The Countess by Catherine Coulter

or pounding on the door of my bedchamber. I was sure that no one was anywhere

close enough to hear me. No, it was going to have to be the window for George

and me, and a nice scary climb down to the frozen ground. Then I had to steal a

horse. Well, not Small Bess, her back and hock weren’t well enough yet. I would

see what horses remained in the stables.

“Come, George, let’s see what we’ve got here.” I carried him to the windows. I

pulled back the heavy curtains, and looked out into the darkness. It looked very

very cold out there, a small sliver of hard white moon shining brightly. The

drop to the ground was too great a distance, and the outer walls seemed sheer.

The bitter wind stung my eyes as my fingers probed along the casement. I knew

there was a ledge. Caroline had climbed out on it, walking along it until she

had managed to get into another chamber. It had to be wide enough. But I would

be carrying George. It would be tricky.

I jerked up. Tempest was snorting, pawing the ground. I got to my feet, trying

to ignore the sprain in my ankle, and crept to the road, George held beneath my

cloak. I stood listening, but I didn’t hear anything.

I waited for five minutes, then went back to Tempest. He seemed rested, his

breathing even, his body tense and ready. As I quickly smoothed the blanket and

hauled the saddle back onto his back, I wondered whether Lawrence had discovered

my escape and was now, even at this very moment, riding hard after me, that

wretched valet of his on his heels. Tempest must have felt my urgency because he

twisted his great head around and whinnied softly. Finally, saddle in place, I

grasped the pommel and pulled myself up on his back. We regained the main road,

and Tempest, with no encouragement from me, broke into a steady, long-strided

gallop. I leaned down again and rubbed my ankle, thankful that I had escaped

with such a slight injury. It could have been much worse. I had certainly

believed it would be.

The ledge was narrow, dangerously narrow. I had pulled back into the room and

looked down at my heavy velvet gown. A dress would never do. If I had to walk on

that narrow ledge carrying George and keeping my balance, I had to get rid of

the ridiculous skirts. I found my boy’s britches tucked away in the bottom

drawer of the huge armoire. I had last worn them two years before, in Yorkshire,

at Grandfather’s country estate, Deerfield Hall. What better disguise than to

travel as a boy, safe from curious eyes. Deerfield Hall was my destination

tonight. I figured it would only take me three or four hours to ride there,

perhaps longer if I had to hide. No matter, I could manage it. I quickly changed.

I was fastening my cloak when I realized that I didn’t have any money. I found

only a few odd shillings in my drawer. I grabbed a handful of jewelry and

stuffed it all into one of the pockets of my cloak. I pulled my derringer from

beneath my pillow and carefully slipped it inside my britches. “Well, George,

are you ready to hold tight to me while I try to keep my balance?” And with

those words, George wuffed and jumped up on his hind feet, waving his front paws

at me, ready for me to pick him up. I looked at the lovely ormolu clock on the

mantel before I opened the window. It was nearly three o’clock in the morning.

No wonder there hadn’t been any servants about when Lawrence had forced me up

here. They had been in bed for hours. I just hadn’t realized how very late it

was.

I swear that stepping out on that ledge required more guts than anything else in

my life. I had this feeling that there were a lot more bad things out there,

waiting for me. I looked at that ledge. I didn’t want to set a single foot on it.

I was afraid for both myself and for George, but there was simply no choice. I

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