The gentleman escorting her to the end of the hall and then up the winding stairs turned and looked back at her, he eyed her then oberved, “You are a very brave bird my dear, to venture to this part of London alone… to Tom’s office alone.”
“I am not brave. It is simply that the alternative is unbearable,” she said honestly.
“Ah,” he replied as if he truly understood. “It is often when we are put into such predicaments that we are forced to choose our lives. Is it not true?” He queried.
“Are you a philosopher?” she queried, honestly.
A rumble of a laugh escaped the man’s throat. “Yes. We are all philosophers, are we not? But I am glad you’ve chosen Tom to come to if you find yourself in a difficult place.”
“Why?” she blurted. For this was a similar comment to the hackney driver’s.
“Because Tom is a good sort,” the man said softly. “He’s good at getting people out of scrapes. Are you in one?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “A significant scrape and there is not much I can do about it. I need outside help, if I’m honest.” She scowled, as her circumstances threatened to take what little hope she had. “Ladies do not have much power.”
“No,” he concurred. “Ladies do not have a great deal of power. Tom does though. So he shall help you, I’m sure.”
“Good,” she said feeling a rush of relief.
Her whole body was on the verge of shaking. She couldn’t explain it. She’d never shook a day in her life. Not truly. Oh, there was the fear she felt at her father’s wrath, but she’d long ago learned to weather the storm of that.
This was different.
This was the complete unknown that she’d thrown herself into. And as the gentleman stopped at a door at the end of the stairs, he lifted a beautiful, ringed hand and wrapped upon it. “Tom, there’s a young thing here needing your assistance.”
She swallowed.
What wouldTomdo now that she had sought him out?
He had come and found her, but she had not treated him as she should have, she realized. My God, he had come trying to save her. And she…
She would not think of how foolish she had been.
Would he treat her coldly? Would he send her away or would he offer her further assistance? After all, he’d already helped her a great deal by venturing to the Sheffield ball uninvited to tell her the truth.
The door swung open slowly and there he was.
A magnificent specimen towering over her, staring down with those wild eyes. His silvery, lion-like hair was wilder now too tumbling about his face. He stood in his waistcoat and his shirt sleeves. The linen was beautiful, unhindered by a cravat or the ties at the base of his throat.
He stared down at her, a muscle in his strong jaw tightening. And then something sparked in his eyes. A recognition. An understanding that she was an untethered soul. “Well hello, Lady Elizabeth,” he said, in that low, delicious rumble of his.
“Hello,” she replied, her voice far breathier than she had intended.
“Come,” he said. He stepped back and gestured to the office.
She glanced up at the gentleman who had brought her upstairs and said, “Thank you.”
He gave her a playful wink. “Good luck, little dove,” he said.
“Thank you. I shall need it,” she replied, honestly.
“No,” Tom corrected. “You shan’t. Luck is an illusion. All you need to do is find the right people and do the right actions… and believe,” he said.
Believe,she thought to herself. Was he a fool? Had she come to a madman? Belief?
To simply believe that it could go well?
Tosh!