Conspiring with a Rogue (21 page)

Whitney’s bedroom door creaked open. Only Audrey would dare to enter her bedchamber. Mrs. Frompington had been instructed, as a requirement of gaining the position as Audrey’s chaperone, to never enter Whitney’s personal domain. She couldn’t imagine what Audrey wanted to chatter about at such an ungodly hour in the morning, nor did she care enough to emerge from her cocoon underneath her sheet and quilt to inquire. Instead, she pulled her protective coverings tighter.

“Go away,” she moaned. All she wanted was to be alone and wallow in her misery. She did not want to see another living soul today. She wanted only to sleep to escape thoughts of Drake.

A plump, fluffy pillow smacked her firmly on the head. “Get up, Whitney,” Audrey demanded in a voice that managed to sound stern and sweet at the same time.

The opposing combination amused Whitney for a moment, but only just that. She was entirely too depressed for merriment. She had lost Drake forever, and despite the fact that she had lost him to save him, it still hurt dreadfully. To think how wonderful their life could have been together made her groan and curl her body into a tight ball. “Go away. I do believe I’m dying.”

“Such fustian nonsense,” Audrey chirped, whipping Whitney’s sheet and coverlet back off her body and face. “Gawds! You look dreadful.”

Whitney clambered into a sitting position and rubbed her blurry eyes. “What do you want, Audrey? Why don’t you go trade gossip with Mrs. Frompington?”

“She’s gone to her friend’s for the day. Something about a grandchild with a terrible cough. Lucinda packed a bag full of the nastiest smelling remedies. I feel sorry for her friend’s grandchild.” Audrey scrutinized Whitney for a moment, and then sat beside her. Without a word, she put her arm around Whitney’s shoulder and hugged her. “Have you been crying all night?”

“Not all night,” Whitney said with a sniff. She had not returned home until the wee hours of the early morning, after all. But the moment she shut her bedroom door, the tears had begun. When had they stopped? She touched her face, shocked to find it icy cold and damp. Had she been crying for Drake even in her sleep? Her mind was numb. She could not recall whether she had dreamed of him or not.

“Tell me what’s happened? Did he hurt you?”

“Drake?”

“Of course, Mr. Sutherland. Who else? Unless…” Audrey’s face drained of all color. “Oh my God!” She clutched both of Whitney’s arms. “I told you disguising yourself as a woman of the night and entering the Sainted Order was a bad idea.” Audrey’s high, brittle, hysteria-edged voice hurt Whitney’s ears. “Were you forced?” Audrey continued, seemingly unaware of her screeching. “Your innocence taken without your consent?”

Without my consent?
The question buzzed in Whitney’s head for a moment. How could she explain that she had begged Drake to take her innocence? “I—”

“Oh, dearest, poor dearest.” Audrey crushed Whitney to her. “There’s no need to say another word. Your face tells me all.” Audrey thrust Whitney away and jumped up. “Take heart, dearest. Your Mr. Sutherland will love you no matter the loss of your virtue. He’ll avenge you. Come.” Audrey grasped Whitney by the hand and yanked her to her feet. “It’ll pain you, but you must tell him all. Tell him now. And then never think upon it again.”

On the verge of being dragged across the threshold of her bedroom with nothing but her cotton night rail on, Whitney dug in her heels and pulled back with all her strength. “Cease your lamenting,” she hissed. “I haven’t been ravished.”

Audrey paused in her efforts. “You’re sure?”

“I think I’d know,” Whitney muttered and yanked Audrey back into the bedroom before quietly shutting the door. Though her bedroom was one floor above the main living area where any guest would wait, she would take no chances of her conversation with Audrey accidentally being overheard.

Her sinking suspicion could not be correct. Still, if it was… “Please, please, tell me that Drake is not waiting below stairs for me.”

Audrey stared at Whitney for a moment before shrugging. “Fine. I won’t tell you, as you clearly have already guessed.”

