Page 141 of Thief of the Ton
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her mind to slip away from the never-ending dripping. But it only grew louder, echoing around the cell, moving back and forth, until she could swear it was outside.
Then her heart jolted in fear as she recognized the jailer’s footsteps. Had he come to torment her again?
Her skin crawled at the memory of the lust in his eyes. The law of decency had no place here, and there was no one to come to her defense.
Peregrine…
No!
To think abouthimwould only lead to despair. Peregrine had betrayed her. He’d abandoned her with promises of protection, and then, unwilling to sully his own hands with the deed, instructed that vile Houseman to seize her.
But she wouldn’t go without a fight. She was not Lavinia de Grande, debutante and simpering miss. She was the Phoenix—the daring thief who’d been the talk of Society.
She rose and curled her hands into fists.
A face appeared at the barred window in the door, and her stomach clenched as she recognized the pale eyes of the jailer. Then the key turned in the lock, and the door swung inside.
Her would-be tormentor stood in the doorway.
But the lustful arrogance had gone—replaced by a scowl.
Then another form appeared—a thick-set man in a footman’s livery. He shoved the jailer aside.
“She’s here, your ladyship,” he said, “and she appears unharmed.”
A female form appeared, silhouetted against the light of the torch in the passageway. “I’llbe the judge of that, William,” she said in a familiar, beloved voice.
“Lady Betty!”
The woman rushed into the cell and pulled Lavinia into an embrace. Lavinia closed her eyes, relishing the familiar, delicate aroma of rose cologne.
“Oh, my poor darling!” Lady Betty cried. “I can’t imagine what you must have suffered in this vile place. But your nightmare is over, my love—I’m come to take you home.”
“I-I don’t understand,” Lavinia said.
“Lord Stiles issued an order for your release earlier this morning. All charges against you have been dropped. You’re free to go.”
“B-but…how?” Lavinia shook her head. “H-he said that there was no circumstance under which he’d be able to order my release.”
“No circumstance except one,” Lady Betty said. “But let us not discuss it here”—she threw the jailer a look of contempt—“not when unsavory ears are listening. Come with me now.” She nodded to the footman. “William—would you be so good as to help Miss de Grande to my carriage?”
“With pleasure, your ladyship.” The footman held up a cloak with a cowl.
“What’s that?” Lavinia asked.
“It’s chilly outside, miss,” he said. “We wouldn’t want you to catch cold. And we wouldn’t want no prying eyes on you, neither.”
Without waiting for a response, he placed the cloak around Lavinia’s shoulders. Then he took her arm and, together with Lady Betty, escorted her outside.
The onslaught of sunlight blinded her eyes, but the footman’s arm was firm and reassuring as he steered her into a waiting carriage.
“Where are we going?”
“To my townhouse, darling,” Lady Betty said, climbing in beside her, “where your father awaits you.”
“Papa? He’s in London?”
“Yes, he traveled here yesterday. He’s…” Lady Betty’s voice cracked.
