Conspiring with a Rogue (32 page)

“
Don’t be silly,” she said. “How could I possibly have been a burden to you?”

He would have believed her words, except for the fact that she would not meet his gaze. Ice seemed to form around his heart until the beat was slow and painful. “
Christ
,” he whispered, shock making him speak his internal thoughts. “You’re with Johnnie-boy because
he
is the millstone. With
him
, you’ll never have to fear being a burden again.”

“
That’s absurd,” she snapped.

It was, but he thought he could be right. That would explain so much. He had to know. Have confirmation. “I’m correct, aren’t I?”

“
No.” A deep crease formed between her brows. “You’re wrong,” she added, the crease smoothing and her face becoming blank as an untouched scroll. Yet her eyes held a world of fear.

He was right, damn it all. Yet what did it matter? Being correct didn’t change what she had done to him, and now, whether she knew it or not, she was a burden. He was going have to save her from herself tonight. He was going to have to go see Johnnie-boy and have a talk with him. He had to make sure she was going to be all right with the man, but he sure as hell didn’t know why he thought he needed to see to her happiness with another man. He was an utter imbecile. “You can go inside the easy way or you can make it hard.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going anywhere but Madam Brouchard’s.”

He blew out a frustrated breath, swooped his hand under her legs and drew her to his chest. Her gasp resounded in his ears.

“
What are you doing?” she demanded.

“
Putting you behind a locked door, where you will remain until I return.”

Whitney had not truly thought Drake was serious, but twenty minutes later as the bedchamber resonated with the blaring sounds of the click of the lock and the unquestionable fading tap of Drake’s shoes down the hall, she knew undeniably he had been absolutely serious.

Whitney abandoned decorum and pounded both fists against the door. “Let me out this instant.”

Silence greeted her tirade.

“
Drake!” she yelled, not caring if she woke the entire Primwitty staff. Sally deserved to be harassed for her acquiescence to Drake’s demands moments before. Some loyal friend the deceitful duchess had turned out to be.

Sally had not even put up an argument when Drake had carried Whitney, kicking and screaming, into the duchess’s home. She had merely suggested Drake cover Whitney’s mouth so the Primwitty household would not be stirred from their slumber.

“
Audrey!” Whitney tried, deciding to change tactics. “Audrey, help,” Whitney yelled until her throat burned from her effort. She pressed her ear to the door, but continued silence greeted her.
Blast that man
. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t let Drake go alone to find Lillian. Who knew what sort of danger he could be walking into?

She searched wildly around the room, her gaze landing on the cream damask bed covering.
If worse came to worst…could she
? She ran over to the window, threw open the shutters and judged the distance to the ground. The room spun dizzily as she looked at how far she would have to traverse with nothing but silken sheets to keep her from breaking her neck.

Maybe Drake’s senses would return? As if beckoned by Whitney’s thought of him, Drake strode into her view, her fair-weather cousin on his heels like a lap dog. Drake stopped and turned toward the house, his head tilted back. With him standing in the moonlight, his amused smile was easy to see. She should have retained her anger, but instead his happiness pleased her. Still, that did not mean she was prepared to relent.

She scrambled to push the window up and demand he release her, but before she could get the latch unlocked, he waved jauntily, disappeared into the carriage and left nothing but dust for her to curse at.

She turned and eyed the bed covering with a mixture of dread and hope before crossing the room and then throwing back the bedcovers. With a grunt, she stripped the sheets from the bed, and with full arms sank to the ground to begin the task of tying the sheets together. Four knots into the chore, the lock on the door clicked and it swung open.

Sally regarded her with a disbelieving laugh. “Darling, what on earth are you doing?”

Whitney stood and gave Sally a narrow-eyed look. “Escaping. And you?”

“
Helping you, but it appears you don’t need my help.”

Not ready to relinquish her anger, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared.

Mocking laughter flared in Sally’s eyes. “Should I go out the way I came and leave you to your own devices?”

“
You wouldn’t dare.” Whitney brushed past Sally and out the door. By the time she reached the stairs, Sally fell into step beside her. The desire to remain churlish overwhelmed her, but she needed Sally’s help. Still, when Sally reached for her, Whitney jerked away, causing herself to miss a step and stumble.

Sally smirked at her. “Having trouble walking?”

“
My only trouble is my choice of disloyal friends.”

“
You’re worse than your sister,” Sally huffed. “I’ve never seen a pair with a quicker temper and a more amazing ability to maintain a grudge.” Sally stared at her for a long moment, her gaze penetrating and kind at the same time. “Is it going to take you weeks and weeks to forgive me for what you
imagine
I’ve done to you?”

Whitney reluctantly shook her head. She knew her stubbornness well enough. Still, she had thought she could rely on Sally to always be on her side. “Why did you let him lock me in?”

“
Did you actually see his face?” Sally’s slippers tapped against the marble stairs as she descended to the second floor. “It was a stone carving of determination. There was no way he was going to take no for an answer. Better to let him
think
I was cooperating than end up locked in the room with you.”

Whitney frowned at the thought. “He wouldn’t dare. Peter would be livid.”

“
Darling!” Sally chortled merrily. “You know better. Peter would reward any man that kept me out of trouble in his absence.”

