The Viscount's Unconventional Bride. Mary Nichols
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to draw my own weapon…’
‘Your weapon?’ Jonathan queried, smiling faintly.
‘Yes. One of Mantle’s best.’ She thrust her hand into the pocket of her coat and pulled out the pistol.
‘Good Lord! I never thought you meant it. Can you fire it?’
‘It would not be much use to me if I could not, would it?’ It was put back in her pocket before he could pick it up and realise it was unloaded. Mark, who was the best marksman of her brothers, had always said it was dangerous to carry a loaded pistol; it might go off in one’s pocket, and the sight of an unloaded one was often enough to save one’s life. The gentleman’s arrival on the scene had saved her from having to put that theory to the test. ‘I fear highpads are the scourge of travellers and one needs to defend oneself.’
‘True,’ he murmured, endeavouring not to smile. ‘And the sword?’
‘Given me by my fencing master,’ she said. That was partly true. Matthew had taught her to fence and it had been his sword, one she practised with until Papa had told her it was not a suitable accomplishment for a young lady.
‘And no doubt you can use it?’
‘Oh, you need have no fear on that score.’
He was amused. No doubt the young shaver was boasting to impress his young lady, though to look at her she seemed singularly unimpressed. At that moment she was making eyes at Joe, who had seated himself opposite her. He would have to have words with that young man.
‘Let us introduce ourselves,’ he said. ‘My name is Jonathan Linton.’ It was a name he used when on Society business. It left him free to assume whatever pose he chose; sometimes a title could be a hindrance.
‘Louis Smith. This is my wife. We are on our way to York to visit relatives.’
‘What a coincidence, so am I, travelling to York, I mean.’
She stifled her dismay; he was altogether too perspicacious for her peace of mind. ‘I hope you have not been too delayed by having to come to our rescue.’
He smiled. ‘I could not have gone past, could I? Your coach was blocking the road. Besides it would have been unchivalrous and it behoves all of us to maintain law and order where we can.’
‘You are never a Bow Street Runner!’ gasped Betty.
‘No, I am not. I am simply a private citizen doing his duty as he sees it, and glad I am that I did. I have learned those two men are wanted for other crimes in London and will be sent back there to stand trial. I am happy to have been instrumental in bringing them to justice.’ He smiled as he spoke. The two men had seen no reason to hide their real names when asked for them at the Baldock magistrate’s office and he had been surprised and delighted to discover they were the two he wanted in connection with Lord Besthorpe’s burglary, fleeing London. His journey had not been a wasted one, even if he never caught up with Miss Louise Vail.
He ought to have driven on through the night in an effort to catch her, but had decided not to risk his horses on the roads which, north of Baldock, were not always kept in good repair, in spite of the tolls. If his own horses were given a night’s rest, he could take them on the next day instead of hiring post horses. Besides, he was intrigued by the young whippersnapper who faced him now. There was something smoky going on and he hated unsolved mysteries.
The meal was finished and the cloth removed. A jug of ale, a bottle of Madeira wine and another of cognac were put on the table alongside glasses and a pack of cards. Jonathan, still amused by the boy, decided to test him further. He picked up the cards and began to shuffle them. ‘Do you play, Mr Smith?’
Louise hesitated. She could play a good hand of whist, but no doubt the man expected to play for money and she did not know if she dare risk it. But dare she refuse? She was sure he was already suspicious of her. And supposing she were to win, how much easier it would make their journey to have a few extra guineas in her pocket. ‘Yes, I like a game, sir, but I do not play deep. To risk more than one can spare seems to me irresponsible in the extreme.’ This was a long speech for her and was said in the deepest voice she could manage, which made her cough. She took another long pull of ale to clear her throat.
‘We are in agreement, Mr Smith,’ Jonathan said, pouring more ale for himself. ‘But one must do something to wile away the rest of the evening.’ He paused and again scrutinised her face. ‘Unless you prefer conversation?’
‘No, let us play a hand or two of whist,’ Louise said quickly. At least playing cards she would not need to talk much and the men might not notice she drank very little.
Jonathan turned to two men who sat on the other side of Louise. They were dressed in fustian coats and leather breeches and wore black bag wigs. ‘Gentlemen, will you make up a four?’
They agreed and moved to join Jonathan and Louise at the head of the table, introducing themselves as Bill Williams and Charlie Burrows. Betty moved away to talk to Joe. Louise did her best to concentrate on the cards at the same time as she kept an ear for what Betty was saying. She was not sure the girl would not inadvertently give the game away. She lost the first hand and reluctantly added a half guinea to the pot. ‘Betty, my dear, I think you should go to bed,’ she suggested. ‘I am sure you are tired and we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’
Betty scowled but obeyed. Louise realised everyone was grinning. She laughed. ‘Must keep one’s hand on the mare’s bridle, don’t you think? Shall we go on? Your deal, I believe, Mr Burrows.’
The evening wore on. Without having to worry about Betty, Louise was able to concentrate and luckily for her the cards fell well. She put them to good use and soon had a small pile of coins at her elbow. But the strain of maintaining her role and her previous sleepless night were beginning to tell. This was nothing like making up a fourth with her brothers, even though they had taught her well. This was fraught with tension. And Mr Jonathan Linton seemed not to be able to take his eyes off her. Was he studying her face in order to intimidate her into playing badly? She began to feel more and more uncomfortable.
‘I think this must be my last hand.’ she said, putting her hand to her mouth to stifle a yarn.
‘But the night is young,’ Williams protested.
‘Nevertheless I am for my bed.’
‘Ain’t anyone ever told you, ‘tis not done to go off with the winnings without giving a body a chance to win some of it back?’ Burrows added.
‘There is no sense in going on if one is going to lose everything one has gained,’ she said, putting her hand over the coins she had won and drawing them towards her, intending to put them in her pocket. Before she could do so Jonathan put his hand over hers and stopped her.
‘You can’t do that, Mr Smith.’ He was enjoying himself hugely. Those wide eyes, the unruly hair, the delicate hands with their neatly manicured nails, the voice that wavered from a squeak to a rumble, the delicate colour in his cheeks, all proclaimed a young lad barely out of puberty, trying to act like a grown man. Burrows and Williams had undoubtedly come to the same conclusion and had determined having some sport with him.
Not that he would be an easy victim. Jonathan had watched him closely; the young man seemed to know which cards each of his opponents held, had played his own hand judiciously and won. Had he cheated? If he had, he had not detected how it had been done. But what if he were not the innocent, but an accomplished confidence trickster? His apparent innocence would deceive most people.
Solving mysteries was the raison d’être of the Club; as long as they were travelling in the required direction, he would to stick with his mission and have a little fun, at the same time. He still had his hand over the young man’s, imprisoning both it and the coins beneath it. ‘You have to prove your success was not beginner’s luck.’
She longed for her bed and the feel of his warm, strong hand over hers was having a very strange effect on her. It made her feel weak and womanly and that would never do. She pulled