The Gentleman Spy: A Guardian/Ward Historical Romance

Chapter 18

Beau checked his pocket watch as he made his way to the pub in Ramsgate where he was meeting Allard. The day had begun with a hard cold rain, and although the wet had moved on, the bustling seaside town remained quiet.

He was just passing the bakeshop when the door opened, and a young woman stepped into his path. He reached out to steady her.

‘Miss Doubleday,’ he said with surprise in his voice. ‘This is not your usual day to complete your errands.’

Her brow quirked, and she took a determined step back, forcing him to release her. ‘I have a usual day?’

‘Tuesdays, but twice you’ve gone on Friday.’

She looked both baffled and mistrustful and made a short humming noise. ‘I see. How observant—curiously so.’

Beau was only paying half attention to his ward’s words. Several storefronts down, Babin stepped out of the blacksmith’s, looked over his shoulder, and turned in their general direction. Beau didn’t think they’d been seen, but the more distance he could put between his ward and a man he knew to be dangerous, the better. He would do whatever necessary to keep Miss Doubleday from Babin’s attention and out of harm’s way.

‘Come,’ he said in a voice that brokered no opposition.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Do not yelp, scream, or otherwise draw attention to us. Do you understand?’ Before she could agree, Beau wrapped an arm around her and all but dragged her down the dim little passageway between the bakery and the haberdasher, the two buildings close enough to make it impossible for sunlight to wedge itself between them.

‘Whatever do you think?—’

He ruthlessly cut her off, pinning her against the grey stone wall at her back and covering most of her person with his own body. Against his chest, he could feel her breasts rising and falling at an erratic pace. Beau put his left cheek to her right, working hard to ignore the graze of her soft skin against his stubble as he turned his head in to whisper, ‘My apologies, Miss Doubleday. Bear with me a moment longer.’

Beau’s breathing was even, calm. He’d spent years facing enemies, the unknown, and death more times than he could remember. He’d learned to give the impression of control even as panic swelled within him. After several minutes passed, he peeled himself from his ward.

‘Where is your horse?’

‘Tethered outside the barrister’s.’ Her brows drew together in concern and confusion. ‘What are you about?’

‘I’ll escort you to your horse, and you will ride straight home. Do you understand?’

‘I hear what you’re saying, but I’ve yet to stop in at the milliner. I promised Louisa a new bonnet for mastering the steps of the quadrille.’

Laughter shook his voice when he asked, ‘Is she really so bad?’

The look his ward gave him was sheepish and all the answer he needed, but she nodded and sighed through a smile. ‘It’s a good thing for all involved she’s got another year before making her come-out.’

They stood staring at one another, a rare moment of accord drawing them closer. Her lips had parted, and the movement of her tongue running over them captured his notice.

‘Miss Doubleday,’ he whispered, his index finger trailing the line of her gloved hand from wrist to fingertip with a featherlight touch. He could hear the shaky breath she drew in.

‘Yes?’

Her face was upturned, her dark eyes like two pools of ink. Kissing his ward, and in public no less, was wrong, ungentlemanly, a miscarriage of power, and something Beau was certain he was about to do.

‘Oi, I know ye.’

Miss Doubleday jumped back, but Beau, both grateful for and upset with the interruption, turned to face the grating voice with his typical composure and immediately recognised who it belonged to. Judging by the tiny, stifled choke at his side, so did his ward.

‘Ye stole that chit out from under me, but where’s yer friend now?’ he said with a sneer, his glassy eyes running the length of Miss Doubleday, who had stepped closer to Beau and shuddered against him.

‘It’s not stealing when I paid for it. You were handsomely compensated, were you not?’

The man grunted. ‘Silver can’t suck my?—’

‘That’s quite enough,’ Beau said. His ward’s posture had gone rigid enough to snap.

‘I’ll say when I’ve had enough. You can leave us, or I can make ye leave us, but leaving us you’ll be doing.’

As the man took a wobbly step forward, Beau cursed under his breath. Without his partner’s steadying, sensible presence, the drunkard chose violence.

He looked at Miss Doubleday. ‘Stay.’

It was the work of a moment for him. Beau stepped away from her and lunged just as the man drew a knife from the band of his dirty trousers. Grasping the man’s wrist, Beau twisted until the hand holding the blade released it. The fool had hardly enough air to breathe much less to yelp as Beau stood behind him. Threading his right forearm in front of the man’s throat, one strong bicep flexing into his windpipe, Beau’s left hand pushed the other man’s head forward.

In seconds, the smuggler went limp, and Beau gently slumped him against the wall. Beau reached into the shabby coat pocket for the flask he knew must be there, unscrewed the cap, and poured a little over the man’s waistcoat before placing it in his open, relaxed hand.

Trying to ignore Miss Doubleday’s stare burning at his back like heat from the summer sun, Beau pulled the snuff box from his left breast pocket and flicked open the false bottom. He licked his finger, dipped it in the powder in the box, and rubbed the powder on the man’s gums before using a little brandy to rinse his finger.

Rising, he said with a lilt to his voice, ‘Really, Miss Doubleday, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.’

‘You’ve just killed a man, and you make a joke?’

‘You think I’ve just killed a man, and your response is to chide me for what you feel is a poorly timed joke?’

Her eyes narrowed, but she held her tongue.

‘He’s not dead,’ supplied Beau without a trace of emotion. ‘But when he comes round, he won’t remember anything from today, and perhaps nothing from yesterday either.’

Miss Doubleday fingered the button on her cape situated at the base of her throat. ‘It’s unbecoming and unchristian of me to say so, but I struggle to find compassion for a man who would force himself on a woman. All the same, it’s a relief to know you’ve not sprung a man from his mortal coil, as I’m beginning to suspect you have in points past and may have done had I not been here to witness the altercation.’

Beau could not deny this, so opted for silence. He held out his hand for her to precede him down the length of the alley which lay between them and the flag-way. She took two steps and turned back on him.

‘You could have done that in Broadstairs.’

He tipped his head in silent acknowledgement of her statement.

‘Where did you learn how?’

‘Do you think the answer I give you will be truthful?’ Beau preferred to redirect the conversation, although he found leveraging her distrust in him almost as distasteful.

She cocked her head and chewed her lip before shaking her head no.

He took her elbow once more, guiding them forward while she observed him with cautious, depthless dark eyes. She opened her mouth as if she might speak, before closing it and keeping whatever thoughts she’d considered sharing with him private.

Beau led her straight to her horse. When she made to step on the mount, he wrapped his fingers about her middle and settled her atop the beast with ease. His hands lingered. The feel of her was becoming an addiction he could ill afford.

‘I’ll see you at dinner.’ His words were prosaic but felt intimate in their reassurance. She nodded, and Beau took a single step back. Their eyes met for a long moment before hers slipped from his face to the road ahead. He turned on his heel and made for the pub.