The Runaway Heiress Read Free

never-ending authority of her uncle. A means of escape had
been offered and she had leapt to grasp it with both hands. But at what cost? Frances
found that her tired brain could come to no conclusion at all. She touched her
cold fingers to her mouth, which still burned from a stranger's unwanted
kisses.

 
    Chapter
Two
    Aldeborough
was woken by Webster, his valet, drawing back the heavy brocade curtains of his
bedroom. The sun streamed in, indicating the hour to be well advanced, but the
Marquis, in exquisite suffering, merely groaned and pulled the sheet over his
head.
    'It
is almost noon, my lord. I have brought your hot water.' Webster ignored a
second groan and set about collecting his lordship's clothes from where he had
carelessly discarded them on the floor.
    Aldeborough
struggled back on to the pillows, clasping his hands to his skull. 'Oh, God!
What time did I arrive home last night?'
    'I
couldn't say, my lord. Your instructions were, if you recall, that I should not
wait up for you. I presume that Benson put you to bed, my lord.'
    Aldeborough
grimaced. 'Yes. I remember.' He winced at the memory of his coachman's less
than gentle ministrations as he had manhandled him through the door and up the
main staircase. He sat up, gasping at the instant throb of pain behind his
eyes. 'What a terrible evening. What possessed me to spend it with Torrington's
set? If it hadn't been for Ambrose's powers of persuasion, I would not have
gone back there.'
    'No,
my lord. Very wise, if I might say so. Which clothes shall I lay out for you
today, my lord?' Webster had served Aldeborough for many years, since before
his recent inheritance of the title when, as Captain Lord Hugh Lafford, he had
fought with some distinction in the Peninsular Campaign, and thus his valet
knew better than to indulge in trivial conversation after a night of hard
drinking. Not that the Marquis had drunk quite so much or as often then, he
mused. But things had changed, particularly since Lord Richard had died.
    The
Marquis took a cup of coffee from Webster and sipped cautiously as his brain
began to function again amidst the lingering effects of brandy. 'I have
appointments on the estate today with Kington. Buckskins, top boots and the
dark blue coat, I think.'
    'Yes,
my lord.' Webster coughed discreetly. The Marquis, well used to his valet's
mannerisms, raised an eyebrow enquiringly, wincing at the effort.
    'Mrs
Scott has instructed me to tell you that the young lady has breakfasted and is
now waiting your lordship's convenience in the library.'
    Webster
enjoyed the resulting silence.
    'Who?'
Aldeborough's voice was ominously calm.
    'The
young lady, my lord. Who accompanied you home last night.' Webster carefully
avoided looking in Aldeborough's direction.
    'My
God! I had forgotten. The kitchen wench. I remember remarkably little about the
whole of last night!' he admitted ruefully, running his fingers through his
dishevelled hair. But enough of his memory returned like the kick of a stallion
to fill his mind with horror. 'Is she still here?'
    'Yes
and no, my lord, in a manner of speaking.' Webster kept the smile from his
face.
    Aldeborough
frowned and then lifted a dark eloquent eyebrow.
    'Yes,
she is still here, my lord. But, no, she is not a kitchen wench. She is quite
unquestionably a lady.'
    'I
see.' There was a long pause. 'I was drunk.'
    'Yes,
my lord. Mrs Scott thought it best that the lady remain until you had risen.
She was most intent on leaving the Priory, but had not the means.'
    Aldeborough flung back the
bedclothes, ignoring the clutches of his towering headache.
    Thank you, Webster. I know
I can always rely on you to impart bad news gently! Kindly tell—I can't
remember her name!—the young lady that I will have the pleasure of waiting on
her in half an hour.'
    'Yes, my lord,' and Webster shut the door
quietly behind him.
    Only a little after thirty
minutes later the Marquis quietly opened the door into his library. In spite of
the speed, he