Chapter Twenty-Four
Edmund didn’t even notice how dark Lydia’s bedroom window was as he scaled the wall and slipped in through her unlocked window. The excitement was too thick in his blood and anticipation had clouded his senses.
But as he scanned the room for her form, he quickly realized something was wrong.
The room was too still. Her scent too vague. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw that her bed was undisturbed.
Concern arced through him. But then he acknowledged the lack of preparation in the unlit fireplace. She wasn’t expected.
Disappointment flooded him then.
Had he offended her? Had he done or said something that might’ve caused her to avoid him?
Or perhaps she’d had other plans that didn’t involve him at all.
A weight settled over his brow as he stalked silently around the room.
She wasn’t there. But apparently…her pets were.
He bent down to scoop up the cat, which was twining in and out of his legs.
The creature immediately began to purr and rub his head along Edmund’s jaw.
With a chuckle, he gave the feline the attention she demanded and stroked along her fur.
Another look around revealed a small, shadowed lump curled against the pillows of the bed.
The shy one looked at him with reflective eyes, but didn’t move to greet him as her sister had.
He should leave. And he would. Just as soon as Independence stopped purring.
As he wandered about the room, he began to note more details of the place. The last time he’d been here, his focus had been extremely selective. He’d only had eyes for the woman unraveling in his arms.
“Fuck me,” he muttered as he adjusted his suddenly aching erection.
That’s all it took, apparently. One thought of Lady Lydia’s gasping passion. One recollection of her melting pleasure. And he was hard as stone. He’d never have expected the woman’s response. She was exceptional.
When he’d have expected some hesitance, she was bold. When he’d have thought she might be uncertain, she was shamelessly confident.
It seemed the only thing that scared her was marriage.
He chuckled softly.
Lady Lydia was anything but the awkward creature he’d been led to expect. She was more warrior than wallflower. And he was charmed. Enchanted. Obsessed.
Edmund shook his head.
Maybe, not obsessed yet. But he could see the potential.
He wanted to know everything about the woman. Not just what made her sigh and moan and shake with blissful release. But…other things.
The cat in his arms shifted and leaned away in an indication that she’d had enough pets.
Edmunds released her and found himself in front of a small desk.
Drifting his hand over the surface where papers were neatly stacked and quills were lined up side by side, he smiled.
There were a few books propped up along the wall on the back of the desk, and more were stacked on the floor.
Selecting one, he flipped through the pages, but it was too dark to read anything.
He took a seat in the simple wooden chair at the desk and lit a candle.
The book in his hands was titled Emma by Jane Austen.
A smile curled his lips. He returned it to its place and tilted his head to scan the titles of the other volumes.
Guy Mannerling. A book of poetry by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
A History of Persia. Letters from the Right Honorable Lady Craven to his Serene Highness the Margrave of Anspach during her travels through France, Germany and Russia in 1785 and 1786.
And lastly, the sensational Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus.
The last was a bit surprising. He wouldn’t have thought her interested in that type of dark, fanciful storytelling.
The papers stacked to the left were clean and fresh, as though awaiting her next thoughts or a careless doodle.
His smile widened. Opening the ink pot, he lifted one of the quills and dipped it in.
Sliding one sheet of paper from the center of the stack slightly askew so a good section of the corner was exposed, he quickly doodled a cheeky image he hadn’t drawn since he’d been a naughty lad stealing bread from the baker down the road from his father’s butcher shop.
He could already imagine her eye roll, which he hoped would precede a reluctant smile of amusement.
After sliding the page back into the stack to be found later, he continued his search.
He opened one of the two small drawers that adorned the top of the desk, acting as bookends to the volumes he’d just perused.
Inside, he found a single piece of paper.
He recognized it instantly as his drawing of her from the museum and his heart gave a fierce little lurch. She’d kept it.
Not wanting to consider how greatly that pleased him, he closed the drawer and opened the other to find a box with tarnished gold hinges and a faded painting on its lid that depicted a mythical unicorn lying in a field of flowers.
There was nothing inside. It was clear the box itself was a keepsake she wished to keep nearby.
As he replaced it in the drawer, it disturbed something that had been shoved to the far reaches.
Pulling the drawer out farther, he saw a handful of crumpled notes.
He was definitely crossing the line from curious to intrusive, but he couldn’t stop himself from retrieving the notes to drop them on the desktop. Four in total.
Edmund hesitated. He’d already severely violated the lady’s privacy.
But he was not a noble type of fellow.
Choosing one at random, he smoothed it out on the desktop. There was no greeting and no signature. Just a few lines of messy, slanted script.
Do you think this a ruse? Do you not believe my sincerity? I will not be ignored.
He scowled. What in hell? He opened another.
I know what you’ve been doing and where you’ve been going. Did you think your secret could be hidden forever? The world will find out. I will tell them. And you’ll be ruined.
A chill coursed through him at the threatening tone of the note. Any trepidation he’d had over snooping dissolved. The other two notes were similar.
You cannot avoid the inevitable. All of London will know your secret. I will make sure of it.
And…
I’ve been watching you for years. I know everything! You’ll be destroyed. Your family will be destroyed. Your whole world will fall around you.
Edmund stared at the notes, fury burning inside him. He reread them. Ordered them then re-ordered them, trying to make some sense of their intention and origin. But they were each vague enough to give no clues as to who might have sent them or the secret being referenced.
Only one thing was clear; Lady Lydia was being threatened. And that did not sit right with him at all. In fact, it infuriated him.
Shoving to his feet, he recrumpled the notes and replaced them in the back of the drawer. All but one, which he folded carefully and tucked into his breast pocket.
From what he could tell by the way the notes had been shoved away and out of sight, the lady did not know what to do about the threats and seemed intent on ignoring them despite the ugly warnings.
He feared such behavior would only lead to escalation from the culprit.
Though he knew well enough that his intrusion would not be appreciated, he couldn’t stand by and do nothing while she remained at risk. Whoever was sending these notes had to be dealt with.
He left the bedroom as quietly as he’d arrived. But instead of the smoldering fires of passion and sexual anticipation burning in his blood, it was righteous outrage and a passionate desire to protect the lady from whatever peril hovered over her.
Yet, days would pass before he saw her again. She didn’t attend the parties he expected her to, and though his worry increased tenfold each day, he had to believe she was alright. Surely, he’d have heard if something had happened to her.
He considered sending her a note just to appease his mind but then worried it could be intercepted by her mother or anyone else who might wonder why the wicked Earl of Darlington had struck up a correspondence with the innocent young woman.
He had no choice but to be patient and hope she’d just come down with the sniffles or something. She certainly didn’t owe him any sort of explanation for quite literally disappearing after their interlude on the terrace. He’d just thought…she’d want him to know she was alright.
Of course, she would have no idea that he knew some bastard was threatening her. Because she hadn’t told him about it. And no amount of reading and rereading the one note he’d taken had managed to give him any more insight into the motivation or identity of the sender.
He needed to find Lydia.