“This cannot be happening to me,” Whitney moaned. “What is he doing here? Is he here to see Mr. Wentworth?”

“Oh, dearest.” Audrey patted her arm. “He is here to see
you
. As is your cousin, Lord Davenport.”

“
Sin?
I should have known he would not keep my secret. How stupid of me to trust him, black-hearted devil that he is.” Whitney stomped over to her wardrobe, threw the lid off a closed box and rummaged around for a moment before snatching out her emerald-green frock to don.

Audrey walked over to Whitney and motioned for her to turn around. “Didn’t you tell me green was Mr. Sutherland’s favorite color?”

Whitney swung around and glared at Audrey. “This gown is the only one that is not overly wrinkled, and
that
is the only reason I chose it.”

Audrey’s gaze flickered to Whitney’s open wardrobe, then back to Whitney’s face. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Whitney grumbled and presented her back to Audrey for help. Audrey sighed audibly but fastened Whitney’s dress in silence.

Whitney’s thoughts careened wildly in her head. What should she do? She should not see Drake again. One touch or desirous look from him, and she may very well crumble to pieces before him. The unfairness of it all. She silently prayed to a merciless God.
Please make him go. Please.
To hurt him once had taken her heart. To hurt him last night had taken her soul. If she had to hurt him again, it would kill her. Deep within, she knew she would never recover. He had to leave.

“I’m finished,” Audrey said.

Whitney faced Audrey and took her hands. “You have to make him leave. I cannot…I cannot see him. Tell him I’m ill. Violently so. Tell him my complexion is green, my eyes yellow, my brow soaked.”

“If I told him all that, he would be up these stairs in a heartbeat to nurture you back to health. He loves you. Your cousin told me just how much. Surely you know.” Sympathy and censure filled Audrey’s eyes. “How can you do this to Mr. Sutherland?”

“It’s not easy,” Whitney murmured and pressed her hands to her ears. She did not want to hear how he loved her. She knew exactly what she had lost.

Audrey gently pulled Whitney’s hands away from her ears. “Will you avoid him forever? He knows where you’re hiding. He knows you’re Mr. Wentworth.”

Panic rose in Whitney’s chest. She fell back onto the bed and clutched the soft coverlet to her chest. Her gaze flittered around the room over the desk, the washstand, the chairs, and to the window overlooking the garden. She could see the water spouting up from the fountain in the center of the garden.

Water. The sea. A voyage. She seized upon the idea. “I’ll flee England. I’ll go to America, far away from where Drake’s home is.”

“A fine plan,” Audrey agreed, though Audrey’s voice quivered suspiciously. “Will you go as soon as you can secure passage?”

“Yes! As soon as possible.” Whitney ran over to her wardrobe and heaved out her trunk. It landed against the wood floor with a thud. She flung open the lid, ignoring Audrey’s gaping stare. The sharp sting of tears blinded Whitney, but she reached for her clothing and tugged a handful of men’s trousers and coats out of the wardrobe. She staggered under the weight of heavy material but managed to drop the clothes into the open container.

She bent down and began to stuff the clothing into the trunk, mindless of her tears but very mindful of the silent woman watching her. Next, she scrambled to fetch some shoes. The soles of her slippers and boots scraped across the wood as she gathered them into her arms. Her heart raced, and her breathing came in short hiccupping gasps.

She stood and turned in a circle to survey her room, but stopped short at the gaze of pity Audrey gave her. Whitney took three measured breaths, wiped the tears from her face and ran her hands through her hair. She surely looked as if she had gone mad. “Hats. I must have hats in America.” She started for her hat stand, but Audrey was there in front of Whitney, arms encircling her, hand patting Whitney’s head.

“Poor dearest. You still love him greatly, don’t you?”

“
I do
. I don’t know if I have the strength to send him away.”

“Then don’t send him away.”

Whitney disentangled herself from Audrey’s embrace. “There’s no choice. It’s how it has to be.”

Audrey frowned. “Why? Why must it be that way?”

