Chapter 10
Ten
Lucien cast a harried glance at his uncle, whose countenance had gone nearly red with fury. “I daresay General Wilmott would dispatch a party of men to take us to the coast if it were at all possible, sir.”
The duke smacked his fist into his palm and muttered something under his breath.
Outside the tent, another cannon boomed. The young viscount began to pace up and down in the confined space. “May I ask why it is so important to get home?” he asked in a hesitant voice.
The duke looked up, and for the first time his nephew could remember, there was a look of helplessness in the older man’s eyes. “I fear that if we do not reach England right away, a number of people are going to be in grave danger—and the first one may be Caroline.”
“Caro has used her wits to get out of more scrapes than you can imagine,” answered Lucien, with more bravado than he felt. “She is well able to take care of herself, Uncle Henry—I can vouch for that.”
“Would that I could believe that,” he murmured. “You are not aware of all she is up against. It appears there is a traitor somewhere…”
There was a sharp intake of breath.
“Yes, quite.” The duke pulled a face. “It wasn’t until we landed in Brussels that I learned of the danger.
By that time, a vital document was already on its way to me in England.
Our adversary knows of it and its importance.
I can only hope my own letter reached Roxbury Manor in time to keep Caroline well away from trouble.
Whoever the traitor is, he is both cunning and ruthless. ”
“You… you think he would harm Caro?”
“I have no doubt of it, just as I have no doubt that Caro will not shirk from the danger.”
Lucien’s hands balled into fists at his side. “Damnation. What can we do?”
“For the moment, we can only appeal to the Almighty, Lucien.”
* * *
The gentleman ripped off the silken mask and tossed it onto the seat beside him.
What the devil did the bloody earl think he was doing?
Was the man completely foxed at this hour in the morning?
For, surely, he wouldn’t have risked his own neck out of any sense of honor or duty.
That thought gave cause for his frown to deepen.
His underlings were paid handsomely enough not to miss with their shots.
This was the second time his coachman had failed. It would not go unnoticed.
His silver-tipped walking stick rapped at the trap, and he snarled a curt series of orders before falling back against the squabs. The carriage sprang forward.
Time was of the essence, and he had now wasted far too much of it on playing cat and mouse with the duke’s daughter.
He would have that document.
With an effort, he brought his temper under control.
The two of them couldn’t get far on one horse, and the big stallion was a fine enough piece of horseflesh to draw notice wherever they stopped for rest. With a grunt of satisfaction, he realized he had no real cause for concern.
There was no way that they could slip through his net of informants.
She wouldn’t elude his grasp next time—he would see to it himself.
* * *
Davenport tied the stallion inside the tiny mews and took Caroline by the arm.
They made their way through a narrow alley and emerged on a small side street, in front of a narrow building, its timbers and stone darkened with age.
A stout woman in a mob cap and voluminous apron that was once white answered the earl’s knock.
Her eyes narrowed as she took in the appearance of the two rather disreputable-looking people who were standing on the front steps.
“Whatcha want?” she asked suspiciously.
“Is Mr. Leighton in his rooms?” inquired Davenport.
She hesitated, clearly recognizing the voice was that of a gentleman despite the dirty and disheveled clothes. Though her expression indicated she had her doubts, she stepped aside and motioned up a set of narrow stairs. “Top floor.”
They walked up four flights and knocked on a warped door that strained against its flimsy latch.
A muffled oath greeted the sound. There was a slight shuffling, the rattle of glasses and another low curse before the door flung open, barely missing the earl’s nose.
“Well?” A mop of unruly brown hair hung over a high forehead, framing a slender, almost delicate face whose high cheekbones and pale complexion only added to the ethereal appearance of the young man framed in the doorway.
His dark hazel eyes, by far the most striking feature of his visage, were narrowed in annoyance until the fellow suddenly recognized the earl.
“Julian!” he exclaimed, laying aside a sable brush and absently wiping his hand on the front of his paint-spattered linen shirt. “Lud, what—”
Davenport took Caroline by the elbow and brushed past his friend, drawing the door shut behind them. “Sorry to intrude on you, Jeremy. I know how much you dislike being interrupted in your work.”
Caroline found herself facing a large artist’s canvas, which was resting precariously on a rickety easel.
