Before I had even caught my breath, I was dragged ruthlessly to my feet.
“Elizabeth, you little idiot, what in the hell possessed you to gallop across the green like a bolting sheep? Good God, did those bastards tie your wrists? Quit wriggling, damnit! There. You can thank God, whichever one you’re worshipping now, that you’re already covered with bruises or so help me I’d beat the hell out of you.” Lord Dearborne was in a royal temper and it sounded to me like the singing of an angelic choir; under the rough anger there was the pure, unmistakable undertone of a caress. He slid his satin-lined cloak around my shoulders, tying it at the neck with impatient fingers. “Lesley? Good. Take her to the coach and take care that she doesn’t break her silly neck tripping over the damned cape.” Lord Peterby took my arm and pulled me along behind him.
“Come on, you little wretch, you’ve only got a few dozen yards to walk.” After Dr. Brent, even Lesley Peterby seemed like a pussycat. “What a limp! What in God’s name did they do to you?”
“Nothing. At least, not much more than tell me they were going to take me to France. Oh, and they tied me to a chair and gave me rancid cheese and stale bread for supper, though I can’t say I felt much appetite anyway.” I tried to match my stumbles to Peterby’s long strides. We were walking in the direction of the nearby side road.
“I should imagine not,” returned Lord Peterby drily. “Why did you tear away from them like that? Don’t you realize that was precisely the provocation they needed to gun you down?”
“Of course, but anything was better than going with them to France. And when I heard Nicky whistling on the blade of grass, I hoped… I hoped…” I broke off in confusion, it was the first time I had ever called my august fiancé by his pet name.
“Nitwit. He whistled so that you would avoid panicking. As though we didn’t spend the entire afternoon concocting plans to separate you safely from your so charming companions. There is practically a regiment of soldiers from here to the beach, ready to perform a gallant and safe rescue. Then you ruin the whole thing by taking off like a hare before the hounds. And if Dearborne hadn’t been so quick on the trigger… Brent almost got the chance to send a bullet through you.”
We had reached the coach and I was happy to see it was Lord Dearborne’s discreetly luxurious traveling chariot and not Lady Peterby’s bouncing laudet. I don’t think that I could have endured another jolting trip that day. Lord Peterby lifted me in and I leaned back against the velvety pillows.
“But Lord Peterby, how did you know that I was in there?”
I could see Lord Peterby’s grin in the glow of the oil flambeau. “Half the town saw you riding hell-for-leather after a grizzly stranger and a wagon, mounted precariously on Jupiter. Those facts, added to a somewhat rueful knowledge of your generally reckless and impulsive character, led Nicky to the correct conclusion. Unfortunately, by the time he got here, you had already been taken.”
There were so many things that I couldn’t understand. “But Lord Peterby…”
“Lesley,” he interrupted.
“Oh, all right then, Lesley,” I said with crabby obedience. “How did he know to come to Dyle?”
“Dearborne has known for some time about their rendezvous here. The man you followed here is a notorious agent who was identified several months ago by one of Christopher’s servants. We identified Thomas, too, after Christopher’s firecracker turned out to have more of a bang than he intended.”
“But why not arrest them then?”
“Because Dearborne hoped that they would lead us to their leader. The eel has been slipping in and out of England for years, creating havoc, and it wasn’t until this afternoon that they found out that Dr. Brent was the disguise of one of Napoleon’s cleverest operatives.”
“Lovely. And in the meantime letting Thomas and Pierre terrorize a lot of innocent citizens,” I cried indignantly.
“Nonsense. There wasn’t any danger if you had only obeyed a few simple rules. Thomas was watched every moment. And there were a couple of full-time men on the trail of your Sacre Bleu.”
I gasped. “And which of your wonderful men was watching Thomas the night he decided to burn down Barfrestly Manor?”
Lesley frowned. “Our man had no idea of Thomas’s intentions in that instance. He was thought to have been going to another rendezvous with Pierre, so the tail was much too loose. When he finally got down to business, our man was too far behind. Mistakes like that are too common in our business.”
“Our business? You work in the War Department as well? I shall never sleep soundly again.”
“I am not actually employed in the War Office, so rest easy. I just help Nicky out occasionally. I know my way around London’s brothels and low-life casinos. It is a knowledge which Nicky finds useful.” There was some shouting and commotion outside the carriage. “I should go, Nicky will need some help with the details,” he said. He opened the door.
“Wait, L-Lesley,” I reached out and touched him on the shoulder. “I never did thank you for getting me out of the slums.”
Lord Peterby took my outstretched hand and raised it to his lips.
“Thank me by refraining from sauntering off on more perilous expeditions in the future.” A bright ironic smile lightened his features, and he paused on the carriage steps. “Nicky is getting a rare handful in you.” And he was gone before I could decide whether or not to acquit him of double-entendre.
Exhausted, I leaned back in the plush seat of the coach and yawned. My wrists were aching, and far away I could hear men talking. The rain had slowed to a drizzle. Through the window of the coach I saw the clouds part to let through a brilliant full moon, which seemed to wink at me confidentially. It was near two o’clock in the morning.
I must have dozed off, for I was returned into half-consciousness by the forward lurch of the coach. Careful, efficient hands were propping the pillows more comfortably beneath my drowsy head and tying the slipping cloak more securely around my neck. I peeped surreptitiously beneath my drooping eyelids to glimpse the pure classical profile and shining red-gold hair. Lord Nicholas Dearborne, Marquis of Lorne, was leaning back against the opposite side of the coach, his long legs stretched out in front of him. I noticed that his hands were stuffed firmly into the pockets of his jacket.
