Chapter 6
Six
“Of course, with an endowment like that, who could say no?” Lord Henry Sweeney, son of the Earl of Montrose, winked at the men gathered around him. “And I am not just speaking of her father’s purse though that certainly helps.”
Warner groaned into his glass of scotch, as the group of men surrounding Lord Henry burst into guffaws of laughter. He had only been at the gentleman’s club for half an hour, and already he was starting to regret it.
He swallowed the rest of his whiskey, revelling in the burn of it against his throat, hoping it would distract him from the men’s conversation. It did not.
“Did you get her on her back?” one of Lord Henry’s cronies asked.
“A gentleman never tells.” Lord Henry downed his drink.
Warner tried to focus on the newspaper in front of him, drowning out the man’s conversation as he read about proposed changes to taxation.
It was working until Warner heard, “… never had a widow.”
His gaze snapped to Lord Henry and his crowd of sycophants. His heart sped up, and he gripped his glass more tightly. There are any number of widows he could be talking about anyone.
“At least, until the war. But now, there are so many pretty young things who are in need of consoling, and I am more than happy to oblige.” Lord Henry laughed.
“There is something about death that seems to inflame passion in these women. They are desperate for it, and those that do not get it act out.”
The men around Lord Henry nodded in agreement. Warner placed his glass on the table, worried that he would shatter the damn thing if he tightened his grip any further. The sound of blood roaring in his ears drowned out the first part of Lord Henry’s sentence.
“And their newest addition…” Lord Henry licked his lips like a dog surveying a steak.
“Why act the way she does if she does not want attention? She is probably more desperate than most—after all, if rumours are to be believed, she is unspoiled. Though, I doubt she will remain that way for long. Not if I have my way.”
“If you believe that kind of rubbish, then you are even more of a halfwit than I thought.” Warner’s voice was clipped, his words full of an icy rage as he got slowly to his feet. “You know nothing about women, much less Lady Adelaide.”
“I do not believe I was talking to you.” Lord Henry stiffened, and swung his legs onto the floor, his smug look slipping for an instant.
“Really? I assumed you were. After all, you were being so loud a dead man three towns over would have heard you.” Warner smirked at Lord Henry as several people around them laughed.
He saw the tips of the man’s ears turn pink, and Warner’s grin broadened. Lord Henry stood up, his shoulders squared as he glowered up at Warner. “I had not realised that these years had made you so squeamish, Duke Scarfield. A rather far cry from the rogue you used to be.”
“Some of us mature, Lord Sweeney. You should try it; then you might not need to rely on grief to appeal to the fairer sex.”
“And is this your attempt to play the white knight? To rescue some attention seeking little sl—”
Lord Henry’s words were cut off as Warner sunk his fist into the man’s stomach. “I warned you, did I not?”
There was a commotion behind them, and Warner felt arms trying to pull him off Lord Henry.
He shook them off easily, driving his fist into the man again as he pulled him close and muttered, “If I so much as see you looking at Lady Adelaide, I will destroy you. I will ruin everything you hold dear, and make you thank me for it.”
He let the man fall to the ground and turned around to survey the room. A steward was lurking by the door, and several of Lord Henry’s men were looking at him while other gentlemen were surveying him from their tables.
“Let me remind you, gentlemen, that slander against Lady Adelaide is slander against my family, and I will not allow it to go unpunished.” Warner strode from the room without saying another word.
His blood was still thundering as he emerged into the bitingly cold night. His heart hammered against his ribs. When did I last lose control like that?
Though he deserved it. The man is a cad.
He heard someone calling his name and turned around in time to see one of his men running after him, waving a note. He stopped walking and took it from the man.
Tonight. Have your man meet me at the Fox and Hart at 6 o’clock. I will go alone if he is late.
The letter was not signed, but Warner knew it could only be from Lady Adelaide. Her handwriting was surprisingly messy. “Looks like I need to get myself to the Fox and Hart.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” The man’s slightly raised eyebrow was the only indication that he questioned Warner’s judgement, and Warner saw no reason to explain himself.
Not that I even could.
The clock chimed 6 as he arrived at the Fox and Hart.
It took him only a moment to spot Lady Adelaide in the crowd.
She was sitting at a table with a half pint in front of her.