It depicted a landscape with the sea in the background—and was rendered in a style of great originality and imagination.
The light and colors were delicate but dazzling, wrought with a passion and technical skill that took her breath away.
“Oh,” she said impulsively. “What a marvelous work!”
The earl gave an involuntary smile. “I see you have gained a new admirer. Trust me, she doesn’t often voice a compliment.”
“She?” His friend regarded Davenport’s disheveled state, then shifted his gaze to the boyish figure beside him. “You aren’t by any chance foxed, are you, Julian?”
The earl snorted in disgust. “You know me better than that. Why do you ask such a stupid question?”
The young man’s brows arched as he looked again at Davenport’s companion. “She?” he repeated.
“Oh, that. Perhaps we should sit down, Jeremy,” advised Davenport. “I suppose explanations are in order.”
The earl’s friend motioned to a couple of simple pine chairs arranged around a small table at the back of the cramped room.
It was only then that Caroline realized he had only one hand.
His other arm ended in a stump shortly below the elbow, and the shirtsleeve was rolled up and pinned closed to keep from flapping in the breeze that was blowing through the window.
With a look that conveyed his acute embarrassment, Jeremy made a bit of room among several stacks of leatherbound books and took a seat on the edge of a narrow wooden bench.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, staring at the floor with an expression Caroline found endearing. “I rarely…entertain.”
That elicited a laugh from the earl. “To say the least.” He glanced around at the cluttered space, which was crammed with rolls of linen, bottles of linseed oil, pigments and jars that were bristling with a variety of brushes in all shapes and sizes.
In one corner, a group of finished paintings was carefully slotted into a wooden rack. “You’ve been busy, I see.”
Jeremy nodded. “Thanks to your help, Julian, I—”
The earl cut him off. “Never mind that now. I’m afraid I have a favor to ask of you.”
The young man’s eyes lit up. “Anything.”
Davenport let out a harried chuckle. “Perhaps you should wait until you hear what it is.”
That finally drew a smile from Jeremy. It made his boyish face look even younger, observed Caroline, though she hadn’t missed the fine lines etched around his eyes and mouth. Light-hearted laughter did not appear to come easily to him.
“It doesn’t matter what it is, Julian. Surely, you know that.”
“First of all, can you take care of Nero for a short time?”
His friend nodded, looking slightly mystified.
“We shall also need to find some clothes for Miss—the young lady here. And I need to borrow a small sum”—he glanced pointedly at Caroline—“which shall be repaid shortly.”
As Jeremy only looked more puzzled, the earl sighed and proceeded to give his friend a brief summary of what had occurred over the last few days.
At the end of the explanation, the young man gave a low whistle and slanted an appraising look, mixed with more than a touch of curiosity, at Caroline. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated and turned back to Davenport instead.
“I fear I’m not terribly plump in the pocket at the moment, but you are welcome to what I have. As for clothing, what sort of, er, garments do you need?” Again, his eyes strayed to Caroline and her all-too-visible legs.
Davenport gave a short laugh. “A good question.” He cocked his brow inquiringly at her.
“Even though it will no longer fool whoever is…pursuing me, it may be easier for us if I remain dressed as a man,” she replied. “We’ll be able to move about with greater freedom.”
“I have a…friend who has a younger brother. I believe he is about the, er, right size.” Jeremy blushed slightly at the intimation that he had taken note of Caroline’s measurements.
“Perhaps you might visit Miss Fathing immediately and see if we might avail ourselves of some spare things.”
The young man’s face was now flaming red.
Davenport’s eyes twinkled in gentle amusement at his friend’s discomfiture.
“Come, put on your jacket. I’ll go out with you.
” He turned to Caroline. “Will you be all right alone here for a short while? I’ll pick up a few things for supper and see about any coaches passing tonight in the direction of Salisbury. ”
She nodded.
He rose and made for the door. After a few steps, he paused, drew out the pistol from the folds of his coat, along with a pouch of powder and bullets, and placed it on the edge of a small table crowded with bladders of paint. “Do you know how to use this?”
Caroline nodded. “I shoot nearly as well as I ride.”
The earl’s mouth twitched. “Then I pity the poor fellow who comes unbidden through the door. I see we must have a care, Jeremy, on returning home.”