Regency Society. Ann Lethbridge
Читать онлайн книгу.
too dangerous to let her travel alone, but travelling with her had its own dangers—for him. She was too damned attractive, and the outrageous clothes she was wearing were provocative, though of course she had no idea of it.
Damn it! Why was he even letting himself think how good she would feel in his arms? He had no room in his life for a woman—not one like her, anyway. He had no wish to marry, or to form a lasting attachment for anyone, and though he would enjoy seducing Georgie, he was too much of a gentleman to do it. For her it must be marriage or nothing. But it hurt too much to lose the people you loved. A curse escaped him. He was allowing Georgie to distract his mind from the purpose in hand.
He needed to concentrate on the task ahead. He knew that the little band of plotters he sought consisted of both French and English dissidents, men who were for one reason or another at odds with the establishment. Some he had no doubt worked for money and would have been loyal to the highest bidder only for as long as it pleased them. However, this plot was taken seriously enough by those in high places for Richard to have formed an idea of the man behind it, because there had to be someone masterminding the affair. He had an idea of who that person might be, but as yet had no proof.
Whoever this person was, he was clever and he knew people—people who mattered. Richard knew that there had already been two assassination attempts, presumed to be the work of this group. One was on Wellington, who had wrestled the man to the ground, taking him prisoner, and the other on the Regent—and that had been prevented by the intervention of a lady who happened to be there and saw what might have been the end of the prince had she not acted swiftly.
Two key figures in British politics, Richard mused with a frown. Had the assassins been luckier they might already have succeeded in causing the chaos they clearly desired. He did not truly think that Georgie was mixed up in the plot, at least not knowingly—but if this man, whose name he had heard whispered too often for comfort, was the same man to whom her uncle had been bent on marrying her, it could not hurt to see her safely to her family.
Richard was angry with himself for falling so neatly into his enemy’s trap. He had been alert all the time he was carrying the papers, but, returning from his second journey of the night, he had allowed himself to relax his guard. The pain in his thigh was warning enough that he must never let his guard slip again, even for a moment.
‘Curses!’ he muttered as he sat on the side of the bed. Every movement was like having a hot knife thrust into his thigh. Henderson had warned him that it was too soon, begging him to wait another week before attempting the journey. His natural impatience had made him ignore his man’s warning, but he was paying for it now. ‘To hell with it!’
He lay back against the pillows. Rest was the only thing for it! He would not take the laudanum he knew would ease the pain, because it all too easily became addictive. Brandy would have eased him, but if he drank enough to dull the pain it would dull his wits, and his instincts were telling him that he needed to remain alert for the next few days.
Georgie had wondered if Captain Hernshaw would keep to his bed and send word that she should order a tray in her room, but he did not. He was downstairs in the private parlour at the appointed time, where Henderson, who had followed them to the inn at a discreet distance, joined them a little later.
Georgie watched the exchange between the two men. She could not hear what they were saying, but Captain Hernshaw nodded and looked pleased, so she supposed it was good news. The three of them took their places at table, and the host’s wife served them with a dinner as good or better than they might have found at the more fashionable inn they had been headed for. Roast capon, cold ham, pigeon in wine sauce and a remove of parsnips in melted butter, carrots and mashed turnip, all served with delicious gravy. She returned a little later with a large treacle tart and custard, for the young lad. This was said with a smile and a nod, which made Georgie feel she must eat a piece of the gorgeous tart, even though she was already full.
‘If you eat like that all the time, you will get fat,’ Richard remarked, a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes.
‘Well, I had to eat some of it since she made it especially for me,’ she said, feeling miffed. ‘Besides, I never get fat. I take after Papa in that and he was always thin.’
Richard nodded, his expression thoughtful as he looked at her. ‘I fear I must leave you to amuse yourself this evening, Georgie. I need to rest if we are to continue our journey first thing in the morning.’
‘I’ll take a look at your wound before you retire,’ Henderson said. ‘It may have opened again.’
‘I do not think so,’ Richard replied. ‘But take a look by all means.’
‘You do not need to worry about me,’ Georgie said. ‘I shall go to my room. I would be happier with a book to read, but I dare say I shall fall asleep soon enough.’
‘Poor Georgie,’ Richard murmured. ‘I am sorry I have nothing to offer you—unless you would care for the book of poetry you discovered at my London house?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘Thank you. I should enjoy reading that—I had hoped to subscribe to it myself.’
‘Wait here and Henderson will bring it to you,’ Richard told her. ‘Had we stopped at the inn I intended to use, you would not have been safe, but this place is much quieter and I think you may stay here by the fire for a while should you wish.’
Georgie watched as he walked from the parlour, limping on his injured leg though obviously trying not to. Henderson gave her a nod and she settled down by the fire to wait for his return. They had not been gone more than a few minutes when Georgie heard the wheels of a carriage outside the inn. Something made her get up and go to the window. She glanced out at the curricle that had just arrived, giving a squeak of fear as she saw the gentleman throw his reins to a groom. She knew his face at once, for he was Monsieur Thierry—the man she had run away from her home to escape!
What was he doing here? It was a terrible mischance that he should come to this place! Georgie drew back hastily as he glanced towards the lighted window. Her mind worked feverishly. Would the host give him a room for the night? He would probably want supper, and, knowing that Captain Hernshaw had retired for the night, the host would think it acceptable if he allowed the newcomer to have the parlour.
She had to escape before he saw her! Georgie was not at all sure that her disguise was sufficient to fool a man she had met on several occasions at her uncle’s home. He must not be given the chance to recognise her!
She left the parlour and hurried up the stairs, reaching the top seconds before she heard voices below in the hall. Thierry was asking for a room for the night, but the host was telling him that his rooms were full.
‘You will at least allow me to take supper here?’ The voice of the man she disliked followed Georgie as she fled up the stairs and along the landing to her own room. Once inside, she locked the door and leaned against it, her breast heaving in a sigh of relief. Had she not glanced out of the window, he might have walked into the parlour and found her there alone.
Trembling, Georgie sat down on the edge of the bed. She would certainly not be venturing downstairs to the parlour again that night, and she would be careful in the morning. Henderson would go to look for her in the parlour, but when he saw there was a new occupant he was sure to come here to bring her the book. Georgie decided that she would tell him Monsieur Thierry was here, because it might not be coincidence. It was just possible that he had followed them here for some reason.
She guiltily remembered the calling card she had discovered at Captain Hernshaw’s house and not given him. In the morning she would have to tell him if he should mention the Frenchman by name.
Georgie spent a couple of hours reading the book Henderson brought her, but once again she found herself decoding the messages she found scribbled into the margins. She soon discovered that there was a fresh notation in one of the margins, but when she used the code to unravel it she was left with a riddle.
Where the stars and sword unite, the plotters lie in wait and plan their deadly deeds. The fox is in the hole and will