Poppy eyed the large crowd in front of the betting window with dismay. Men jostled their way toward the front, eager to place their wagers before the bell sounded. “Could we have someone else place the bet for Papa? A footman, perhaps?” she asked Tottenshire.
“I suspect all of them have been called upon to place bets for others. Unfortunate, that.” Ironically, he didn’t sound regretful in the least. “Never fear. I’ll remain here with you while your father wades into the fray. There’s no sense in subjecting you to the mad crush.”
“Quite right,” Diggs said, a bit warily. “At least the line is moving quickly. Stay right here, and I’ll return in a trice.”
“Take your time, Bonham,” Tottenshire drawled. “Your daughter is in good hands.”
Poppy opened her mouth to tell the earl he would be wise to keep his hands to himself, but thought better of it and sighed. She supposed a few more minutes in his company wouldn’t kill her.
But as she and Tottenshire watched Diggs forge his way into the crowd, a footman approached him and clapped him on the back. “By God, Diggs—it is you!”
Diggs cast a nervous glance in Poppy’s direction. “I’m afraid you must be mis—”
“Haven’t seen you in Town for a few weeks, and here you are wearing a bloody top hat, looking like some toff,” he said, his booming voice carrying.
Poppy sensed the earl tense beside her.
“What the devil is going on here?” His ominous whisper made her stomach drop through her knees.
“Clearly, Papa resembles someone else,” she replied, striving for a breezy tone. “The man he’s talking to must be well into his cups.”
“I don’t think so.”
Suddenly, the footman was joined by a pair of others—both of whom seemed quite familiar with him.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she said smoothly. “I shall go over there and sort out this case of mistaken identity.”
Tottenshire clasped his hand around her upper arm like a vise. “He’s no baron,” the earl said. “And he’s probably not your papa, either.”
“You are out of order, sir. Release me,” she said through her teeth. “Or I shall cause a scene.”
“And risk exposing your partner in crime? The authorities don’t look favorably on servants who impersonate members of the nobility.” He yanked her toward the exit. “You’re coming with me.”
She glanced back at Diggs, touched by the alarm on his face. “Diana!” he called out.
She schooled her expression, hoping to reassure him that she’d be fine. She’d dealt with plenty of overbearing men, and she intended to escape the earl’s clutches at the first opportunity.
And, if all else failed, she had her knife.
“What were you intending to do?” Tottenshire mumbled as he whisked her toward the back of the tents where the crowd was sparse. “Pick my pockets? Attempt to seduce me?”
“My, but you have a vivid imagination, my lord.” She looked behind her, but there was no sign of Diggs, who must have lost sight of her in the tussle.
The earl dragged her behind a rickety cart holding a couple of goats and roughly backed her up against it. “Why don’t you tell me who you really are,” he demanded, bracing an arm on either side of her head.
“Step aside and allow me to pass,” she said icily.
He leaned closer, his breath hot on her neck. “You needn’t rush off on my account. In spite of your lies—or perhaps because of them—I find myself intrigued by you, Diana.”
“You presume too much, sir.” She turned her cheek to avoid his encroaching lips. “Back away at once, or—”
“Or what?” he interjected snidely.
“Or I’ll do this.” She jerked a knee up between his legs. Hard.
He grunted and collapsed forward, pinning her to the goat cart with his body.
She shoved at his chest, but he wouldn’t budge, and in between his anguished moans, he uttered nasty threats.
Blast. She should have lunged for her knife while she had a chance. Now, she was trapped. And the earl was enraged.
She opened her mouth to scream, but he clamped a sweaty palm over her mouth.
Her heart thumped in her rib cage; panic clawed at her spine. Behind her, the goats bleated, as if they, too, realized the peril she was in.
But she would not be easily overpowered. She was prepared to fight. To bite, thrash, kick, and claw.
And then, the earl was suddenly yanked backward. Someone grabbed him by the jacket and spun him around.
“Hawking?” Tottenshire spat.
“In the flesh,” Keane said, seething. Her knees wobbled with relief.
The earl sneered. “Always interfering in my trysts. Was it not enough that you absconded with my gover—”
Bam. Keane’s fist connected with his mouth, and Tottenshire was laid out cold.
Keane stepped over him and reached her in two strides. He cupped her cheeks in his palms and searched her face. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” she assured him, warmed by the naked concern in his eyes. “But we should find Diggs and leave at once. I last saw him in line at the betting window.”
“I found him before I found you,” Keane said. “I told him to meet us at the coach.”
“I didn’t listen.” Diggs emerged from the other side of the goat cart, breathless, as if he’d been running. “I couldn’t abandon Miss Summers. Or you,” he added hastily.
“Thank you, Diggs. I’m fine. And, as you can see, the earl got what he deserved.”
The valet scowled at Tottenshire and sniffed. “Indeed.”
“The Gold Cup is about to start, and all eyes will be on the track. It’s a good time to make our escape.” Keane cast a questioning glance at Poppy. “Unless you’d like to stay and see the outcome of the race?”
“I think I’ve seen more than enough of Ascot,” she said with a weak smile.
“I’m sorry I put you in danger,” he said soberly.
