"No respect for the dead." His words came out in silent whispers, his teeth clenched.
A small smile tugged on her lips. "Respect is earned in life, my lord. When a man fails to earn respect in life, it cannot suddenly be bestowed on him simply becau...
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Carriage.
Her heart seemed to pound with that singular word, her weary body turning to the side on the bed. Somewhere in her sub-consciousness, she heard an approaching carriage. She imagined it was her promiscuous husband back from the home of his mistress and mentally laughed at his ridiculous attempt at discretion. Surely he knew his infidelity was common knowledge amongst the ton, surely he knew all of England knew their marriage wasn't built on love or respect. Surely he knew it made no difference whether or not he chose to return, because she stopped caring months ago.
Indeed, his life or death would make no difference...
As quickly as the thought entered her mind, she remembered; Oliver was dead! He was dead, and she was widowed.
Jolting upright, she opened her eyes and scanned the room. A lamp sat on the tabletop in the center of the room, doing very little to ward off the darkness.
She heard it again; the sound that had awakened her. Sitting still, she heard the faint sound of the carriage opening, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.
The marquess!
Gasping, she sprang to her feet, propelled by the memory of the events of the past few weeks; Oliver died, leaving her with nothing. Widowed and homeless, she was in trespass of the Marquess's property.
She needed to leave before she was caught! Knowing the lamp was a dead giveaway, she hurried over to it and put it out. She groped in the dark in search of the settee by the fireplace, desperate to find her coat.
Frustrated when she didn't find her coat, she made to cross the room in search of it, when the sound of heavy boots bounding up the stairs reached her.
Freezing in her tracks, Beatrice knew it was too late to escape. She needed to hide! But where?
Her gaze swept every furniture in the room for a suitable hiding place; the bed was too low to go under, the matching white dresser wasn't large enough to keep her hidden, her trunk by the foot of the bed might have worked if it wasn't spewing with dresses, and surely she would easily be found hiding behind the settee.
Desperate as his footsteps neared, she bolted for the window, shoving her petite form between the white curtains.
Silence filled the building as she stood, mentally scolding herself for hiding behind the curtains. He would find her. The darkness would prove incapable of keeping her concealed behind a transparent curtain!
The silence lasted a long time, and for a second, she imagined he had given up on his mission and chosen to leave. But her relief was short-lived, and in that second, the distinct sound of her bedroom door opening reached her.
Gripping tightly to the curtains, her lungs burned with fear as she listened to him enter the room. Her heart pounded wildly, threatening to leap out of her chest. Fearing she might pass out from a heart attack, she tore her lips apart and fought to force air through her lungs.
