Page 48 of Earl Crazy
“Why can’t we wait until James arrives in London? He’s certain to approve the match—”
“I already told you why, Harriett.” Lord Wyle sounded as if he were endeavoring to be patient, but there was a harsh edge to his voice. He’d moved closer to Harriett, and was crowding her against the carriage.
Tilly froze, the cold, dark note in his voice chilling her from head to toe. There was something terribly wrong here. Terribly, horribly wrong. Lord Wyle was not the gentleman everyone in London believed him to be.
Harriett was teetering on the edge of a catastrophic misstep. She had to put a stop to this at once, before—
“…a dreadful mistake.” Harriett’s voice was shaking. “It was wrong of me to agree to it. Very wrong, indeed. I beg your pardon, Edward, but I can’t go through with this.”
She’d been endeavoring to skirt around Lord Wyle as she spoke, but his hand shot out, and he grabbed her arm. “You can, Harriett, and youwill.”
Dear God, he was going to force Harriett into the carriage!
Tilly’s blood froze in her veins at the thought, her every instinct urging her to charge into the drive, leap upon Lord Wyle, and demand he release Harriett at once. But mightn’t he be able to overpower them both? He was quite a big man, and he…wasn’t he holding something in his hand?
She peeked through the hedge again, her heart vaulting into her throat.
He had a crop. All it would take was one flick of his wrist to stop her. She could scream, and call every servant inside the house down upon them, but the kitchen window was dark, and the bedchambers were on the other side of the house. She might scream herself hoarse without anyone hearing her.
“Quickly, Lucifer.” She pressed her face into the dog’s fur, hoping against hope that he understood her, and just this once, would do as she bid him. “Go and fetch Kit.” She set Lucifer on his feet. He didn’t hesitate, but tore off in a cloud of white fur, his small paws barely skimming the ground. “Yes, that’s it, Lucifer.Run.”
There was no time to wait and see if he went in the direction of the cottage—no time even for a muttered prayer before Harriett let out a sharp cry, her voice trembling with fear. “Let go of me!”
There was no time for anything but to fly through the opening in the hedge.
In an instant, she’d tumbled into the drive. “Harriett!”
The two figures froze.
“Tilly!” Harriett cried, but her voice was drowned out by the curses falling from Lord Wyle’s lips. “Hell, and damnation. Where the devil did you come from?”
Harriett was struggling in earnest now, scratching and fighting like a wildcat to get free of Lord Wyle’s grip, but it was clear she was no match for his strength. She let out a cry of pain as he wrenched her arm behind her back. “Enough, damn you!”
“Lord Wyle!” Tilly rushed forward, stunned to find her legs were still working. “Lady Harriett has demanded that you release herat once!”
“Lady Harriett isn’t in a position to demand anything.” Lord Wyle had his arms locked around Harriet now, and was dragging her toward the open door of the carriage. “Neither, Miss Mathilda, are you. Stay back, or you’ll regret it!” He added, brandishing the crop.
Harriett fought him, but it was no use. He dragged her along the drive as if she weighed no more than a reticule, one inexorable step after another until he reached the carriage. He shoved her inside, slammed the door behind her, and hurried toward the driver’s box.
Oh, what was she going to do? She couldn’t let him take Harriett, but by time she fetched a servant and they made it back to the drive, Lord Wyle and Harriett would be gone. Then there’d be a chase, and a most spectacular scandal would follow, and poor Harriett’s tender heart would be broken, just as Phee’s had been six years earlier.
But she could leap upon him just as he was ascending the box, and pray that the awkwardness of his position would make him lose his balance long enough for her to get Harriett out of the carriage, and into the house.
There was really only one choice.
She rushed forward, and leapt.
ChapterFourteen
Kit had just banked the fire in his study and was making his way upstairs to his bedchamber, his head filled with memories of Tilly’s kisses when he heard a strange scratching at the front door.
He rushed back down the stairs and threw it open, hoping Tilly had returned, but it wasn’t Tilly he found waiting for him on the other side.
It was Lucius. His white fur was mussed, and he was panting heavily, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. “Did you run away from Tilly again? Bad dog, Lucius.”
Lucius darted down the steps, but he didn’t vanish into the garden. Instead he turned back, letting out a loud “Woof!” when Kit didn’t follow.
Something was wrong. Something had happened to Tilly.