“You didn’t. It was my choice. And thanks to you, I escaped without harm.” She linked an arm through Keane’s as they walked in the direction of the coach, with Diggs several paces in front of them. “It wasn’t him, by the way.”
He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”
“It wasn’t Tottenshire who attacked you in Bellehaven.”
“Poppy,” he said, anguished. “Do you honestly think that I care about that right now?”
“It’s why we came,” she said. “I just thought you should know that we’ve eliminated another suspect.”
“Yes,” he said tightly. “I suppose we have.”
Keane was mostly silent for the rest of the walk. When they finally reached the coach, he called to Diggs. “I’ll drive for a while—at least until we find a spot where we can stop for dinner.”
“Are you certain?” Diggs took off his top hat and stuck a finger between his neck and cravat to loosen it.
“Aye,” Keane responded. “I’m in need of the fresh air.”
Poppy’s chest ached as she climbed into the coach. She’d thought Keane would want to spend time with her. That he’d be as eager to be alone with her as she was with him. But he was oddly distant. Uncharacteristically brooding.
Nevertheless, it was a relief to be done with the charade. She took off her hat and leaned back against the plush squabs as the coach started to roll.
As if privy to her thoughts, Diggs, who was seated across from her, clucked his tongue. “He’s not cross with you. Just a bit shaken is all. Especially after what happened with the governess.”
Poppy leaned forward. “The earl’s governess?”
Diggs grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck. “I should not have mentioned it.”
“Now that you have mentioned it, you must elaborate, Diggs.”
He sighed and nodded, relenting. “Shortly after Tottenshire became earl, he began making unwanted overtures toward his half brother’s governess.”
“That’s not at all difficult to imagine,” Poppy said with a shudder.
“No.” Diggs scowled, as if the story conjured a bad taste in his mouth. “When the governess gave her notice, he threatened to tell everyone that he’d fired her. He said that without a good reference, she’d never work in London again.”
“What a monster,” Poppy murmured.
“The governess is a dear friend of the duke’s housekeeper and turned to her for help. The housekeeper relayed the dilemma to Hawking, and he intervened.”
“How?” Poppy asked, curious about the fate of the governess—but also about any involvement Keane may have had with her.
“He found her another position. In the countryside, where Tottenshire cannot torment her. That is why the earl is so irate. He’s been looking all over London for the governess, claiming that it’s naught but a misunderstanding. He’s begged Hawking to reveal where she is, but he, of course, refused,” Diggs said with obvious pride.
Poppy pondered this for a few moments, then asked, “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“The governess did not wish for her name to be printed in The London Hearsay or whispered as drawing room gossip. She asked him not to expose Tottenshire’s depravity because she would also be exposed as his victim.”
“I can understand that,” Poppy murmured.
“In short, the earl is a sorry excuse for a human being,” Diggs said. “But he’s not the cretin who dumped Hawking into Bellehaven Bay.”
“No, but we’re getting closer and closer to the truth.” Poppy crossed her arms, more determined than ever. “I can feel it.”
Shortly after sunset, Keane left the highway and pulled the coach to a stop in front of a quaint-looking inn with ancient stone walls, a thatched roof, and a trio of chimneys with smoke plumes curling above them. He hopped off the driver’s seat, helped Poppy disembark, and set her portmanteau on the ground. “Are you certain you don’t want to drive through the night? I can have you back in Bellehaven before morning if you’d like.”
“I’m sure.” Her blue-green eyes shone in the dusky light, reassuring him that in spite of her harrowing ordeal, all was well.
He nodded, turned to Diggs, and slapped several notes into his palm. “Take their best rooms and ask the innkeeper to send up dinners and hot baths. I’ll tend to the horses and meet you in the taproom.” He clasped the valet’s shoulder, then jumped back onto the bench and picked up the reins.
A short time later, Keane walked into the inn’s taproom covered in sweat, straw, and road dust. He couldn’t wait to quench his thirst, wash off the grime, and slip into bed—where he’d be free to dream of Poppy.
After a quick scan of the noisy, crowded room, he found Diggs nursing a pint at a bench in the corner and took the seat opposite, where a full glass of ale awaited him. Keane took a greedy gulp, swiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, and sighed gratefully. “You’re a good man, Diggs.”
The valet shifted in his seat. “Er, there’s been a slight problem, Your Grace.”
Keane froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. “What sort of problem?”
“There were only two rooms available.”
“Bloody hell,” Keane grumbled.
“My sentiments exactly, sir.”
“Looks like we’ll be bunking together, Diggs.”
“That was my suggestion, but Miss Summers wouldn’t hear of it.”
Keane arched a questioning brow.
“She insists upon sharing a room with you.”
Keane hesitated a beat while that sank in. “Probably because she doesn’t want you sleeping in the stables.”
“Perhaps,” Diggs said, staring at the ring of foam in his glass. “But I don’t think so.”
“I’ll go speak to her.” He blew out a long breath. “And let her know that if anyone will be sleeping in the stables tonight, it will be me. After all, I’m the one who’s dressed for it.”
“Good luck, Your Grace.”
Keane pressed his palms to the tabletop and stood. “Why would I need luck, Diggs?”
The valet sipped his ale, the picture of innocence. “No reason.”