She had her russet hair tied up and hidden beneath a labourer’s hat.
The moustache and artfully applied grime on her face did nothing to hide her beauty.
“I did not think you would be the one to join me.” Lady Adelaide frowned, the movement making her fake moustache twitch.
“And a pleasure to see you too, Lady Adelaide.” He grinned at her as he slid into the seat opposite her.
“Keep your voice down.” Lady Adelaide cast a look over her shoulder as though worried she would be overheard. “I am supposed to be Mr. George Cartwright.”
He scoffed. “You look as much like a ‘George’ as I look like a ‘Susan’.”
Lady Adelaide canted her head at him, her lips pursed thoughtfully. “I suppose ‘Sarah’ might suit you better.”
“Such wit. Those jokes will not keep you safe at the King’s Arms.” He leaned towards her.
She mirrored his movement, eyes dancing in the light. “Then it is a good thing I have you.”
“Lad—” he began, but she cut him off with a low, gruff growl.
“George.”
“No amount of me calling you ‘George’ is going to convince people that this is anything other than a disguise.” He gestured to her, running a hand across his jaw as he took in her outfit.
“I suppose the shirt and waistcoat will do well enough. And you have the tweed coat which will hide what those cannot. Your trousers…”
He trailed off as his eyes drifted downwards.
He felt a rush of blood to his face and was sure even his ears were scarlet.
He had known she was wearing trousers, of course she was, but he had not realised just how close they would cling to her.
His mouth went dry as his eyes traced the shape of her calves, her hips.
“Have I left you speechless?” There was an amused note to Lady Adelaide’s voice, mixed with something else that he could not quite place.
Warner tore his gaze away from her legs and found her looking at him with a half-smile on her face. “I look fine. Just because you watch me more closely than a sparrow hawk watches a mouse does not mean everyone sees what you do.”
“It is not just your dress that will give you away. Even the way you drink screams that you are a woman.” The irritation in his voice was somewhat undermined by the slight hoarseness of it.
“How?” She frowned at him.
He gestured to the small tankard in front of her. “Well, for starters you are drinking a half pint.”
“I need to keep my wits about me.”
“So order a pint of small.”
“A pint of small?”
“You know, the weak beer we serve with meals?”
“But surely everyone will know?”
“That’s why you alternate your drinks. More to the point, you never drink more than a third of what you order, a half at most.” He rubbed his jaw with his hand. How can she know so little?
She chewed on her bottom lip. “And what am I supposed to do? Throw it on the floor?”
“Throwing it would be a little too obvious. You want something more subtle like this.” He reached across the table and took the half-pint tankard in his hand, trying to ignore the embarrassment of holding such a tiny drink.
He narrowed his eyes and looked past Lady Adelaide’s shoulder. As soon as she looked around, he tipped the rest of the drink onto the floor. It mingled with whatever else covered the straw and sawdust. I had forgotten just how grimy pubs are.
Lady Adelaide turned to face him and looked at the now empty half pint glass and then onto the floor. “I cannot make someone look over their shoulder every time I want to get rid of my drink.”
“It seems I have rather a lot to teach you.” Warner caught the attention of a passing serving girl. “Two pints of small.”
The girl nodded, and as soon as she left, Lady Adelaide leaned towards him and hissed, “What are you doing? We are supposed to be going to the King’s Arms.”
“And there will be plenty of time for that, but I am not going anywhere with you until I am satisfied that you will not be discovered. If you are, no doubt we will both be killed.” He nodded his head towards her, gesturing to the moustache that was now hanging dangerously off her top lip.
“Also, you may as well take off that ridiculous thing off. It is sitting at an angle.”
“But—” she began, but Warner cut her off.
“It only draws more attention to the fact that you do not have one.”
“Well, it is not as though I can grow one.” Lady Adelaide pulled the thing off her lip and shoved it into a pocket, leaving a faint redness against her skin.
“Nor can most young boys. No one will expect a boy of fifteen or sixteen to grow a full beard. You are too slender and pretty to be a man full grown, but a boy… Well, that is somewhat more believable.” He nodded to her as the serving girl placed two pints in front of them.
He handed her several coins and took a sip of his drink. He turned to find Lady Adelaide pulling the tankard towards her with both hands.