Page 55 of The Notorious Lord Knightly
“Shall we?” Chidding asked politely, studying her somewhat confusedly, and she wondered exactly what her face might be revealing. She was grateful she wore gloves, so he wasn’t aware her palms had grown damp. She dearly hoped he couldn’t feel the slight trembles going through her as she lightly placed her hand on his arm.
When they were in the carriage slowly wending its way through the crowded street, he said, “I suppose you knew the box was Knightly’s because you attended the theater with him.”
A lit lantern hung inside the vehicle, and his cousin had arranged herself so she could use its light to once again read. Regina was torn between elation that the countess was so enamored of the story and worried about the strain she was placing on her eyes. “I did, yes.”
“I hadn’t considered it might prove difficult for you to visit the... scene of the crime, as it were.”
Oh, he was astute. Shy but astute, and a little funny referencing his preferred reading material. “It was unexpected, is all.”
“You handle the unexpected admirably.”
“I’ve had far too much experience with it.”
She had his admiration but tonight had reminded her of the wonder of being loved. Only she hadn’t been. She had to keep reminding herself of that. He wouldn’t have left her if he’d loved her. Nevertheless, in that box with Knightly, she’d believed within the depths of her heart he had adored her, and she had marveled at the glorious sensation and acknowledgment.
By the time they arrived at her residence, all those turbulent emotions had settled into one, forming an uncomfortable knot in her stomach: anger. Fury, in fact.
Still, like her mother, she performed. With a smile, when Chidding handed her down from the carriage. A gentle touch on his arm when he escorted her tothe door. When he lowered his head and kissed her, a quick brush of his lips over hers, she sighed.
“Good night, Miss Leyland,” he said.
“Thank you for a lovely evening, Lord Chidding.”
With a smile and a duck of his head, he shoved open her door. She stepped through and turned to bestow upon him her own smile before slowly closing the portal that provided a bridge between them.
When she spun around, the smile was gone, and rage was flashing. Her butler, patiently waiting for her wrap, took a step back as though she breathed fire. “Have my carriage readied.”
She was surprised the heat in her order didn’t burn him to a crisp. She didn’t know what game Knightly was playing, but she was determined to find out.
When she arrived at Knightly’s residence, the hour was such that decent folk were abed. His abode was dark except for pale light filtering out through an upstairs window—his bedchamber window. At the realization he might actually be entertaining a lady, a momentary pain struck in her gut, something rather similar to what she suspected one endured when being kicked by a recalcitrant horse. Standing in the exact spot where the footman had handed her down, she stared at the wavering light and imagined Knightly moving toward some long-limbed beauty as he’d once approached her: slowly and provocatively, taking her breath and her sense. Perhaps she should leave this confrontation for tomorrow.
But her fury at what he’d done was diabolicallybeautiful and needed to be vented, before it cooled, so he’d fully understand she was no longer one to be trifled with.
Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she marched up the wide steps, fighting not to recall the many times she’d dashed up so anxious to be with him that she’d begun to think of time as a thief and had wanted as few moments as possible stolen from them.
After reaching the door, she grabbed the knocker and began pounding it and a fist against the wood with enough force and determination that if a cemetery was nearby, she’d wake the dead. At the very least, she’d awaken his servants, possibly his neighbors, and she didn’t bloody well care.
She was beginning to fear the damage she might be doing to her hand when the door suddenly swung open and he stood there in all his mussed-up glory, in shirtsleeves only partially buttoned, trousers, bare feet, and his hair in need of a good brushing. His brow deeply furrowed, he took hold of her arm, pulled her into the entryway, and closed the door. “What the devil are you doing here? Is something amiss? Is it your daughter?”
His reference to Arianna and the true concern woven through his voice threw her off her game for a second or two before she was able to snatch back the vehemence this encounter required. “You bastard. You gave Chidding your box, forcing me to sit there with all the memories bombarding—”
A keening wail startled her, causing her to jerk her attention upward to where it seemed to be originating.
“Bloody hell. Wait here.”
Then he was racing up the stairs while his paramour, no doubt, carried on like the hounds of hell were attacking her. Regina had no intention of waiting. She would confront him and the woman, ensure his lover understood exactly how dastardly he could be.
While his long legs allowed him to take the steps two at a time, she’d spent enough hours chasing after a rambunctious child that her stride might be shorter, but it was incredibly quick. She reached the top of the stairs, not far behind him, close enough to turn into the hallway and see him hurrying past his bedchamber.
She dashed after him, completely confounded when he shoved open a door at the end of the corridor. Why was his mistress so far away from his chamber? Did she reside here? Had he secretly married while she was away, and no one was aware? Had he been married all along?
By the time she rushed into the room, he was kneeling beside an older, white-haired woman who was cowering in the corner, clutching his shirt.
“I heard them knocking. They’ve come for me. They always come in the dead of night. Please, don’t let them take me away. I can’t go back. I’ll die.”
“It’s all right, Mother. No one’s come for you. I won’t let anyone come for you. I promise. You’re safe here.”
“But I heard them. I heard them banging. They want in.”
