The hackney trotted back towards the Thames. Letty stared out the window but it wasn’t Southwark she saw; it was Mr. Reid pinning Dunlop to the wall.
Such casual violence, performed as effortlessly as breathing.
She glanced at Reid. He was sunk deep in thought, his brow furrowed.
Her gaze dropped to Reid’s hands, clenched in his lap. They looked like gentleman’s hands, clad in leather gloves, but they weren’t; they were fighter’s hands, large and strong and brutal.
She knew she should be repelled by him—but she wasn’t.
Reid was tougher than any man she’d ever met. He was more a man than any man she’d met. He was dangerous. And because of those things—perversely, and against her better judgment—she was attracted to him.
He’s not attracted to me, Letty thought wryly. She was nothing more than a tool to Mr. Reid.
The hackney crossed London Bridge. A foul smell pushed its way into the carriage again. “What’s that smell?” Letty asked.
“Smell?” Reid blinked, and looked up. “The tanneries.”
They fell into silence again, traversing streets and neighborhoods Letty didn’t recognize. Finally, the hackney turned into the Strand. A few minutes more, and they’d be back at Hatchard’s. She smoothed her gloves on her hands, tweaked each fingertip.
I don’t want to go home.
“I apologize,” Reid said abruptly. “I should never have taken you to Marshalsea. It was unconscionable.”
Letty glanced at him. His expression was grim. Was he in the throes of a fit of conscience?
“It was interesting,” she said, and heard the bell-tone of truth in her words. It had been interesting—the sordid room, the coarse language, the violence. More interesting than any afternoon in her life. “Matlock. Would that be Lieutenant Thomas Matlock? The Earl of Riddleston’s brother?”
Reid put up his brows. “You know him?”
“Extremely well. He’s a close friend of my cousin, Lucas Kemp.”
“I don’t think it was Matlock.”
“He’s in England at the moment. Did you know? He’s on leave.”
From Reid’s expression, he hadn’t known.
“My cousins hold a house party in Wiltshire every year, before the hunting season starts. I’ll be there. And so will Tom Matlock.”
“I don’t think it’s Matlock,” Reid said again.
All too soon, the jarvey deposited them opposite Hatchard’s bookshop. Letty stared across at the wide bow-fronted windows. I have been to another world and back.
“How do you intend to . . .” Reid’s brow knitted. “To reenter your life? Will your maid meet you here?”
Letty shook her head. “I’ll pretend my friend sent a footman to escort me home—she lives only one street over from me.”
“An invisible footman?”
“A footman I dismissed on my doorstep.”
Reid looked dubious. “Will it serve?”
“It will,” Letty said. “If only because no one expects subterfuge from me. I’m extremely cautious, Mr. Reid—and my servants know it. I never go anywhere unattended. I have no wish to be trapped into marriage!”
Reid didn’t state the obvious: that she hadn’t been at all cautious today. “You live on Hill Street, I understand?”
“Yes.”
“I shall escort you.”
They walked along Piccadilly, and turned into Berkeley Street. Their strides matched. Reid walked silently. It was a novel experience to be in the company of a man who wasn’t trying to impress her with his wit or his charm or his antecedents.
Letty glanced at his profile. Reid would be a handsome man if he wasn’t so gaunt. Even gaunt, he was striking. What will you do now? she wanted to ask. But she knew. Find Green. Find Houghton. Find Cuthbertson.
And then die.
Her throat tightened painfully. A chilly breeze found its way through her veil, making her eyes sting.
Berkeley Square opened out in front of them, lofty houses with windows reflecting a darkening sky. Hill Street was on the far side. They walked around the winter-bare fenced garden in the middle of the square. The house she’d hired was just visible: tall and brick, with a gabled roof and crown cornices, as lofty as its neighbors.
The house was no prison, as Marshalsea was—and yet it was a prison. Her prison. Walls hung with silk, Aubusson carpets, gilt-edged dinner sets. The housemaids and the liveried footmen, the housekeeper and the butler, her chaperone Mrs. Sitwell, were all her warders.
Letty’s steps slowed. I don’t want to go back.
What she wanted was to go to Basingstoke with Mr. Reid and discover whether Green was his traitor. But that would entail lies. Many lies.
She frowned down at the pavement. Three Portuguese scouts. Good men, Reid had said. Brave men. Men who’d been betrayed to their deaths.
In her mind’s eye she saw a set of scales. The justice the scouts deserved weighed down one pan heavily. In the other pan were today’s lies. One to her maid. One to Miss Torpington. And one lie yet to be told, to her butler when he opened the door and saw no footman at her heels. Compared to the three deaths, the lies weighed almost nothing. They were . . . acceptable? No, not acceptable, but at least excusable. Small untruths uttered in the pursuit of one great truth. But if she went to Basingstoke she would have to tell more lies. At what point would the balance tip? When would the weight of lies become more than the weight of those deaths? When would the lies become inexcusable?
Perhaps it would be better to tell none at all. To let Reid struggle on alone.
But he’s dying.
Letty worried at her lower lip with her teeth, and thought about the scales—and then she looked at Reid, and the decision made itself. She would help him.
A carriage passed with a rattle of wheels on cobblestones. Mr. Reid stepped onto the roadway. Letty stayed where she was.
Reid halted, and glanced at her. “Miss Trentham?”
“Let us go to Basingstoke and look for Mr. Green.” Letty heard the words with faint shock. Did I truly say that?
She saw her own shock reflected on Reid’s face. He came back to her side. “Miss Trentham, it’s one thing to absent yourself from your household for an afternoon; it is quite another to go to Basingstoke. It’s all of fifty miles!”
“Don’t you wish for my help?”
