Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager - By Sarah Mallory Page 0,87
She rose. ‘I suggest you go home now, Mr Warwick, and get some sleep.’
He came up and clasped her hand, kissing it fervently.
‘Thank you, ma’am, thank you. I shall be here at eight, without fail!’
Chapter Sixteen
The sun streaming through the curtains roused Jasper. He looked at his watch. It was very early, but he knew he would not sleep again. Today he was going to ask Susannah Prentess to marry him. There had been no reply from Royal Crescent, and he was sure that if Susannah was going to refuse him she would have replied immediately. He got up, calling for Peters to bring hot water. He would shave now and get dressed. Not in the clothes he planned to wear for his visit to Royal Crescent, but the plain dark riding coat and buckskins that he could walk out in, to pass the hours until he could see Susannah. He strode out of the town and up on to Beechen Cliff. The wind was warm, a promise of the summer to come. Jasper smiled to himself. A good omen, perhaps? A sign that the gods were smiling upon him. He heard the distant chiming of a bell on the breeze as he headed back towards York House. As long as there was no note waiting for him, he would call on Susannah at ten o’clock. There was plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast and to change into his morning coat and knee breeches before setting off for the most momentous meeting of his life.
‘Peters, Peters! Where the devil are you?’ He strode through the rooms, frowning. Then he heard the scurry of footsteps behind him.
‘My lord, thank heaven you are back!’ Peters ran in, one hand on his chest which was heaving alarmingly as he gasped out his explanation. ‘I was out collecting your best shirt from the laundrywoman. Knew you would want to wear it this morning. I was about to cross Gay Street when a travelling carriage comes down the road. Naturally I stepped back out of the way, but happened to look up as it went past me, and I saw who was in it.’
‘Well, what of it?’
Jasper looked at him impatiently, he had more important things on his mind. Should he wear his white quilted waistcoat or the oyster satin with the pearl buttons?
‘It was Miss Prentess, my lord. Large as life.’
Jasper forgot about waistcoats.
‘What? Are you quite sure?’
‘Yes, my lord. The carriage was forced to slow to wait for a bullock cart to get out of the way and I had plenty of time to look.’ Peters paused to regain his breath.
‘And is there a note for me from Royal Crescent?’
‘No, my lord. I left word at the desk that any messages were to be brought upstairs immediately.’ The valet added in a colourless voice, ‘She was travelling with young Mr Warwick, my lord.’
His words hit Jasper like cold water. She was running away from him. She knew he intended to make her an offer and she was too afraid to tell him to his face that she could not marry him. So that was it. Over.
Peters was still talking.
‘It was a smart turn-out, my lord, four horses, no expense spared, I’d say, and a couple of trunks strapped to the roof. I’ve got a lad following the carriage to see which way they are heading and to report back. And I sent word to the stable for Morton to bring your curricle round.’
Jasper turned on him with and growl.
‘Dammit, Peters, I have never yet chased after any woman!’
The valet gave him a long stare.
‘This isn’t any woman, my lord. It is Miss Prentess.’
Aye, and she didn’t want to face him. First she had used Gerald Barnabus to protect her. Now Warwick. Devil take it, why should he care?
Only Warwick was not Gerald. Warwick was not a diffident young man who would treat Susannah gently if she refused his advances. Jasper did not know the man well, but if the rumours were anything to go by he was a hot-headed young buck who had already ruined one lady’s reputation.
He picked up his hat and gloves.
‘By God you are right. I must go after her!’
* * *
Susannah paced up and down the parlour at Florence House, anxiously pulling her gloves through her hands. Mrs Gifford was sitting by the window quietly mending a pillowcase.
‘Perhaps I should not leave them alone.’
Mrs Gifford looked up, her kindly old eyes twinkling.