider the possibility of betrayal.
“Where do you propose we ask him to meet?” she said.
“I have a friend who owns an inn down by the wharves. It’s a respectable place although not in the best of neighborhoods.”
“Let’s go there then.”
“All right.”
He started to urge Fortune on, but Lyssa reached out and placed her hand on her arm. “Ian, no matter what, I shall stay with you.”
Bringing her hand up to his lips, he kissed it and she smiled. Yes, yes, yes, he wanted to believe.
They arrived at the Scrolled Serpent an hour later.
He and Roddy, the inn owner, went way back to his days in Ireland.
His friend was happy to let them have a private room and wise enough not to ask too many questions.
The room was located on the ground floor next to public room and had a window overlooking the street, perfect for Ian’s purposes.
While Lyssa wrote the letter telling her father she was home and begging him to come meet her alone, Ian stabled the horses. He had no money, so he offered the stable manager his pistol until payment could be made, knowing full well the gun might be pawned or sold before he returned.
That was just as well. In the future, he planned not to need it again.
Walking down the narrow alley back to the Serpent, he realized he was a changed man from the one who had left London mere weeks before.
He stopped, looking around at his surroundings.
Soon this would all be in his past. Before, he’d been a man who trusted no one.
Now, he searched for the good and meaningful in life.
The dream he’d had of finding freedom, of building a new home for his family was now in his grasp—and all because of Lyssa.
He found her sitting by the window, waiting for him while enjoying a cup of tea. Dropping his knapsack on the floor, he took the chair opposite hers at the table and asked, “Do we need to send the note?”
“We need the money my father promised you for finding me,” she answered, a practical wife already. “Besides, it’s already gone. Roddy had his son take it. We have only to wait now.”
Wait. He didn’t know if he could. As if reading his mind, she reached over and squeezed his hand. “It won’t be long now.”
“It could be hours.”
“Ian, not with my father.”
She was right. Within the hour, Harrell’s fine carriage rolled up to the inn door.
Lyssa caught sight of it out the window and sat up straight. The carriage door opened and Parker climbed down. “He didn’t come alone,” she said, her voice tight. Ian didn’t answer. Parker’s appearance could mean anything.
They watched as Harrell climbed out of the coach and then turned. He held out his hand for his wife.
“He brought her,” Lyssa said as if betrayed.
The former duchess moved slowly because of her advanced stage of pregnancy. She seemed calm, but her expression was one of worry. Ian couldn’t judge whether her concern was for her stepdaughter—or because she was about to be found out.
Grossett followed her out of the carriage but instead of moving on, he held out his hand and another woman came out of the coach.
She was some twenty years older than Mrs. Harrell and dressed expensively, although her clothing appeared gaudy next to Mrs. Harrell’s simple elegance.
She and Grossett bore an uncomfortable resemblance in their bulldog jowls and squinty eyes.
Lyssa looked to Ian. “That is Robert’s mother. A more unpleasant person you could never hope to meet, and she despises me. I don’t know why she is here. Ian, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be,” he ordered. “I’ll not let any harm come to you, and we might as well face them all. Come, let’s get this over with.” He stood, inviting her to do the same. Together they faced the door, her hand in his.
There was a moment of silence where the footfalls and sounds from the rest of the inn masked the opening of the front door, and then she said, “I wonder if Father will notice that I’ve changed?”
“That you are well loved?” he asked.
She laughed, not mistaking his meaning, but then sobered. “I feel I left London a child and I now return a woman. I’ve grown up so much, Ian. Let us pray Father can see beyond my worn clothes and wild hair and see what it is I have.” She gave his hand a squeeze for meaning.
Her words mirrored his own recent revelation. But before he could speak, Harrell’s voice came from out in the hall, demanding Roddy take him to his daughter.
The door opened without a knock and Lyssa pulled her hand from Ian’s. Her fists clenched…and Ian took a step back, trying to understand.
Pirate Harrell marched into the room. He was an imposing figured dressed in his black superfine down to his polished boots.
For a second, he and Lyssa faced off. “Father,” she said, acknowledging him.
“Daughter,” Harrell answered. His green gaze, so much like his daughter’s, swept her person from head to toe.
The tension stretched taut—and then Lyssa broke it by stepping forward. “I am so sorry.”
Her words seemed to linger in the air for a second before her father reached for her. They fell into each other’s arms, and he hugged her as if he’d never let her go.
And Ian feared the worst.
The others crowded in, Roddy shutting the door behind them.
Grossett appeared as pompous as ever with his expensive hat and artfully combed hair.
Ian was too conscious of their contrasts, of the fact he wore no coat, having left his off because of the torn sleeves.
His fortunes seemed to have been halved over the past weeks while everyone else had prospered.
Mrs. Harrell glided over to her husband and stepdaughter while Parker made arrangements for more chairs and drink.
She still didn’t strike Ian as a murderess.
At last, Harrell and Lyssa parted. “I was so afraid for you.”
“I was safe, Papa,” she said.
“How was I to know that?” he demanded. “I feared the worst, you know! I thought you might have been kidnapped.”
“But there was no ransom,” she answered.
“Who helped you? Who was behind this!”
“Me. I did it all myself,” she confessed.
Her words were a shock to her father. “But why? Why would you endanger yourself in such a manner?”
“Because I had to go to Amleth Hall,” she told softly. “I had to.”
Harrell made an exasperated sound. “For what purpose? And why could you not have asked me instead going off on some wild escapade?”
Her gaze grew sad. “I did ask you, and you ignored me. You were busy.”
“Lyssa, when have I refused you anything?” he countered.
Her gaze strayed to her stepmother. Ian braced himself, but instead, Lyssa said, “It was something you didn’t want to do. I’ve met the Davidsons. I understand why you would wish to never see them again. And, I think, too, there would be sad memories.”
Her father sat in the chair Parker had arranged, bringing her down to sit in the one beside his. “You could have talked to me. I would have made arrangements and given you protection.”
“I know that now…but at the time—” She released her breath and admitted, “At the time, I was not thinking clearly.”
“Absolutely right. I’ve had Runners out looking for you.”
“I was camping with Gypsies,” she confessed.
“Gypsies!” The word exploded out of her father. The others in the room were as shocked as he.
Lyssa plunged on, saying all, “But they weren’t really Gypsies or else I might have been in terrible trouble. Mr. Campion made me understand my foolishness.”
“If they weren’t Gypsies, who were they—?” Harrell turned horrified eyes to his wife. “She ran off with strange people?”
Mrs. Harrell leaned across her husband to place her hand on Lyssa’s arm. “You were all right, weren’t you?”
Lyssa’s gaze dropped to her stepmother’s gloved hand. Then, for the first time since her father had entered the room, she looked to Ian. In her eyes was a plea for guidance.
He stepped forward. “She was safe and unharmed in any fashion when I found her.”
“Then there is nothing to worry about, Dunmore,” Mrs. Harrell said. “We have Lyssa home safe and that is all that matters, isn’t it, my lord?” She addressed this last to Grossett.”
“Yes, it is,” the bull-nosed viscount agreed. He still stood by the door. His gaze met Ian’s, and narrowed. He moved forward territorially, but his mother reached to hold him back. He ignored her. Putting his hands on the back of Lyssa’s chair, he said, “We’ve very glad to have you back, my dear.”