The Notorious Bridegroom. Kit DonnerЧитать онлайн книгу.
him with a short nod. “I must go. Thank you for your kindness. I know Sally truly enjoyed herself.”
She turned to leave, but a firm hand on her thin sleeve prevented her. “And Mrs. Grundy? Did she enjoy herself as well?”
His face again in the shadows, somehow she felt her answer to be important to him.
“Of course. You…you proved an amusing as well as considerate companion.” She thought her praise high, in view of the circumstances.
His smile widened to a grin. “I suppose the same can be said for Gulliver.”
“Gulliver?” She knew she should not have asked.
“My dog.”
While studying her flushed face, he raised her hand and softly kissed her glove, his warmth penetrating through to her skin.
“Mrs. Grundy, you do interest me, a great deal. I’m confident that we will meet again,” he told her and bid her good evening with a touch to his beaver hat.
Patience froze looking after him. His sentiments seemed ominous. Perhaps they would meet again, right before he was hung for treason.
Sally interrupted her troubling thoughts, tugging on her hand for attention. Looking at Sally’s aunt’s suspicious countenance, Patience was aware she needed to explain a few things to the little woman. A few bob, and she gained the aunt’s silence.
After matters were finally remedied, and Bella had taken Sally home, Patience could search for Colette. Since most of the fairgoers had wandered into the night, only a small handful of people remained near the dying bonfire. To her relief, she soon found Colette at the square, looking for her too. They strolled back to their lodgings, along with the rest of a tired crowd. Patience could only hope her disguise as a still-room maid in Lord Londringham’s house would hold up to scrutiny after this night.
Back at Paddock Green, Bryce lay awake for a long time reflecting on the sweet countenance of one Mrs. Grundy. He knew Grundy was not her last name. Who could she be? He wished he had inquired as to the cousin’s surname.
The bright flames of the bonfire around Mrs. Grundy had created a vivid aura against her soft brown hair. He remembered the tiger-lights sparkling in her lovely hazel eyes, and the warm look she unknowingly had sent him when he had given the child a new doll. He rose from the bed to walk over to the chair where he had laid his coat. He could still smell her lavender perfume on it. And a faint odor of peppermint.
The lark awakened him outside his window with the morning light pouring onto his bed in uneven lines. He had not slept this deeply in months, and it took him a few minutes to realize the cause.
No nightmares. It was because of her. Mrs. Grundy. He knew little about her, but sure as the world held hope and regrets, he would find her again. Unfortunately, he had to find his stepbrother’s murderer before he could enjoy her tempting pleasure.
Chapter 2
A man of middle years with a long, thin face, Viscount Carstairs slowly drained the last drops of beer from his tankard and contemplated the inside of the familiar Bear’s Wit tavern with half-masted eyes, yet again wishing for a good fellow to whom he could boast of his ingenious plan. But this late on the starless and windy night, anyone still awake was no doubt about the Devil’s work. He grinned at the thought. He wanted to crow that by tomorrow morning he would be rich and a long way from England.
“We need to talk.” The soft-spoken voice startled the older man, not yet in his cups.
The viscount looked up suspiciously to spy his young cousin. The lone candle on the table flickered, briefly lighting the pale, drawn face of the young man, obviously wearied from a long journey. “Rupert, my boy. What do you here? Did you not get my note? You are wanted for treason. It is not safe for you,” he told him under his breath. Then Carstairs smelled it: the odor of the hunted. “You look all in. Beer will straighten your back.”
A quick shout brought the innkeeper and another tankard. When he protested about wanting to close for the night, the viscount silenced him with a few more coins in the man’s pocket.
Rupert took a long drain from his cup before he replied in an undertone, “I know. I have spent the last two days avoiding a press-gang who wanted to throw me on a blockade ship and the constable’s men who seek to hang me. I do not remember my last meal or soft bed. Please, you have got to help me.” He paused. “I’m tired of running.”
His weary brown eyes unmistakably betrayed fear and hunger of a man no longer a boy. Worry lines had replaced laugh lines in the young man’s suddenly old face. He took another draught of the watered-down liquid before him. “Tell me, Peter, why in bloody hell does the constable believe I am selling secrets to the French?”
Carstairs narrowed his eyes as the boy settled uncomfortably onto the hard chair. He chose his next words carefully. “I was as shocked as you when I heard the news. Perhaps you met some untrustworthy chaps during your stay with me, and they gave your name to the constable in order to save their own.”
Rupert’s eyes widened in dismay. “But I was with you. The only blokes I met were your friends.”
“Yes, and I am afraid even I do not trust everyone within my acquaintance. I did try on your behalf to defend you. I told the constable you were only my relative come for a visit, and being of true English stock could not possibly be guilty of treason.” He raised his hands and shrugged. “But alas, he maintains he has proof of greater conviction than the weight of my words.”
Rupert, resting his head in his hands, looked up to catch his cousin’s last words. “Proof? What proof?” he sputtered.
Carstairs heaved a sigh. He needed more time to think. “Rupert, listen to me. Your running away from the authorities only convinces them of your guilt. Stay tonight with me and tomorrow we will visit my solicitor. I am sure he will find a way out of this coil, he’s very clever.”
“But what about Lord Londringham? Have they not caught him yet? You told me he is the man they seek.”
“Yes, well, unfortunately, Londringham is still unfamiliar with the inside of a gaol. He has been very clever, that man, clever enough to cover his tracks.”
“I suppose an earl is better at eluding justice than a mere baronet’s brother.”
“Come now, not so gloomy. We shall take you home and let Mrs. Keene make up a bed for you. Tomorrow, we will see to everything.” The viscount rose and started toward the door, calling over his shoulder, “My horse is outside, you can ride behind me.”
Rupert caught up with him, his step livelier with restored optimism. “Thank you, Cousin, for your kindness. I am sorry to be such a nuisance. You see, the family is in a state over me, especially my sister.”
“Naturally. Let us discuss this more tomorrow.”
When they arrived back at Loganmoor, Carstairs’s estate, the housekeeper gave him a filling repast and then led the exhausted young man to his bed.
Alone in his study, the viscount’s smile faded and annoyance hardened his rough countenance. Rupert’s reappearance proved a lump in the pudding, but would not disrupt his neatly arranged plans to be on a ship for America in the morning.
Assuring himself of his deft handling of his young cousin’s affairs, he began to gather his important papers to take with him. And the Devil took his due.
The new morning dawned bright for Rupert. Confident that his troubles would soon be over, he whistled as he dressed, eager to grab his fate by the tail. He trotted down the stairs, aware of the household sounds of clanging pots, clinking silver, and servants’ voices—the normal morning routine.
On his way to breakfast, he noticed that the French doors leading from the viscount’s study to the balcony were open, and he ventured inside. The smile drained from his lips as he viewed the study in shock: papers strewn on the floor, books toppled from their shelves,