“Because. Because I am protecting him from
me
.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, of course you don’t,” Whitney replied, her exasperation tingeing her voice. “You cannot understand, and I can’t tell you more to do so.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Won’t.” Whitney hated the wounded look on Audrey’s face. That was twice in the last two days someone she cared for had looked at her as if she had struck them. But there were already two people in this world who knew the truth of why she had left Drake―Mrs. Blightson and Lillian Lloyd. Mrs. Blightson had a vested interest in keeping the truth silent—ruining Whitney’s life as slowly and painfully as possible. And Lillian, sweet Lillian. She was Whitney’s dearest and truest friend. Whitney had no doubt Lillian would take her secret to her grave and that was why she had to stay. She could not be so selfish as to leave Lillian in the lurch.

“There’s a fatal flaw in my escape plan.”

Audrey nodded. “I was wondering how long it would take you to remember.”

Whitney ran a distracted hand down the length of her dress. “Of course, I can’t quit England without finding Lillian. She would never abandon me in my time of need.”

“
What shall you do?” The question was a breathless whisper that hung between them.

“
First I must focus on Drake. I can’t believe he does not already hate me, but if there is a chance that he doesn’t, he will after today.”

Audrey bit her lower lip. “We do what we must, but try not to be too cruel.”

Pain ripped through Whitney’s stomach, almost making her double over. She clutched at her side and squeezed. “I’ll be as cruel as need be.” Her breath caught before she could finish her sentence. She swallowed thickly. “And then more.”

She hurried to her writing desk and scrawled an address out for Audrey. “This town house is one building over and is the residence of Mr. Jonathan Ramsey. If he’s there, tell him to come at once. Tell him…tell him Whitney is calling in the favor he owes me. Tell him his utmost discretion is required, along with his best portrayal of a besotted lover.”

“
I’ll leave at once,” Audrey declared, though she hesitated. Her gaze searched Whitney’s face. “Must you really be so cruel?”

The twisting pain ripped through Whitney’s insides again. “Crueler than I ever imagined, it seems.”

“
I hope you’re right, and Mr. Sutherland hates you now.” Color infused Audrey’s cheeks. “For his sake, of course.”

In agreement with her friend’s bold words, Whitney nodded. “I hope so too, but Jonathan will be my assurance. Go out the servant’s entrance. If my fair-weather cousin spies you, he’ll demand to know details, and I fear you would be no match for his charm.”

Audrey blushed deeper with Whitney’s statement, but her eyes narrowed into challenging slits. “You underestimate me.”

“
Perhaps, but I do
not
underestimate my cousin.” Audrey’s blush, already a deep red, moved from her cheeks to her neck. In the short time Whitney had known Audrey, the girl had acted as if nothing could embarrass her. Unease prickled up Whitney’s spine. “Sin has not already influenced you, has he?”

“
Don’t be absurd,” Audrey exclaimed. “I spent one hour with him. All he did was tell me how much Mr. Sutherland still pines for you.”

“
That’s all he did?” Whitney was positive Audrey was lying.

“
He said nothing else,” Audrey snapped before slipping out the door.

“
I wasn’t speaking of talk,” Whitney mumbled to herself.

She would have to watch Audrey closely from here on out. The woman was obviously smitten with Sin, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself. The last thing Whitney needed was to worry that her fake betrothed would tell her meddling cousin more than she wanted him to know. She could not allow Sin to use Audrey for information. Those two troublemakers needed to be sequestered, and Drake had to be banished from her life. She faced the looking glass and brushed her hair until her hand no longer shook and her mind cleared of all but the thought of Drake at the helm of his ship. This was for him and his dreams. She must remember that, no matter the pain to come.

Whitney marched down the staircase, determined to make quick work of expelling Drake. The man had to leave her house this instant. It was that simple. A plan formed in her mind and grew stronger with each breath. She would look him square in the eye, demand he leave, and then usher him out the door herself.