bowed. ‘Goodnight, Lady Marguerite.’
‘Lord Compton.’
She stepped inside, then closed and bolted the door. She leaned her back against it, listening for his retreating footsteps. She had the strangest feeling that he had lingered, waiting to hear the bolt slide home.
Imagination. He had no real reason to care if she was safe or not, even if he was a man who liked to control the lives of those around him. Besides, she would never be safe until she dealt with her persecutor.
Once that occurred, she would also be free of His Lordship’s unsettling presence. He was far too domineering, too strict in his notions with regard to his daughters, for her liking. She could not help but be sorry for the poor little motherless mites.
Perhaps that was what they needed. A mother.
A handsome and wealthy man like Lord Compton ought to have no trouble finding a wife. A little stab of something pierced her heart. What, was she jealous of this unknown female and future wife? Surely not?
As she knew to her cost, good looks and wealth did not guarantee happiness.
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