Chapter 16 #3
“If you please, Jenkins,” he answered politely. “That matter is rather important, I fear, else I wouldn’t have disturbed him during the hours of his work.”
The butler nodded sagely. “If you will wait in the…”
“Of course. I shall find my own way.”
Jenkins understood the implied urgency and hurried off.
A short while later, a tall gentleman, his height minimized by shoulders stooped from years of hunching over books, entered the room. His spectacles were pushed up to nest in a thatch of unruly gray locks, and his face wore a vague air of consternation at being pulled from his inner sanctum.
“You wish to see me, Mr. Farrington?” he said uncertainly. “Jenkins has said as much, of course, but I don’t understand…”
No, of course you don’t, you dottering sapskull, thought Farrington, all the while keeping the solicitous smile pasted on his face. But when he spoke, his words echoed the same false emotions as his expression.
“Indeed, I do,” he interrupted smoothly. “It is a matter of great importance, sir.” He withdrew a folded paper from his coat and waved it under the older man’s nose. “I have just now received a special dispatch from His Grace.”
If the old fool thought to question it, he had no qualms that the handwriting would pass muster, even under the scrutiny of the duke’s own brother. After all, hadn’t he been handling the man’s correspondence for the past four years and more?
But Lord Henry made no move to inspect the document. At the mention of the duke, his face became troubled. “Has…has something happened to Thomas or Lucien?” he stammered.
“No,” assured Farrington. “It concerns Lady Caroline.”
“But my niece is safe at Roxbury—”
“Yes, yes. And the duke wishes her to remain there. However, it has come to his attention that she may be in grave danger—”
He paused for effect, letting the other man absorb the full import of what he had just said.
The charade appeared to be working to perfection—Sir Henry’s expression had changed from one of concern to one of outrage.
Just as he made as if to speak, Farrington cut him off and continued his prepared speech.
“He wrote that he depends on you, sir, to protect her from harm.”
“Of course!” cried Sir Henry. “I may not be as adventurous as Thomas, but the Devil take me if I would allow anyone to threaten Caroline!”
Farrington smiled primly. “His Grace has every confidence in you.”
“What does he wish me to do?”
“He wants you to leave at once for Roxbury Manor. With a timely warning and you to oversee the household, disaster may be averted.”
“Jenkins!” roared Sir Henry.
The butler appeared quickly enough that it seemed likely his ear had been glued to the keyhole.
“Have the traveling carriage brought around immediately!”
Farrington suppressed a smug laugh. “Sir, His Grace also suggests that you take Jenkins with you, as well as your footmen. It cannot hurt to be fully prepared.”
Jenkins thrust out his chest and drew himself up to full height. “I shall be honored to help the family in any way.”
Lord Henry hesitated. “But that will mean leaving the house without a man to watch over it. What if…”
The critical moment had arrived.
Farrington cleared his throat. “Milord, if I may be so bold, I would be happy to offer my services here in order to be of help to His Grace.”
The other man clapped him on the shoulder. “No wonder Thomas thinks so highly of you, Mr. Farrington. You are sure you don’t mind? It could be…dangerous.”
“No, I don’t mind.” Farrington made a bow in order to hide his smirk of triumph. “I don’t mind at all.”
* * *
The mail coach lurched to a stop at the busy posting inn on the outskirts of London.
It was nearly dark, yet the yard was filled with the stomping of hooves, the creaking of harnesses and the muttered curses of the ostlers as they sought to make the changes as quickly as possible and get the various vehicles on their way.
Caroline and Davenport dismounted, stiff with travel and unspoken concerns.
She hesitated at the entrance of the bustling establishment.
Since setting out from her father’s estate, nothing save reaching the city with the documents from France had seemed important.
And yet, now that she had arrived safe and sound, she was strangely reluctant to acknowledge that the journey—and all that had taken place—was over and done with.
Davenport gave her little time to stew about it, however.
As usual, he took her arm none too gently and moved her away from blocking the doorway.
“Wait here,” he said gruffly. “I’ll see to arranging for you to be taken to—wherever you are going.” A scowl darkened his already stormy countenance. “And for once, try to stay out of trouble.”