Returning my breathing to what I optimistically believed to be the rhythmic cadences of sleep, I leaned limply over onto Lord Dearborne’s shoulder with what I hoped was the guileless innocence of a slumbering child. It was a pretty lame trick, I’ll admit, but it was the best that I could think of on the spur of the moment. Lord Dearborne stiffened momentarily, then pulled his hand from his pocket and slid it obligingly around my shoulders. I was lying there trying to think up a way to provoke further action when I felt the back of my wicked lover’s hand rubbing lightly against my breast.
I wrenched myself upright.
“Rake! How dare you take advantage of a woman pretending to be asleep? How did you know that I was awake?”
“I don’t know—intuition, I guess.” I could hear the laughter in his voice. “I’m afraid that I’ve taken advantage of you in so many situations that I’ve lost count. How do you feel?”
“Terrible. I hate your horse!”
“If you’re sore from the ride, it serves you right,” said Lord Dearborne, with something less than loverlike devotion. “Jupiter is trained to take no one on his back but myself or my groom, Jason. I can’t understand why that stupid glue bait didn’t dump you at the first crossroads. Mayhap your charms work on horses as well as men, my violet-eyed witch?”
“Well, he wasn’t charmed at all,” I returned crossly. “In fact, I had a more comfortable time of it under the not-so-tender mercies of a bunch of villainous spies. That brutish animal tossed me off twice, conked me senseless by tossing his neck, and carried me under a low-hanging branch that almost knocked my head off. Did you catch him, then?”
“Yes, he came trotting into the Fox and Feathers outside Dyle and demanded his oats as though he owned the place. The stablehands there recognized him and obliged the poor fellow. Lesley is returning to Petersperch tomorrow and will bring him back.” There was a low shelf under the seat. Lord Dearborne opened it and drew out a small flask, which he unscrewed and handed to me. “Here, you still feel so cold.”
“You are always forcing spirits on me,” I complained, but took a swallow of the bitter liquid nonetheless. The devil take your liquor, Milord, I thought, and looked up at him provocatively. “Now, aren’t you going to ask me if I’ve been, let me see, how did you phrase it? Ah, hurt in any other way?” I laughed.
He smiled at me wistfully and with heart-stopping tenderness said, “I don’t know which can move me more, your laughter or your tears. Sometimes at Barfrestly I would be sitting in the library frowning over pages of Department reports and I would hear you outside in the garden playing at some silly game or other with your sisters or Kit. Every once in a while, then, I could hear you laugh, like sunlight on crystal, fresh, sparkling, innocently alive; all the things that you are and I am not. I tried so hard not to fall in love with you.” He brought one finger up to delicately trace the outline of my cheek. The casual affection of the gesture brought tears to my eyes.
When the marquis spoke again, his voice was curiously tender:
“God knows that I’ve made mistakes before, but that night in London when Lesley brought you home, wrapped up in his cloak, you stood there so still and white… I almost went out of my mind. I know it was my own fault that you wouldn’t confide in me, I’ve acted like a damned coxcomb since the first day we met. And that night I found you in Lesley’s bed, I was so jealous that I lost my control. There’s never been a woman before you… dammit, you little wretch, will you wait until I finish my sentence before laughing at me? I’m trying to say that…”
I knew I should be cherishing this rare moment of humility in my beloved, but it was so out of character that it was too much for me. So I had to interrupt him.
“Nicky,” I whispered, twining my arms around his neck, “hush up and take advantage of me.”
It was some time before I regained the breath to speak. Then I was sitting curled on Milord’s lap with my warmly flushed cheek leaning against his chest.
“Nicky?” This time I said his name tentatively, savoring it.
“What is it, love?” His lips were in my hair.
“If there has never been a woman before me, then where did you learn all those excellent things?” I asked quizzically.
“Brat. Laugh at my love talk, will you? What I was trying to tell you was that there has never been a woman who has ever meant anything to me. God, I don’t know anything about being in love.”
“Mmmmm. You seem to be doing all right. My word, what an odd place for you to kiss me. I never realized that people kissed other people in that spot before. N-ick-y…?”
“What is the matter, am I frightening you, sweetheart? It’s all right, I’ll stop.”
“No! Stu-pid. I just wanted to know why you didn’t tell me that you loved me before, when you asked me to marry you?”
Lord Dearborne sighed and tilted my chin back so that I was looking directly into his eyes.
“After tumbling you about like a scullery maid, I could hardly brazen out a declaration of love. Especially with Christopher snarling at me and hovering over you like an eagle protecting its only egg. Kit and I made up, by the way; this morning. We had a long talk and he gave me a lot of sage advice. Elizabeth, are you listening?”
“Yes, yes. But, Nicky, I didn’t mind being tumbled around like a scullery maid. It was only that I was so sick. Actually, I wanted to be tumbled…”
His lips stopped mine with a long, searching kiss, then he said huskily, “I can see that we are going to have to find a very strict chaperone for you until our wedding. What do you say about staying with my grandmother, the Duchess of Windham?”
“If you want a strict chaperone, then not her, Nicky. She’s much too anxious to see your heir!”