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Authors: The Runaway Duke
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herself:
Ah, your son, he pulled one over on you, you vicious old sod,
she thought.
He lives.
And thanks to you, he does not want his legacy. He does not even seem to know that his brother no longer lives. Perhaps I can change his mind. But perhaps the best revenge would be to help Roarke live the life he wants to live, rather than the one you tried to force upon him.
On the whole, Lady Montgomery found revenge amusing. Her school for girls was revenge of a sort; her conservative Scottish husband had died and left her with piles and piles of money. A good Protestant, he would have been aghast to find Miss Honeywell playing trumpet in his parlor.
I will see what I can do for Roarke and for his young friend
, Lady Montgomery thought. And her heart leaped at the thought.
There is a possibility you may never see your family again
.
Connor’s words rang in Rebecca’s head as she left the stable. She’d meant what she’d said to him; she
had
weighed the possible consequences of leaving. She did truly believe it was the right thing to do.
But that didn’t mean it would be an easy thing to do.
On the way back to the house, she’d made another decision, and it, too, was a risky one. But again, Rebecca felt it was the right thing to do. She wanted to say good-bye to Lorelei; in a way, she felt she could not leave until she had Lorelei’s approval and understanding, for it was possible her disappearance would affect her beautiful sister’s future.
She found Lorelei in her bedroom, her bed covered in a spill of colors and fabrics, silks both muted and brilliant, glossy satins, fine laces and gauzes: her wardrobe for the London season. Lorelei was standing over all of it, a look of disbelieving rapture on her face.
“Lorelei—”
“Oh! Rebecca! You startled me! I was just planning my ensembles. What do you think? Do you like the lavender silk with the pink slippers, or perhaps with the darker—”
“Lorelei.”
This time, Lorelei noticed the note of quiet urgency in Rebecca’s voice. She looked up in surprise.
“I have something to tell you,” Rebecca began carefully.
“Rebecca, are you unwell? Shall I call Mama?”
“Good God, no! It’s . . . Lorelei . . . please just listen. If there was a way I could . . . avoid marrying Lord Edelston . . . would you approve?”
Lorelei looked uneasy. “Well . . . it is not for me to approve or disapprove, Becca, but . . .” Lorelei took a deep breath. “I care more for your happiness than I do for my honor, if that is your question,” she finished staunchly.
The words throbbed in the air between them.
Rebecca took a deep breath. “Lorelei, I do not intend to wed Lord Edelston.”
“But when—how—the wedding is
Sunday
!”
“I intend to . . . miss the wedding.”
Rebecca stared meaningfully into Lorelei’s crystalline blue eyes, willing her to take her meaning.
And after a moment, Lorelei did take her meaning. “I have some money, Rebecca,” she said slowly. “You may have it. But, oh, Rebecca,
please
be careful.”
Lorelei lifted the lid of her jewelry box and extracted a pound note.
“A wager I won from Susannah Carson. She thought her nephew would be a boy. I guessed otherwise. Her new niece was born last week.”
“Wagers? Trysts? Whatever shall we do with you, Lorelei Tremaine?” Rebecca teased. “I do not believe the vicar would consider these events stops on the path to righteousness.”
Lorelei placed the pound note in Rebecca’s hand with a squeeze and an intent, imploring look. They shared a moment of awkward silence.
“I didn’t come for money, Lorelei.”
“I know. But you will need it.”
Rebecca smiled slightly. “I just wanted you to know that I . . . I will miss you.”
Tears began to well up in Lorelei’s eyes. “Oh, Rebecca! ’Tis all my fault! If only—”
“For heaven’s sake, Lorelei,” Rebecca teased again. “I thought we decided to blame Edelston.”
“But . . . when I marry an earl . . . Becca, I
Ah, your son, he pulled one over on you, you vicious old sod,
she thought.
He lives.
And thanks to you, he does not want his legacy. He does not even seem to know that his brother no longer lives. Perhaps I can change his mind. But perhaps the best revenge would be to help Roarke live the life he wants to live, rather than the one you tried to force upon him.
On the whole, Lady Montgomery found revenge amusing. Her school for girls was revenge of a sort; her conservative Scottish husband had died and left her with piles and piles of money. A good Protestant, he would have been aghast to find Miss Honeywell playing trumpet in his parlor.
I will see what I can do for Roarke and for his young friend
, Lady Montgomery thought. And her heart leaped at the thought.
There is a possibility you may never see your family again
.
Connor’s words rang in Rebecca’s head as she left the stable. She’d meant what she’d said to him; she
had
weighed the possible consequences of leaving. She did truly believe it was the right thing to do.
But that didn’t mean it would be an easy thing to do.
On the way back to the house, she’d made another decision, and it, too, was a risky one. But again, Rebecca felt it was the right thing to do. She wanted to say good-bye to Lorelei; in a way, she felt she could not leave until she had Lorelei’s approval and understanding, for it was possible her disappearance would affect her beautiful sister’s future.
She found Lorelei in her bedroom, her bed covered in a spill of colors and fabrics, silks both muted and brilliant, glossy satins, fine laces and gauzes: her wardrobe for the London season. Lorelei was standing over all of it, a look of disbelieving rapture on her face.
“Lorelei—”
“Oh! Rebecca! You startled me! I was just planning my ensembles. What do you think? Do you like the lavender silk with the pink slippers, or perhaps with the darker—”
“Lorelei.”
This time, Lorelei noticed the note of quiet urgency in Rebecca’s voice. She looked up in surprise.
“I have something to tell you,” Rebecca began carefully.
“Rebecca, are you unwell? Shall I call Mama?”
“Good God, no! It’s . . . Lorelei . . . please just listen. If there was a way I could . . . avoid marrying Lord Edelston . . . would you approve?”
Lorelei looked uneasy. “Well . . . it is not for me to approve or disapprove, Becca, but . . .” Lorelei took a deep breath. “I care more for your happiness than I do for my honor, if that is your question,” she finished staunchly.
The words throbbed in the air between them.
Rebecca took a deep breath. “Lorelei, I do not intend to wed Lord Edelston.”
“But when—how—the wedding is
Sunday
!”
“I intend to . . . miss the wedding.”
Rebecca stared meaningfully into Lorelei’s crystalline blue eyes, willing her to take her meaning.
And after a moment, Lorelei did take her meaning. “I have some money, Rebecca,” she said slowly. “You may have it. But, oh, Rebecca,
please
be careful.”
Lorelei lifted the lid of her jewelry box and extracted a pound note.
“A wager I won from Susannah Carson. She thought her nephew would be a boy. I guessed otherwise. Her new niece was born last week.”
“Wagers? Trysts? Whatever shall we do with you, Lorelei Tremaine?” Rebecca teased. “I do not believe the vicar would consider these events stops on the path to righteousness.”
Lorelei placed the pound note in Rebecca’s hand with a squeeze and an intent, imploring look. They shared a moment of awkward silence.
“I didn’t come for money, Lorelei.”
“I know. But you will need it.”
Rebecca smiled slightly. “I just wanted you to know that I . . . I will miss you.”
Tears began to well up in Lorelei’s eyes. “Oh, Rebecca! ’Tis all my fault! If only—”
“For heaven’s sake, Lorelei,” Rebecca teased again. “I thought we decided to blame Edelston.”
“But . . . when I marry an earl . . . Becca, I
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