The hackney pulled to a stop, and
Edmund offered her a hand down. Her fingers trembled just enough that she was
certain he’d feel the shaking against his palm, but he said nothing. Victoria swallowed hard
as the warm, fresh air cooled her heated cheeks.
The townhouse was nestled in a
prominent neighborhood, the kind that used to belong to the highest echelon of
French society. The gardens would be well tended, she knew, the servants the
most discreet of any servants, and the walls high to ensure privacy.
Her own townhouse didn’t sit on
this street but several avenues west in an equally prestigious neighborhood, if
not one that boasted as rich a history as this.
Victoria swallowed and pushed all thoughts
of houses and ancestry and history to the back of her mind. Taking in a deep
breath to calm her nerves, she noticed the front door already stood open, a
light beckoning them inside. She’d second-guessed herself the entire ride here,
short though it had been.
Vacillating between wondering if
this had been the worst mistake of her brief, adventurous life, and embracing
all Warren
offered, she took several steps toward the door. Was it a mistake to accept Warren’s enticing
invitation? A mistake to climb into his carriage? A mistake to exit it now,
instead of ordering the driver to continue on to her own house?
Her mind told her she knew nothing
of these men and needed to turn right around and run. She’d come here with two
strangers in order to embrace an exciting future. To be not what society
expected, or her father demanded, but who she wanted to be.
Her body hummed with the strange,
new need Warren’s
seductive voice promised.
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