Reid was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he said finally. “But not if it means your ruin.”
Letty gave a humorless laugh. “If only my suitors had your decency, Mr. Reid. Most of them would jump at ruining me if it meant I had to marry them!”
Reid’s face stiffened. “Decency? You know I have no decency. Not after Marshalsea. No decent man would have exposed you to such brutish behavior!”
“It was extremely interesting,” Letty said.
Reid’s eyebrows lifted.
“If you’re concerned about Dunlop’s language, it was shocking, but I assure you I didn’t understand everything he said. There was one word I’ve never heard before.”
Reid clearly understood which word she was referring to. His lips tightened. “An unpardonable piece of crudity.”
“And I must be lacking in sensibility, because I thought he quite deserved to be throttled.”
Reid gazed at her. His expression was bemused.
“Have I shocked you, Mr. Reid?”
Reid considered this question, and didn’t answer it directly. “I’m relieved the experience didn’t overset you.”
“I’m not a chit from the schoolroom to be thrown into the vapors by such a scene,” Letty told him. “I’m a grown woman. And I wish to go to Basingstoke with you. I believe it can be done without anyone being the wiser.”
“I don’t see how—”
“I’m engaged to stay with a friend in Andover for four nights, on my way to Wiltshire. I shall write to her, putting off my visit. Helen will think I’m still in London, and everyone else will think I’m in Andover.”
Reid frowned. “Your carriage—”
“I shall travel post this time, because . . . because I’ve decided my traveling chaise needs to be reupholstered!”
“And your maid?”
“I’ll give Pugh leave to visit her sister in Chertsey for a few days. I can set her down on the way, and she can travel on to Whiteoaks by stagecoach. And as for my chaperone, Mrs. Sitwell, she never goes to Wiltshire. She detests the countryside.”
Reid’s frown deepened. “Your maid will hardly leave you unattended in a post-chaise.”
“I shan’t be unattended. You will meet me in Chertsey. You’ll be sent by Helen, to escort me as an outrider.”
“Would your maid leave you in the care of just an outrider?” His tone suggested he didn’t think so.
Letty didn’t think so, either. She chewed on her lip, and then said, “You’ll have to hire a girl to pretend to be one of Helen’s maids. She won’t need to say a word, just wait at the posting inn in Chertsey with you. If Pugh sees you and a maid, she’ll be satisfied.”
“A pretend maid?” Reid said, in the same tone he’d said An invisible footman?
“Yes. A few minutes’ work for a couple of shillings—I’m sure you could find someone willing to do it.”
“What about Basingstoke? You’d need a maid there.”
“We’ll say my maid has fallen ill. A chambermaid can help me with my buttons.”
Reid frowned at her.
“We choose a quiet inn in Basingstoke, where neither of us is known, and put up for a few days.”
Reid’s frown deepened. “As man and wife?”
“We look too dissimilar to be brother and sister, don’t you think? We’d have separate chambers, of course!” Letty flushed, glad of the thick veil, and hurried on: “It shouldn’t take more than a day or two to discover Green’s whereabouts, if he’s still in Basingstoke. And if he’s not . . . Well, we’ll deal with that if it happens! And then I’ll take another post-chaise to Wiltshire. You may come if you wish, and speak to Tom Matlock.”
Reid turned his head away and looked across the square, his eyes narrow.
Letty watched him, and listened to the echo of everything she had said: Andover and Chertsey, outriders and maids. So many lies to be told. She was aware of a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Do I truly want to do this?
“I don’t like it,” Reid said finally. “But it could work.” Both statements were the truth. He regarded her for a long moment, as if trying to see through the veil. “Are you certain you wish to lend yourself to such a deception?”
No, I am not certain.
Letty hesitated, on the brink of balking—and then she thought of the scales again, thought about betrayal and death and justice and truth and lies. She gave a decisive nod. “Yes.” She was certain. She would do it for the dead scouts. She’d do it for Reid, who was dying. And she’d do it—shamefully—for herself, because she wanted to spend more time in his company, because she wanted not to be an heiress for a few days—and that was selfish and wrong, but at least she would be honest to herself and not pretend it wasn’t true.
“The risk to your reputation—”
“If it doesn’t bother me, it shouldn’t bother you.”
Reid gave her an extremely saturnine look. Too late, Letty realized she’d offered him a deep insult. A gentleman would be bothered by the risk to a lady’s reputation.
Reid’s lips compressed. Letty found herself holding her breath.
“Very well,” Reid said, finally. “We’ll attempt it. When?”
“I’m due to leave for Andover in six days.” Letty’s mind skipped over the hurdles and fastened on the goal at the end: Basingstoke. “Meet me in the park tomorrow. We’ll ride again, and discuss the details.”
This time, when Reid crossed the roadway, Letty matched her stride to his. He halted when they reached Hill Street. “I’ll come no further. Will you be safe?”
“Perfectly. Good-bye. Three o’clock in the park. Don’t forget!”
When she’d gone two steps, Reid said, “Thank you.”
Letty stopped and looked back. She gave him a nod. “You’re welcome.”
After a moment, he nodded back.
Letty turned away and walked down Hill Street. Emotions churned in her stomach: trepidation, a twinge of doubt, excitement. She climbed the steps to her front door and glanced back at Reid, tall and lean and motionless at the end of Hill Street. She couldn’t make out his face from this distance, but she saw it in her mind’s eye: weary and gaunt, with sun-bronzed skin and silver eyes—and a frown, because Reid was always frowning.
I should like to see him smile.
Letty pulled off her veil and shoved it inside her muff. Do not become attached to this man, Letitia, she told herself sternly. Remember: he’s dying.
Her eyes stung. This time, she knew she couldn’t blame it on the cold breeze.