Chapter 12 #2
She hastily cleared away all evidence of her masquerade.
She stuffed the wig back in the portmanteau, then realized that would tell Cyn instantly who she had been.
She pulled it out and flung it into the back of Heatherington’s armoire.
She hoped Cyn would forget its very existence.
She tossed the clothes and mask in with it.
She picked up the pearl pin and wondered what to do with it.
She was tempted to leave it, and yet she sensed it was a gift honestly given.
What had Rothgar meant by that last question, about the kisses she had received during the night?
From another man it might have reflected pique that he didn’t please her, but not from Rothgar.
Again she had that frightening lack of understanding. She pushed the pin through the facing of her jacket. If the worse came to the worst, it might buy her a few meals one day.
She put her own tie-wig on her head and her slouch hat on top. Once more Charles looked out of the mirror. Her face of the night before, soft with passion, blurred over the real image. She could almost imagine Cyn behind her, his hands on her body . . .
She dragged herself out of this maundering and forced herself to hurry. She hunted through Cyn’s uniform pockets and found his money. She took half.
In a moment of weakness, she clung to his red coat and drank in the aroma there. Sweet heaven, how could she leave him?
Sweet heaven, how could she stay?
It would be impossible to maintain her masquerade after last night, and now more than ever she could not let him know. It would be to trap him by deceit.
Perhaps more than that; perhaps he had come to care for the mysterious woman he had made love to. She remembered the fierce intensity with which he’d demanded her secrets.
Perhaps today he would be looking for Chloe.
Well, both Chloe and Charles were going to disappear . . .
Chastity froze.
If they both disappeared, would he make the connection? Surely it would not take much to trigger a link in his mind. She covered her face with shaking hands.
Was it more dangerous for him if she stayed, or if she fled?
She paced the room, but suddenly she knew. She had to stay. For Cyn’s sake, she had to preserve the charade.
Chastity replaced the money. She studied herself again in the full-length mirror to be sure she’d removed all trace of Chloe. Her lips looked fuller and redder today, but that was all.
She put her hand to her crotch. The past night had shown her that maleness tended to be visible. She was lucky not to have been caught out before, though of course no one had suspected anything and the double layer of breeches helped. If Cyn developed any suspicions, they must be countered.
She went back to the portmanteau and took out the wool that had formed Cyn’s bosom. She rolled a tube of it, thinking of Cyn both limp and hard as she estimated size. Limp would do fine. She had no desire to have anyone think her aroused.
She found she was standing there, hands still, remembering .
. . It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t there be a chance for them?
She remembered the names she had gathered, and the letter.
Perhaps there would be a way to use them.
Perhaps she could find the woman who’d broken her hymen. Perhaps Henry Vernham would confess.
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.
They were all faint chances, and a good part of the world would never believe her honest, but she would try. She would fight.
She looked at the roll of gray wool and stuffed it down her breeches and added another ball at the juncture of her thighs.
Then she studied herself in the mirror again and nodded.
The illusion was subtle, but if anyone questioned her gender and looked, or even touched, they would lose their doubts.
She hoped that applied to Cyn as well as the others.
She checked rigorously that no evidence remained of Chloe. Then she disordered the bed as if she had slept there, and sat down to wait.
Not long after, there was a tap at the door. Chastity opened it a crack and let Cyn in. Did he look at her intently, or was it just her tense nerves, and her desire to fling herself into his arms?
“I hope you had a peaceful night, young Charles.”
“Tolerable,” Chastity said primly. “You, I gather, did not.”
He looked at her from under lids made heavy by lovemaking and lack of sleep. “Why do you assume that?”
“From the fact that you did not return here. I can only assume you found another bed, but not to sleep.”
He began stripping off his suit and putting on his uniform. “Oh, I caught some sleep, but if I doze off on the road, I trust the virtuous half of our party can steer me to Maidenhead.”
The word Maidenhead made Chastity blush, which was a great piece of foolishness.
She hid it by packing his suit into the bag.
She felt a crackling in the pocket. Had the man not even found her note?
What to do now? Rothgar worried her. He could hardly take them prisoner, but if they bumped into him, he would surely delay them.
“Do you want this paper?” she asked, holding it out.
He took it with surprise and read it. “ ’Struth.”
“What is it?”
