She took two tiptoed steps toward the door, then stopped. Her boots had nice hard soles on them and they clattered as she walked. She would have to remove them. Her bones let out a loud creak as she sat on the floor and unlaced her shoes. Finally, footwear in hand, she continued her silent trek toward the connecting door.
Heart pounding, she placed her hand on the knob. Since she hadn't shut the door properly, she didn't have to twist it. She gave it a light tug, and then, with very controlled movements, pulled the door open.
She poked her face into the room first, then breathed a silent sigh of relief. Robert was sleeping soundly. The blasted man didn't appear to be wearing anything under the bed sheets, but Victoria quickly decided not to contemplate that fact just then.
She tiptoed toward his door, mentally thanking whomever it was who had decided to lay a rug in his room. It made her procession all the more quiet. Finally she reached the door. Robert had left the key in the lock. Ah, this would be the trickiest part. She had to get the door unlocked and slip out without waking him.
It occurred to her then that it was actually quite a good thing that Robert slept in the nude. If she did wake him up, she would be able to get quite a good head start while he pulled on his clothing. He might be determined to get her into his clutches, but she rather doubted that his determination extended to running through the streets of Faversham wearing nary a stitch.
She wrapped her fingers around the key and turned her head. The lock made a loud click. She caught her breath and looked over her shoulder. Robert made a sleepy, rumbling sort of noise and rolled over, but other than that he made no sign he was waking up.
With pent up breath, Victoria slowly pulled the door open, praying that the hinges wouldn't creak. It made a tiny noise, causing Robert to move a bit more and smack his lips in a curiously appealing manner. Finally she got the door halfway open and slipped through.
Escape! It was almost too easy; the triumph Victoria had expected to feel just wasn't there. She ran through the hall and made her way down the stairs. No one was on duty, so she was able to slip out the front door unnoticed.
Once out in the open, however, she realized that she had no idea where to go. It was about fifteen miles to Bellfield; not too far to walk when one was really determined, but Victoria didn't particularly relish the thought of walking along the Canterbury Road by herself at night. She would probably do better to find a place to hide near the inn and wait for Robert to depart.
Victoria eyed her surroundings as she put her shoes back on. The stables might do, and there were a few shops nearby that might have places to hide. Perhaps—
“Well, well, wot 'ave we 'ere?”
Victoria's heart sank into her instantly queasy stomach. Two large, dirty, and from the looks of it drunken men were closing in on her. She took a step backward—back toward the inn.
“Oy still got a few pennies left,” one of them said. “Wot's yer price, missy?”
“I'm afraid you have the wrong idea,” Victoria said, her words coming out terribly rushed.
“Come on now, lovey,” the other said, reaching out and grabbing her arm. “We just want a bit of sport. Be a good lovey to us.”
Victoria let out a surprised scream. The man's hand was biting into her skin. “No, no,” she said, panic beginning to set in. “I'm not that kind of—” She didn't bother to finish the sentence; they didn't seem to be paying attention.
“I am a married woman,” she lied, using a louder tone of voice.
One of them actually tore his eyes off her breasts for a moment and looked up. He blinked, then shook his head.
Victoria sucked in her breath. They obviously had no scruples concerning the sanctity of marriage. Finally, out of desperation, she burst out, “My husband is the earl of Macclesfield! If you touch a hair on my head, he'll have you killed. I swear he will.”
That gave them pause. Then one of them said, “Wot's the wife of a bloody earl doing out by 'erself in the middle of the night?”
“It's a very long story, I assure you,” Victoria improvised, still backing up toward the inn.
“I think she's making it up,” the one holding her arm said. He yanked her closer to him with a movement surprisingly fast for one so inebriated. Victoria tried not to gag at his foul breath. Then she changed her mind and tried to gag. Vomit might be just the thing to dampen his ardor.
“We're just going to 'ave a bit of fun tonight,” he whispered. “You and me and—”
“I wouldn't try it,” drawled a voice Victoria knew all too well. “I don't like it when people touch my wife.”