“
I suppose you’re forgiven, then.” Whitney was glad to have her trusting, overly meddlesome friend squarely back in her corner. She started down the second flight of stairs, but stopped when Sally gripped her arm.

“
We’d better disguise ourselves if we’re going to rescue Lillian.”

“
We?” Whitney raised her brows.

“
Of course.” Sally smiled radiantly. “What did you think? I’d let you go alone and have all the fun?”

“
Exactly where is your watchful husband?” Whitney asked as she followed Sally through the portrait gallery and toward the duke and duchess’s bedroom.

Sally paused in front of a life-sized portrait of the man in question. Peter Manchester, the Eighth Duke of Primwitty, stared down at them, his eyes shining keenly even through the thick lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses. A long sigh escaped Sally. “He’s gone.”

“
Dear God.” Whitney’s mouth fell open in shock. “You’ve finally done it.”

“
Done what?” Bewilderment creased Sally’s forehead.

“
Your antics have driven Peter away, and I can’t help but feel partly to blame.”

There was a brief silence where Whitney had the sickening feeling Sally was going to agree, when Whitney had only been joking. But just then the duchess burst into hearty laughter. “I’ve not driven him away and neither have you.” Sally patted her on the arm as she stared up at her husband. She reached out and touched the painting, a brief smile pulling at her lips. “He’s gone to Bath at the bequest of his sister.”

Whitney rolled her eyes. “Eunice is dying
again
?”

“
Mm-hmm. It wouldn’t be a normal year if she didn’t claim to be on death’s door at least seven times. We’re only up to four.”

“
Poor darling,” Whitney said with real sympathy. She knew from Sally how absurdly dramatic the duke’s sister was. Eunice Manchester had never married, probably because she was a particularly nasty person, and she relied on the duke for everything. And he let her, dearest Peter. More penance for his past, Whitney supposed. She patted Sally’s hand. Sally squeezed Whitney’s fingers, then motioned for them to continue on past the portraits of all the former dukes and into the bedchamber hall. “Why didn’t you go with Peter?”

“
You mean besides the obvious fact?”

“
Well, yes.” Whitney followed Sally inside her and Peter’s bedchamber. “I know his sister’s whining gives you megrims, but you usually prevail.”

Sally smiled slyly, something secretive dancing in her eyes. A blush stained her cheeks as she touched her stomach.

A thrill of happiness and shameful jealousy shot through Whitney. She ignored the jealousy and let the happy feelings warm her while throwing her arms around Sally and hugging her. “That’s wonderful.”

Sally dashed back tears. “I was beginning to fret it would never happen.”

“
I didn’t know you were worried.” Whitney took the man’s trousers Sally handed to her and held them up to judge if it would be possible to wear them.

“
You didn’t know I was worried because you have not been here. Nor would you let me see you.”

Whitney handed the trousers to Sally, knowing her friend wanted to guilt her into changing her mind, but it simply would not work. “I’ll have to go as Jezebel,” she said, pointedly not addressing Sally’s statement. “To pull off Wentworth, I really need the clothing I had made.”

Sally quirked her lips. “That’s it?”

“
Yes.” Whitney agreed. “That’s it.”

“
Fine. I see you will remain stubborn. As to Jezebel, I think you’re right, darling. Give me a moment to change, and I’ll be ready. I have just the thing to disguise—”

“
It’s out of the question, dearest.” Certainly Sally understood.

Sally crossed her arms over her chest, a mutinous expression covering her face. “I’m not incapacitated, just expecting.”

“
And
that
renders you firmly in the category of spectator. Think of the babe.”

“
I think of nothing else,” Sally replied with a rueful smile.

“
Then you know I’m right.”

“
Yes, but it’s irksome to admit it. You know how I like to be right.” Sally wagged a finger in Whitney’s face. “Don’t get used to this. After the babe is born, you can expect me to be back to my former self.”

Whitney held her reply to herself. She doubted Sally would want to hear what Whitney thought on the likelihood of Sally’s returning to her former mischievous self once the babe was born, nor did she want to point out that she would be gone, so she would not get to see whether Sally took up her outrageous ways once again. Instead, Whitney nodded in agreement. “Of course, dearest.”

She moved toward the door. “I’d better go if I’m going to get to Lillian before Drake.”

“
Why is it so important to reach Lillian before Drake does?”

Whitney rubbed a hand over her temple. Weariness was making her guard slip. She would never admit to Sally that Lillian knew all Whitney’s secrets. God alone knew what ends the duchess would go to in order to obtain them.

Sally sighed. “Someday, you must tell me the secrets you’ve obviously told Lillian. I promise never to reveal them.”

Whitney glanced away, displeased with how transparent her face must have been. She didn’t want Sally to be hurt, but Sally would tell Drake the truth if she knew about Mrs. Blightson.

“
I know you have your reasons for confiding only in Lillian, but if you ever need another ear…”

Whitney met Sally’s gaze. “Yours will be the first I seek,” she promised. “I do have a favor.”

“
Let me guess, you need blunt for a bribe.”

“
Oh, good idea. I’d not thought of that.” Whitney pondered how much blunt it might take to bribe someone to release Lil. “I don’t suppose you have ten thousand pounds lying around?”

“
Yes, of course.” Sally yanked up her skirt. “Right here secured to my leg.” She made a show of looking under her dress. “Oh, dear! I’ve been robbed!”