Laura Martin - The Viscount's Runaway Wife

‘You’re my wife, Lucy. I’m not going to let you just walk out of my life again.’

There was panic in her eyes, the same feral expression as an animal that knows it is cornered.

‘You can’t just keep me here,’ she said softly, as if she knew it wasn’t true.

‘Twenty minutes,’ Oliver said brusquely. ‘That’s how long you’ve been in my house. Over a year I’ve been searching for you.’

‘What if I promise not to disappear again?’ she said quietly. ‘I can give you my address.’

‘I don’t trust you, Lucy.’

She chewed her lip and Oliver wondered if she had something or someone she wanted to get back for or if she just couldn’t bear to be in his company any longer. The idea that she might have a lover was like a dagger to his heart and quickly he had to push the thought away before it did any more damage to his emotions.

Before he could stop himself, he spoke. ‘Come,’ he said brusquely, ‘let me show you to your room. We can continue our discussion at dinner.’

Although they had been married for ten months before Lucy had fled, she hadn’t before been to Sedgewick House in London. His main residence was Sedgewick Place, a sprawling country estate in Sussex, and that had been where they’d married and spent the time together before he’d been recalled back to the army. Since she was pregnant by the time he’d left, she had decided to spend the Season in the country rather than travelling up to London, only to have to return to Sussex for her confinement.

With a guiding hand resting in the small of her back, he felt Lucy stiffen, but she allowed him to show her the way out of the room and up the stairs.

‘Your bedroom,’ Oliver said, opening the door. He watched her face carefully, noting the widening of her eyes as she realised it was the bedroom of the lady of the house, complete with connecting door to his own room. ‘Take some time to get settled in. Dinner is at eight.’

Stepping out, he left her alone, keen to put some distance between them. The revelations of the afternoon had given him a lot to think about. Oliver wasn’t the sort of man who made any decisions quickly and he would appreciate having a few hours to himself before he resumed questioning Lucy. One thing was for certain—he wasn’t going to let her slip out of his life again and if that meant keeping a close watch on her these next few days, then that was what he’d do.

* * *

Sinking down on to the bed, Lucy glanced around the room. It was rather oppressively decorated with dark furniture and busy flowery wallpaper. Quite the change from her room back in St Giles. She had no doubt Oliver’s late mother had chosen the decor for the bedroom; it was not a room made for comfort and her mother-in-law had not been one for relaxing.

Quickly she stood, refusing to let the despair she could feel creeping in overtake her. There would be a way out, all she had to do was find it. She sympathised with Oliver, felt dreadful about how she had treated him and understood his desire to know everything that had happened since she’d run away, but she just couldn’t stay here. She was needed at the Foundation; people were relying on her—she couldn’t just disappear. With a shudder, she wondered what her husband’s long-term plan was—surely he couldn’t mean for her to stay with him indefinitely. Their lives had changed too much for that to work. Plenty of couples led completely separate lives. There really was no need for them to become entangled once again.

With a glance at the window she shook her head. There was no reason to consider acrobatics when she could easily just walk out the front door. She hadn’t heard Oliver turn the key in the lock; she wasn’t his prisoner here. All she needed to do was open the door, stroll down the hallway, descend the stairs and slip out the front door. She’d send him a note, of course, perhaps arrange a meeting in a more neutral environment to resolve their remaining issues.

Taking a deep breath, Lucy opened the door and stepped out into the hall.

‘Good afternoon, Lady Sedgewick,’ a smartly dressed young footman said, giving a formal little bow.

Lucy’s eyes narrowed as her heart sank. Oliver had posted a guard at her door. A guard. Someone to make sure she didn’t sneak away. It was insulting and showed her true position in the household: she was a prisoner.

With her cheeks reddening, she conceded that she had planned to slip away, but still, how dare her husband send a footman to monitor her movements.

‘Is there anything I can get you?’

‘Some tea, and water to wash my face.’ She hoped he would step away, hurry downstairs and organise the things she had requested, but he didn’t move a single inch.

‘Of course, Lady Sedgewick. I’ll arrange for them immediately.’

Neither of them moved and Lucy raised an imperious eyebrow. She had never been one to talk down to servants, always seen them as the hard-working, genuine people they were, but she wasn’t above a bit of play-acting if it meant securing her freedom.

‘Immediately,’ she said, injecting a sharp note into her voice.

He nodded but still didn’t move. Lucy hated any kind of confrontation, but a year living in St Giles had taught her how to look confident even when scared or uncertain.

‘Please don’t keep me waiting...’

‘Peterson, Lady Sedgewick,’ the footman supplied with a smile, as if oblivious to the tension between them. ‘You’ll have your tea and hot water in no time.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, giving in and spinning on her heel, closing the door firmly behind her. No doubt Peterson had strict orders from her husband not to leave his observation post and Oliver was not a man people seemed to disobey lightly.

Sighing, she regarded the room, crossing to the bed to flop down on the floral covers, but hesitated just as her body began to sink down.

They were only on the first floor, barely ten feet from the ground. The window had a generous ledge outside and she was sure she would be able to lower herself down. The remaining drop would only be a few feet. She’d be at risk of a twisted ankle, but nothing more serious, and if she landed correctly she might even get away unscathed. From what she could see there was a garden gate, leading to what she assumed would be a side passage and an easy stroll back to the street.

With a glance at the door, aware that her tea and hot water could arrive at any moment, she dashed to the window and pushed it up. To her relief it was unlocked and, before she could talk herself out of it, she had one leg over the casement and resting on the ledge. The skirts of her practical woollen dress tangled a little around her knees, but one swift tug and she was free, swinging the other leg out the window.

Cautiously she looked down. The garden was deserted, the small patio beneath her devoid of any furniture and the neatly trimmed lawn unbroken by any flower beds. It meant there was nowhere to hide, but if she dropped to the ground she could quickly skirt around the house to the side gate and let herself on to the street.

For a moment she hesitated. Perhaps she did owe it to Oliver to stay, to explain a little more about what had happened this past year. She’d been cruel and selfish to remain distant for so long, but truly what did he think they had to gain by renewing their relationship now? No, she’d escape from here, from the pressure he was putting on her to explain, from the guilt that was threatening to destroy her from the inside. Once she was back on more neutral ground she would consider how best to make amends to her husband, but she couldn’t think with his dark eyes boring into her, couldn’t reason when he fixed her with that haughty stare.

Before she lost her nerve, Lucy manoeuvred herself first to her hands and knees and then eased her body over the edge of the ledge. As she dangled, her fingers gripping the rough stone, she wondered if she had miscalculated. The drop seemed further than she had first imagined, but knowing there was no way she would be able to pull herself up again, she closed her eyes and let go.