Odious man, she fumed. As if she had meant to cause any of the problems that had befallen them.
He returned in a few minutes. “We’re in luck.
There are a few hackneys returning to the city after discharging their passengers.
One shall come by directly.” He stopped to clear his throat, and when he continued, his voice sounded strangely pinched.
“I…that is, do you wish for me to accompany you to your destination?”
Caroline failed to meet his eyes. “I don’t think that’s necessary, sir. I believe we are well out of danger now.”
Only the tightening of his jaw betrayed any emotion on his part. “Very well,” he replied curtly. “I shall need to ask you for some of the blunt for my own ride.”
She removed a few coins and handed him the rest of the purse. “Where…where will you go?”
Davenport seemed to weigh his options as he stared at the bulging leather bag in his palm. Then, with a slight curl of his lips, he tucked it into his pocket.
“It’s of no matter to you,” he answered harshly. “You know where to deliver the rest. And don’t forget you owe me for the horse as well.” He sucked in his breath. “There’s no charge for the…intimacies.”
Caroline recoiled, feeling as if she had been slapped in the face.
The hackney arrived, and he turned on his heel and stalked off, not waiting to see her off. She climbed blindly into the musty interior, hoping no one had remarked on the odd sight of a lad with tears streaming down his face.
* * *
Davenport rounded the corner of the inn and quickly slipped into another hackney after barking a set of terse orders at the driver. A crack of the driver’s whip set the vehicle in motion, throwing him back up against the worn squabs.
Pain shot through his ribs, but it was nothing compared to the mental lashing he was doling out to himself.
What in the name of Hades had possessed him to say such a monstrous thing? Caroline may have cut him to the quick with her obvious desire to have him well out of her life, but she hadn’t been deliberately cruel.
The earl raked a hand through his hair. He had meant to hurt her.
And yet seeing her face twist in shock had only made him feel even more miserable.
Rather than proving that he had regained mastery over his emotions, it mocked the fact that his vaunted self-control had somehow slipped away, leaving him raw, vulnerable.
He felt defenseless, and it frightened him more than he cared to admit.
A bitter smile twitched at his lips. Well, he had learned to protect himself from other slings and arrows in life. Surely, he would learn to deal with this as well.
For if he admitted to himself that he cared for her, he would be utterly, utterly lost.
The horses slowed, and the ruts gave way to smooth cobblestones.
Davenport glanced out the grimy window and saw they were approaching the fashionable area of Mayfair, with its well-lit streets and imposing dwellings.
Up ahead was the dark shape of another lumbering vehicle.
True to his orders, the driver had kept right on the tail of the hackney that was carrying Caroline.
The earl sank back in his seat, satisfied. In light of his recent behavior, she had every reason to think him a scoundrel, but he had made a promise, and he meant to keep it. He would see her safely to her destination, regardless of whether she wanted him to or not.
He would damn well earn every farthing of that thousand pounds.
* * *
Caroline bounded up the polished marble steps and let the knocker fall in a series of impatient raps. It seemed an age before the door cracked open and a pair of dark eyes peered out into the night.
“Be off, urchin.”
Caroline had forgotten about her rather disreputable disguise. She hastily shoved her worn boot into the gap to keep the door from being slammed in her face.
“Where is Jenkins?” she demanded. “And who the devil—oh, is it you, Mr. Farrington? Forgive my rather unorthodox appearance, but I shall explain everything shortly.”
Her father’s secretary fell back a step or two. “Lady Caroline?” he gasped, his hand flying up to his chest in surprise.
“Sorry to give you such a shock.” She stepped into the entrance hall and tore off her cap. “Where are all the servants? And where is Uncle Henry?” she asked as she removed the pins and shook out her hair.
“Why, they left for Roxbury Manor not an hour ago in response to an urgent letter from your father.”
Caroline heaved a harried sigh. “They will have a long journey for naught.”
Farrington’s eyes were still widened in amazement. They now slowly traveled up from her ragged breeches to her streaked face. “Are…are you all right?” he ventured.
