Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Astara made sure that she remained in her bedchamber until she was notified of Lord Midvale’s arrival.
She knew that the duke would have departed before he’d arrived.
Although it would not be odd for Hampton to visit his “cousin,” he would not want to risk an encounter that could jeopardize the mission of ferreting out a dangerous turncoat.
Determined to keep her head fixed on the task at hand and push her Lion’s Watch superior out of her mind, Astara greeted Lord Midvale with what she hoped was a genuine smile as she accepted his arm.
The day was sunny and pleasant, quite lovely for May in England and should her spirits be more revived, she might have actually looked forward to the outing.
It was not often that she got to wear such fine clothes and sit in an open carriage.
Generally, she was ignored by society or shoved out of the way as she scrambled down the street, desperate to find her next bit of sustenance to keep her alive one more day.
She’d been able to make friends with several shopkeepers in the East End over the years by not causing any trouble and doing what she could to earn their regard.
She did not accept charity lightly and always offered to find a way to pay off their generosity.
Today was the first time in her entire life that she had woken up to a silver tray with an array of breakfast selections in an actual bedchamber that could easily fit the entirety of her previous lodgings inside of it.
Astara was not under any misconception that such a fairy tale could last forever and she would do well to remember that the Duke of Hampton, although handsome, was not the charming prince she could rely upon to save her from a life of poverty and struggle.
They had been born to two separate worlds and it was that accident of birth which drastically altered their current situations.
She had long believed that life was full of such dark twists of fate.
As the gentleman spoke with genuine aplomb, Astara tried to imagine her companion in the role of a French spy.
He did not come across as someone who could be so conniving or mysterious, but looks could easily be deceiving.
She was proof enough of that. He did not seem to suspect her of being anyone other than who she claimed to be—the country cousin of a duke.
There was one man, however, who had seen through her careful ruse.
“Are you chilled, my dear?”
Astara did not care to be called this man’s dear, but she batted her lashes and attempted to allow an innocent blush to steal into her cheeks. “Forgive me. A rabbit must have hopped over my grave.”
He placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “How dreadful! Perhaps a brisk walk would restore the imbalance in your constitution.”
She thought parting ways sounded more ideal since she had discounted the notion of Midvale being the man they were looking for, but she knew she had to see this outing through until the end. “I do believe that would do the trick, my lord. You are quite considerate.”
He puffed up as if she had just told him he’d hung the moon itself.
As he assisted her down from the carriage and told his driver to wait for their return, he escorted her toward the Long Water.
Astara had to shield her eyes from the sun shining brightly on the top of the flat surface.
There were several people milling around the area, from older couples to governesses with their young charges, all enjoying the pleasant morning.
It was a picturesque scene with green grass and tall trees fully leaved.
Swans glided gently over the top of the water and looked unimpressed by the handmade boats that eager boys in short pants attempted to sail along the edge of the bank.
Girls were equally joyful, their curls bouncing as they gleefully watched their kites waving overhead.
It was such a serene setting that Astara did not realize her escort had led her toward a more private area of the lake until they were carefully shielded from most of the other occupants.
As Midvale stopped and took her hands in both of his, she narrowed her eyes slightly when he adopted a serious expression.
“My dear, Lady Astrid, I must tell you how enamored I am by you. I hope that you might grant me the permission to court you exclusively.”
Oh, dear. It seemed she was too good at her performance as Lady Astrid Ancell. If he dared to drop to one knee… “My lord,” She gently disentangled her hands from his. “I must tell you how honored I am by your request, but I fear I shall have to—”
“Oof!”
Midvale abruptly went stumbling to the side and straight into the lake.
Astara didn’t have time to do more than gape at Midvale flapping his arms and wailing for help as several passersby came to assist, before her arm was grasped in a bruising grip and she was yanked farther into the shadows of the shrubbery around the edge of the water.
