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)
‘Yes, yes, I agree.’ He blinks rapidly and appears to shake himself back into the room. ‘Grant, see to it that the workers are happy.’ He pats my shoulder. ‘And the story, Frank, such great writing. I was compelled myself. Now keep up the good work.’ Father leaves and I exhale, hoping to God that I can keep up the good work, and leave Grant, walking back to my horse. To keep up the good work, I must have something to work with, and there’s been no sight nor sound of the highwaymen for some days.
I spend the evening at Gladstone’s mulling over my predicament. Lord above, I may have scared her away. She may have, along with thousands of other people, although I expect she stole a copy rather than paid for one, read the report and decided it was too risky hanging around London waiting to be caught, revealed, and subsequently hanged. A distressed sweat dampens my brow, the pressures of running a business, a newspaper, hitting me, not for the first time, with significant force. I look down at the Scotch in my hand. I cannot fail. I cannot let my family down. Tomorrow is a new day, and it must not be wasted with a hangover.
I nod to myself, finish my drink, and leave, walking home, humming to myself as I do. I turn onto Belmore Square and come to a stop by the entrance to the gardens, looking up at our house. I can see shadows in the drawing room, the candlelight making the partygoers’ silhouettes flicker and jump; the sound of laughter and chatter is muffled but still loud. I climb the steps and enter. The voices get louder, voices I recognise – Lady Wisteria, Lady Blythe, Lady Tillsbury, and then the gentlemen, laughing raucously with Papa. The gathering sounds far from finished, but I am without the energy to join them, so I slip into Papa’s study for a nightcap and a few quiet moments alone before I take to my bed. I close the door gently and go to the sideboard where Papa keeps his decanter of Scotch.
‘Good evening, Mr Melrose.’
I still and stare at the crystal cut glass in my hand, my shoulders lifting slightly at the sound of her voice, as if I am tense and I know not why. It is ridiculous. ‘My lady.’ I brave facing her, and I am nearly as ruined as any blue ruin could ever ruin me. She’s sitting by the fireplace with a book on her lap.
She holds it up. ‘Her Grace brought me in here to show me this. It is a book about my family. She read it when she saw a painting being carried into our home before she and my brother became’ – she pauses for thought, for the most appropriate words she can find – ‘aquainted.’
It’s laughable. ‘So you do read books?’ I say like a gormless fool, and she smiles, her cheeks filling with blood.
‘Well, I suppose it is part of what a lady should do.’ She places it to one side and collects a newspaper. ‘I must say, your story, it’s …’ She pauses once again for thought, and I step forward, interested to know what she thinks. ‘It is quite enthralling.’
‘Is that a compliment?’
‘Perhaps,’ she answers, nonchalant, or trying to be. ‘I particularly enjoyed the part where you state …’ Looking at the ceiling, she hums. ‘How did it read? Oh, yes.’ She looks at me with eyes full of excitement, and I am taken aback by it. ‘My heart raced surely as fast as the steed that I was nose-to-nose with could run.’
‘It was certainly thrilling.’ Like the thought of kissing you.
‘Not frightening?’ she asks, watching me closely as my shoulders, of their own volition, roll back, making me stand taller.
‘And that, yes.’ Again, like the thought of kissing you.
‘I thought as much,’ she whispers, her eyes falling to my lips. ‘Because I am certain if I were face-to-face with a highwayman, I would be terrified.’
‘It was a woman. A highwaywoman.’
‘Of course.’ She blinks and returns her eyes to the newspaper. ‘It is refreshing to read something that does not rouse memories. I found it very difficult, you see, to read your sister’s story.’ She frowns. ‘Or our story.’ She looks at me and smiles. ‘I love your story, Frank.’
She is an unconventional sort, unruly in dress, hair and personality. And all the more beautiful for it. And, obviously, she is so very deeply distressed by what happened to her family, though she tries to put on a brave face. Perhaps her snarky way is a defence mechanism.
I flinch and quickly turn away, if only to escape the blinding glow Taya is radiating, painfully accepting what I have ignorantly refused to accept for some weeks since Taya Winters returned to Belmore Square and dazzled me. I am not only attracted to her, but completely and utterly enamoured of her. God damn me, I think she is possibly the most beautiful creature I have ever laid my eyes upon, and I have laid my eyes upon many a beautiful woman. But just as quickly as I accept that hard truth, I also accept that my infatuation matters not. Not only am I without a title, as Taya kindly informed me herself, I cannot let my family down. Any dalliances with Taya Winters would surely cause untold scandal for the Winters, and very likely end the Melroses and our business. But, by God, she is most tempting, and I am fast losing my willpower to resist her.