His Lady Mistress by Elizabeth Rolls

of a plan for escape, or try to find a position. She had to leave. At once. She’d burned an entire armada of boats to the waterline.
    But, oh! It had been worth it to see the look on Celia’s face! Despite her fear, she giggled. And Aunt’s face! As though the silent, cowed poor relation had suddenly gone mad.
    Enough. Now she had to think what to do. Shivering, she faced the truth. If she remained, she was ruined. After this, her aunt would look the other way while Godfrey debauched her. If she left and sought shelter in the workhouse, it would only be a matter of time before some other man took her.
    A whore.
    Whichever way she turned, she was trapped. Unless…unless she accepted Lord Blakehurst’s offer. She couldn’t ! She didn’t dare…did she? Carefully she thought it over. If she took some precautions, misled him a little about her intentions, he would never realise who she was. If he took her, she would be free. Even if they realised who she had gone to, they wouldn’t dare take her back, because to do so they would have to admit who she was. The risk of scandal would be too great.
    She would have to remain Selina Dering. With a queer sense of foreboding, she realised that, to all intents and purposes, Verity would cease to exist. There would be only Selina. Max must never know the truth. Any of it.
     
    Straight after dinner Max excused himself, muttered something about an early start and went up to his room. Not even the prospect of finding out what had caused the explosion of feminine hysteria shortly before dinner tempted him to remain for longer than was absolutely required by the dictates of courtesy.
    That Celia Faringdon had been at the centre of the outburst was evidenced by the fact that she had not appeared at dinner. Lady Faringdon’s explanation of a sensitive and easily cast-down temperament, Max translated as spoiled brat who didn’t get her own way over something trivial .
    Once in his room, he rang the bell and when Harding arrived, said, ‘We’ll leave first thing. Have you packed?’
    Harding nodded. ‘Aye, sir. Everything’s ready. Will there be aught else tonight?’
    Max shook his head, and then reconsidered. ‘On second thoughts, send up a bottle of brandy, and then get an early night.’
    Harding hesitated. ‘Brandy, sir? You’ll have a devilish head in the morning.’
    Earl Blakehurst raised his brows. ‘I beg your pardon, Sergeant?’

    Holding his ground gallantly, Harding repeated, ‘You’ll have a devilish head, sir. The brandy’s damned awful!’
    Max managed a disclipinary sort of stare. ‘In which case you have my full permission to say “I told you so” and gloat. Just do it.’
    ‘Yes, sir. One hangover coming up, sir.’
    Max’s mouth twitched. ‘Impudent dog! God knows why I bear with you!’
    Harding grinned. ‘Probably, sir. Omniscient, isn’t He?’
    Max burst out laughing and sat down on the bed to pull his shoes off.
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Mmm?’
    ‘Dessay it’s not my place to ask, but did you hear anything about the Colonel’s lass?’
    The laughter drained away. ‘I’m sorry, Harding, I should have told you,’ he said quietly. ‘She’s dead. Faringdon hinted that she took her own life. I was too late. Again.’
    Harding blanched. ‘Oh, Gawd! I’m that sorry, sir.’
    ‘So am I. Goodnight.’
     
    When the brandy came Max uncorked it and faced his failure. Five years. Why the hell had he left it so long to assure himself of Verity Scott’s well being? Not knowing the Faringdons beyond a nodding acquaintance, he’d assumed that they would take care of Verity, that she would be safe with them. Damn it, he’d been relieved when he discovered that her relations were wealthy.
    Not until Lady Faringdon came to the fore this past spring in launching the fair Celia had he begun to wonder.
    His fingers tightened on the wine glass and he took a large swallow, feeling the brandy burn its way down. He had thought that the child was better off not