Her shock was further expounded when she was thrust against the trunk of a tree and a familiar, malicious face was set directly in front of her. “Continuing to play Hampton’s harlot, I see,” he spat.
Her heart stuttered to an abrupt halt in her chest when the dark voice of her nightmares came flooding into her hearing. “You,” she breathed.
“How much longer do you plan to keep up this ridiculous farce and make a fool out of everyone in true polite society? You are not fit to shine my shoes, you wretched orphan.”
Astara blinked, stung by his harsh words, but even more stunned that he would know that much about her past. That’s when it hit her.
This was the man they were looking for. He was the spy.
As if to prove her theory, she spat back a curse in perfectly accented French.
She had been taught the language at the orphanage, and the instruction had been quite thorough.
She had gone to bed hungry many nights because she’d missed a certain vowel.
After that, it had not taken her long to become proficient.
His mouth curled into a snarl. “I might say the same to you, Miss Smith.” He gave a snort. “What a common name for an equally common urchin.”
Now that she’d had some time to recover from her initial shock of Midvale’s abrupt dunk in the lake, likely due to this man’s efforts, as well as the knowledge that he knew French better than she might, she was convinced this was the culprit.
She would enjoy bringing him down to his knees in front of Hampton.
A smile curved her lips. Hoping she rivaled the malice in his expression, she leaned forward and whispered, “You can call me whatever you want, but if you think I am not aware of all of your sins, you would be fundamentally mistaken.”
It was the spark of doubt, the uncertainty that struck him, that she found the opportunity she’d been waiting for. Using all of her strength, she brought her knee up and set it to his genitals. As he doubled over in a grunt of pain, she raced back out into the safety of light and numbers.
At least, that had been her intention. Instead, she met a wall of resistance.
* * *
Knox had the intention of watching over Astara during her ride with Midvale, both out of concern for her welfare and because he wanted to ensure she didn’t make a misstep.
As he had done earlier.
He nearly grimaced every time he thought of the brief moment of vulnerability he’d shown in the parlor.
If that hadn’t been bad enough to express, he’d allowed her to witness that weakness, which was unacceptable.
He had no idea what was wrong with him lately, but he couldn’t seem to keep his emotions in check.
It was as if he were a keg of gunpowder, teetering on the edge of explosion and only the slightest bit of a spark could set him aflame.
Unfortunately, Astara seemed to be that spark.
Thus far, as he’d followed her and Lord Midvale from a discreet distance, Knox wondered if he’d wasted time in pursuit of the couple when he heard the splash and saw Astara quickly dragged away into the shrubbery.
He mumbled a curse and set off after her, but she burst out of the shadows of the greenery around her before he’d mounted any sort of brazen rescue attempt.
“Oof!” With a muffled gasp, Astara stared into his face. Horror registered in her expression, and then she blinked as clarity surfaced. “Hampton?” she whispered in disbelief.
He was surprised that she could identify him. When he’d donned the same disguise before, Scarsdale had been deceived. However, that wasn’t the most important thing at the moment. He grasped her upper arms. “Are you unhurt? I saw you were taken.”
“I am well enough, if not a bit shaken by the encounter.” She sniffed in indignation. “But I can guarantee that the assailant will be walking with a limp for some time after the knee I placed in his groin.”
Knox had to admit that he was impressed, and he would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so dire. Otherwise, he knew that danger was still at hand. “Was this the same man from the ball last night?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “He is the man you are looking for, not Midvale, nor I am certain, Lord Montrose either. I am sure of it.”
“But you do not recognize him?”
“No. But then, it is not as though I have generally rubbed elbows with society, except for the past twelve hours.”
He ignored her slight jab at sarcasm and glanced toward the copse of trees. He considered giving chase, wondering if he might be able to discover the man’s identity from the limp Astara indicated he would have.
“Do not bother,” she spoke up, as if reading the direction of his thoughts. “I heard a carriage speed away shortly before I ran into you. He must have been parked close by.”