He gave her a look. “Rothgar’s here.”
“That note’s from him?”
“Hardly. Someone thought to warn me. I wonder who.”
“Will he stop us?”
“No,” he said absolutely. “But the only reason he would be at an affair such as this would be in search of me. I fear we have him hot on our trail.”
“Why would he be pursuing you like this?”
“Simple, bloody interference.” He straightened his uniform, checked the room, and buckled the bag. Once again, any mention of his brother had his temper on edge. “Ready?”
Chastity was surprised at how easy it was to slip back into the Charles and Cyn roles. She even felt a twitch of jealously toward the wanton Chloe who had occupied his night. She shook her head at this folly and followed him out of the door.
He headed for the main stairs, and she caught his sleeve, thinking of Rothgar. “There’s . . . There will be a secondary stair at the end of the building.”
He raised a brow. “We’re not fugitives. We’re here by invitation.”
“What about your brother?”
His jaw tightened. “I am not reduced to skulking down the servants’ stairs to avoid Rothgar.”
“Very well,” she snapped. “Go to hell your own way.”
He hesitated, then set off away from the main stairs. At the bottom of the smaller staircase, he took a passage which led them into the servants’ quarters.
The house seemed dead in the gray morning light. The kitchen was cold and deserted. Except, they discovered, for three weary servants who’d rolled up in blankets near the fire.
Cyn shook his head, but with a hint of a smile.
“When Heather celebrates, the world has a headache. This event will go down in the history books.” He found the larder and helped himself to half a cold meat pie, a cottage loaf, a hunk of cheese, and some apples.
He drew two tankards of ale from a keg and passed one to Chastity.
She drank it. “Will we not breakfast at the inn?”
“We’re not going to the inn. If Rothgar’s here, he doubtless knows we left the horses at the Angel. He’ll have it watched. We’ll see if we can borrow some of Heather’s horses without a fuss.”
Chastity couldn’t resist. “I thought you weren’t going to skulk around for fear of your brother.”
He flashed her a very unpleasant look. “I’ll simply avoid a confrontation if I can. Come on.”
Outside, the heavy drizzle seeped into them, chill and damp. Chastity shivered and pulled her cloak closer.
It took time for them to find the stables in this gray world, but at last they were inside, looking at the rows of horses.
This place, however, was not completely unattended.
An old man hobbled forward. “Need your horses, sir?” He peered at them with habitual suspicion.
“Didn’t reckon there’d be any up this early today. ”
“I don’t suppose there’ll be many others,” said Cyn easily. “I’m Lord Cynric Malloren, on government business. Lord Heatherington promised me the use of two horses.”
The man looked dubious, but was clearly unwilling to contest such crisp authority. He went to saddle two thoroughbreds. Cyn gave Chastity the portmanteau and helped.
As they mounted, Cyn posed a question in an offhand manner. “I think my brother is here. The Marquess of Rothgar. I don’t suppose he’s stirring yet?”
“None but you’s up yet, milord.”
“Ah well, if you should see him, tell him I’m sorry to have missed him.”
With that they urged the horses out of the yard and down the lane to the road.
Chastity edged up beside him. “Wouldn’t it have been wiser to bribe the man to silence?”
“Rothgar would just pay him more to speak.”
“So you leave what amounts to a challenge.”
His teeth flashed in a grin. “By the time he’s risen and breakfasted, we’ll be in Maidenhead, and he can catch us if he wants.”
He pushed ahead and Chastity muttered a few choice epithets at his back. His ill-feeling toward his brother could prove disastrous, but she couldn’t warn him that Rothgar was already up and on the prowl without revealing her secret.
They cantered along until they found a milestone giving some hint of where they were.
“The devil of it is,” said Cyn, “that I lost track of our location during that coach ride.”
“Distracted by the lovely songs, I’ve no doubt.”
“You know what, young Charles, you’re going to turn into a prosy bore if you don’t learn to enjoy yourself.”
“I assure you I can enjoy myself when the circumstances are right.”
“Can you? I live to see the day.”
Chastity hid a secret smile.
Cyn too hid a secret smile. Her spirit as was strong as ever.
He scanned the dense gray sky, which was brighter where the sun was struggling to make itself felt. “One thing’s sure, we need to go north. We’ll be bound to cross a London road at some point.”