Regency Sins: Pickpocket Countess / Notorious Rake, Innocent Lady. Bronwyn ScottЧитать онлайн книгу.
things he’d lost to The Cat tonight: his coat, his money and his ring. Arguably, by agreeing to her counter-offer, he’d lost a fourth—his sanity.
The evening had taken an unbelievable twist. He’d gone from the security of retrieving his ring to the insecurity of a dubious trip to Manchester with The Cat. By nature, he didn’t like cat-and-mouse games, especially when he was the mouse, and he was definitely the mouse here. The Cat had him dangling.
To be honest, not all of him minded. Not because she’d been alluring in that gown she’d worn or because she flirted audaciously, but because she challenged him with her wit, her insights and sense of daring. He had no doubt that tomorrow would be full of such tests as well and not all of them would be hers. His would not be the only measure taken.
Chapter Six
Morning arrived stark and cold. Standing on the wood planks of the bedroom floor in her nightshift, Nora drew back the curtains to view the dreary day spreading before her.
Christmas morning ought to look different. It ought to look special. It didn’t. It looked like every other morning in the long English winter. Bare trees raised dark silhouettes to the grey sky. Everywhere she looked, the earth was devoid of colour beneath the frost. The heart of winter carried with it a sense of desperation.
The empty landscape made it difficult to believe spring would come again. Nora could well understand why chieftains of old had contrived great Christmastide festivities for their people. Conceivably, they’d been as anxious as she to drive the cold winter away and create a splash of colour in otherwise colourless lives, if only for a moment.
Even the austerity of her bedroom mirrored the colourless winter. The room was ascetic and clean, fitted only with the most rudimentary of furnishings: an iron bedstead, washstand and wardrobe. By necessity, her lifestyle required an existence as bland and colourless as the landscape outside. The Cat’s successes depended on remaining aloof. She had to be able to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice. She couldn’t do that if she formed attachments.
Her personal road through life was a lonely one. By choice, she spent her life gathering what hope there was in the world and giving it to others. She saved no hope for herself.
That was the purpose of her trip into Manchester today; to give hope to others, a break from the tedium of their lives as they struggled to survive in a world gone grey. And because she couldn’t bear the thought of donning the façade of Eleanor Habersham and frittering away the day sitting in front of the Squire’s fire with knitting needles, watching young people play silly parlour games.
Nora rummaged through the wardrobe, nimble fingers finding the catch that revealed the hidden chamber in back. She drew out a heavy cloak she kept for just such occasions. The Cat was well received in the slums, but she still needed to be agile and alert in case of trouble. She could not afford to be numb or sluggish from the cold.
And it would be cold. That was a guarantee. She’d told Stockport not to bring his coach. It would attract too much attention and make people suspicious. The ride to Manchester would be a frozen one carried out on the moderately sheltered bench of her closed wagon, loaded with baskets and gifts for those who had nothing.
She dressed quickly and went down to the warm kitchen for a sweet roll and hot tea. She let Hattie fuss over her and wished them Happy Christmas. They’d have their own celebration tonight when she returned. Alfred, Hattie’s husband and, superficially, Eleanor’s man-of-all-work, had already gone out to hitch up the wagon and load its cargo. They both walked Nora out to the yard.
Alfred volunteered to come with her and Hattie urged her to stay home altogether after feeling the bite of the wind. But Nora would not, could not, be swayed from her mission. She seated herself on the bench of her plain wagon with its wooden sideboards and clucked to the horse.
Nearing the crossroads where Hyde and Stockport Roads met on the way into Manchester, Nora paused before the last corner to tie on her mask and to lower a heavy veil over her face. Checking her veils and mask one last time, Nora turned the corner, surprised to see Stockport already waiting there. He sat atop his big bay, garbed in mufflers that covered him up to his blue eyes and a greatcoat, his gloved hands resting negligently on the reins at the horse’s neck. He appeared to be at ease, feeling none of the nervousness that roiled around in Nora’s own stomach.
The nerves were due to the dangerous nature of this adventure. To ask her nemesis to accompany her on such a trip was more than bold. There would be little to stop him from taking advantage of their situation and forcing her to reveal her identity. All that stood between her and exposure was his gentleman’s creed. Her protection depended on it and in her intuition about his nature.
‘Good morning and Happy Christmas,’ Stockport called out, surprisingly cheery after the late evening. ‘I thought you said no carriages.’ He gestured to the closed wagon.
‘I needed a way to carry my supplies and keep them protected from the weather.’
‘Well, then, at least let me drive. I doubt you can see well at all through that veiling.’ Stockport dismounted and tied his horse behind the wagon, oblivious to her protests. Within minutes, he’d secured the horse and climbed up beside her on the wagon seat.
Nora had not counted on such close proximity. She’d thought he would ride silently alongside the wagon. Even then, the bench had looked like it would hold two, but that was proving to be an illusion. Stockport was a large man, a fact amply demonstrated by the space he took up next to her. His thigh rubbed against her leg and his arm brushed her sleeve, conjuring up hot images of the way he’d held her on the dance floor. She could not create another inch between them. But she could make a buffer.
Nora fussed with the lap robes, tucking one around her legs and offering the other to Stockport. He ruined that plan too.
‘We’ll be warmer if we share them.’ To demonstrate, he took the lap robe she offered and shook it out. ‘There, it’s plenty large enough to cover us both. Layer yours over the top and we’ll each have two robes to warm us instead of one.’
What could she say? It was too cold to deny his good sense, so she found herself neatly tucked under the robes, bouncing along the Manchester road next to Stockport, his muscled thigh pressed against hers. The intimate contact didn’t seem to bother him in the least, but Nora couldn’t help wondering if she’d gone completely mad to put herself into the hands of the one man who could stand in her way. As long as she remembered the old adage ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ she’d be fine. It was only when she started thinking of him as an ally, like she had last night on the dance floor, that she got herself in trouble.
The trip to Manchester was accomplished in short order and without mishap. The Hyde and Stockport Roads entered the city through the elegant suburb of Ardwick. A few people hurried along the cold residential streets paying Christmas visits to neighbours, but for the most part families were tucked up in their homes.
She had counted on that. It was the reason she’d opted to come into town on Christmas Day instead of a few days before when the streets would have been filled with last-minute shoppers. But today, in spite of Nora’s precautions, no one was interested in the plain wagon and the barely visible veiled woman who sat beside the driver.
Peering into windows as they passed, Nora could see people in the midst of their celebrations, faces wreathed in smiles and dressed in fine clothes. The occasional smell of roasted goose and winter treats wafted out to the wagon. There would be none of that where she was going.
The bustling streets of Manchester were deserted. The business centre of town was locked up tight and the factories for which Manchester was becoming famous were shut down for the day. The city looked almost ghostly in its desertion, as if she and Stockport were the only two people in it.
Nora pointed out directions to Stockport and he steered the wagon away from the wide avenues of the merchant homes into the narrow, broken-cobbled streets of the poor. The smells were not so pleasant here, nor were the sounds. The cries of hungry babies reached the streets, mingled with the shouts