She let out a sigh. “It is a long story, but yes.”
Now that she was finally here, within the solid walls of her own home, surrounded by the reassuring presence of familiar things, she felt an overwhelming weariness stealing over her. For an instant, her knees buckled slightly.
A hand steadied her shoulder, and the sound of Farrington’s voice, dripping with concern, oozed through the fogginess clouding her brain.
“Lady Caroline, let me help you to a chair.”
“No, I’ll be fine.” Her eyes squeezed shut. She didn’t dare sit down, not yet. “If you would ring for a maid, I’ll go directly upstairs.” She envisioned a tub filled to the brim with steaming suds and a soft bed with clean sheets.
Farrington’s hand remained where it was. “Your father mentioned something else.” He cleared his throat. “Have you got…the papers?”
She hesitated for a moment, a frown clouding her face, then her expression lightened. “Yes, of course you would know about that. Well, never fear. I have them safe.” As she spoke, she patted at the breast of her jacket.
He lowered his voice as well, to a conspiratorial whisper. “I can only imagine what you have endured to reach London—your father naturally confided in me that there exists a traitor in our midst. Why don’t you let me relieve you of the burden? I shall see they are delivered into the right hands.”
Caroline shook her head. “How very kind of you, but I have carried them this far, and I shall keep them until I can turn them over to my father.”
His fingers unconsciously dug into her skin.
“Mr. Farrington, you may release me.” She tried to keep her tone light to avoid causing him any embarrassment. “I promise that my collapse is not imminent.”
All at once, he was shaking her. “Give them to me!”
Caroline tried to pull away. “Mr. Farrington!”
He kept hold of her jacket and nearly wrenched her off her feet. “You damn bitch. You’ve caused me more than enough trouble—but no more. Now give me those documents!”
“Ye gods, i-it’s you! You’re the traitor!” She stared at him in disbelief. “But why?”
“Why?” he repeated. “Are you daft? Do you think I plan to live the rest of my life accepting my station as a’ ill-paid younger son, having to bow and scrape in front of dolts like your father, who have had the damnable luck of birth rather than brains, like me?
I think not! Unfortunately, I shall have to leave a tad sooner than I planned, but my last delivery will set me up quite nicely—I shall live very well on the Continent. ”
She tried to twist out of his grasp as she let out a loud cry for help.
“Go ahead and scream all you wish,” he sneered.
“There is no one to hear you. I’ve sent the rest of the servants to their quarters.
And don’t expect that rakehell Davenport this time around.
If he’s not lying foxed in some gaming hell, he’s lying with some lightskirt, now that he’s finished with you. ”
His face took on an ugly leer. “Always prancing around in front of me, with your hoydenish ways. I always knew you were no better than you should be. Gave the earl a good ride, did you? Perhaps I’ll see for myself before I leave.”
Her fist caught him smack on the nose.
Farrington let out a scream of rage as blood spurted onto his snowy shirtfront.
“You bitch!” he roared again as he struck her hard across the temple.
Dazed, Caroline would have fallen to the floor if he hadn’t had such a tight hold of her jacket. As she hung limply in his grasp, his free hand pawed the inside of the garment, ripping at its lining. With a grunt of triumph, he came away with the oilskin packet.
It was her turn to feel a wave of fury. She had fought so hard to keep the precious documents safe—to see them now in the possession of the enemy gave her new strength to fight back.
Rather than struggling to break free, she launched herself straight at him, her nails raking down his cheeks.
Both of them stumbled backward, colliding with an ornate mahogany case clock set near the curved staircase.
A corner of it caught Caroline’s brow, knocking her farther off balance.
It gave Farrington just the time he needed to recover and knock her to the floor with another ringing blow.
He stood over her, a harsh laugh escaping from him as he drew a dagger from the depths of his pocket.
“Step away from the lady!” The click of the pistol being cocked punctuated Davenport’s command. “Unless you want your guts spilling onto your shirt as well.”
Caroline managed to raise her head a few inches off the Aubusson carpet. “Still having to scrape me out of the mud, I’m afraid,” she croaked before falling into a dead faint.