Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
She enthrals me. Bloody typical, isn’t it, that the one woman who truly captivates me is forbidden. What a mess.
I pace towards my horse, planning on a trip to Gladstone’s so I may lose myself in some blue ruin, but when I see Scarlett Dare, who is stepping down from a coach, spot me and smile in that seductive, enticing way that she does, I quickly divert, abandoning my horse and escaping down an alleyway. Never would I have dreamed I would be avoiding women. Never! And yet here I am skulking down some dirty alleyway to escape the disingenuous clutches of Lizzy Fallow, the tempting seductions of Scarlett Dare, and the magical powers of Taya Winters.
I do not have time for this! I’ve spent most of my adult life pursuing women. Now I feel like I’m spending all my time avoiding them.
‘The highwaymen!’ someone screeches in the distance.
I come to an abrupt halt, my ears pricking up, as well as my heartbeat, when I hear the distinct, thunderous sound of horses’ hooves pounding the ground. ‘My God,’ I breathe, turning on my heels and running back out of the alleyway. I notice a commotion in the distance, people jumping out of the way, horses becoming agitated. One rider even falls from his horse when it starts to buck and kick. There are a few screams, some gentlemen yelling, and then I see them at the top of the promenade. Three horsemen – two on black stallions and one on a white one, charging towards us. It must be an innate something stupid in me that refuses to allow my legs to function when faced with wild horses. Or wild women. I am frozen. My eyes pass across all three riders, all standing in the saddle, all cloaked in brown leather with hats upon their heads and scarves covering their faces. Two of the riders are significantly larger than the other, only substantiating my suspicions. Or my hopes. I will my legs to life and wander into the middle of the road, watching as the horses stampede towards me, and I am mesmerised as I follow their path. They coast past at quite some speed. My skin prickles, my heart pounds. Now this feeling is not forbidden, and I must feed it, nurture it, for it is sure to do me no harm.
Enough is enough. I cannot hold back any longer.
I must tell this story.
Chapter 7
When I burst into Father’s study, I find him at his desk.
With Eliza.
‘Sister,’ I say, slowly closing the door. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’
She rests some papers down on her knee, no doubt the next chapter in the tale of her disgraced husband’s tragic story, and smiles brightly at me. I refuse to ask myself why she appears to be so happy, but, then again, I suppose one of them needs to be, as her husband is quite a conundrum. I never know whether he is about to blacken my daylights or laugh and haul me in for a manly hug. ‘Frank,’ she replies, her head tilted as I regard her carefully. She’s glowing, her cheeks pink, her skin radiant.
I join them at the desk, my father smiling fondly at us both. I cannot deny it, it is wholly wonderful to see him looking so light and free since the removal of Lymington from both our business and personal lives. ‘Papa,’ I say, nodding as I lower myself to the chair, giving Eliza a curious eye to match the one cast upon me. ‘Might we discuss business?’
‘Oh?’ he says.
‘Oh?’ Eliza mimics, making me smile. She is very aware of the story I am itching to tell.
‘I believe I have the next big st––’
‘Burt!’ Mama shrieks, bursting into his study, pulling all of our attention her way. ‘Those highwaymen stole Frank’s coins and left him for dead! He’s disappeared, nowhere to be seen, and I fear he is in shock! Perhaps disorientated, or maybe he’s lost his memory from the trauma and cannot find his way home.’
‘Oh, for the love of God,’ I breathe, sliding down my chair.
‘Oh?’ Mama says, finding me. ‘There you are.’ She flounces over, running her eyes all over me, while Eliza laughs and father rolls his eyes.
‘Really, Florence, we have no need to embellish the drama, now, do we?’
She pouts on a small smile. ‘I am merely maintaining the momentum.’
‘No need, dear. We sold over fifteen thousand copies yesterday.’
‘Wonderful!’
‘In fact, Eliza and I were just discussing purchasing another machine to keep up with demand.’
‘You were?’ I blurt.
‘We were,’ Eliza confirms, struggling to hide her smile.
This is utterly absurd. ‘Without me? Did Eliza at some point grow a tackle and not tell me?’ I ask, forgetting myself for a moment. I pay for it as well. My sister marches over and gives me a close-up of her disgusted expression. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ I admit, exasperated. ‘But …’ But, what? I have no defence. I have hardly earned the privilege of being taken seriously in business. Eliza has. So she must appreciate this urge in me. It is really quite something, this feeling, this desperation, to indulge the imaginations of the ton. Or is it simply an urge to indulge my own imagination?