by Regina Scott
And were you any better?
The answer shamed him. He had mistaken others so often that to hear he had mistaken her had been all too easy to believe. He’d been quick to disassociate from her a year ago, and just as quickly thought the worse of her when she’d reappeared in his life.
But Lydia wasn’t that woman. He’d seen a bright light and mistaken it for artifice. The light was there, a warm glow that encouraged everyone who saw it. She had been nothing but helpful since she’d joined his team, spurring him to new ideas, new approaches. Because of her, they had a chance to achieve his dreams.
“How do you abide my arrogance?” he asked as he came up to her.
She blinked, rapidly, as if her thoughts moved in time with her golden lashes. “The same way I abide other people’s arrogance. With a smile.”
Worth shook his head. “You continue to astound me. I treated you abominably last year, yet you willingly return and offer your help.”
“Well,” she said, taking his arm, “I will accept that as another apology. Now, what did Lord Halston say?”
He led her through the thinning crowds toward the door. “He recommends Thomas Earnshaw, the fellow who’s been making chronometers for the Navy.”
“But a chromometer of that size would surely disrupt your weight calculations,” she said as they collected their wraps. She flung hers about her shoulders before Worth could offer his help.
“Quite possibly,” he acknowledged. “I understand, however, that Earnshaw has a pocket version.”
“Oh! We must go see him.” She swished her skirts aside as they descended the stairs to the pavement. Bateman, who had been waiting near the door, peeled himself away from the building to join them.
Out of the night, something hurtled toward him. Worth recoiled, but Bateman pushed him aside, separating him from Lydia. He heard his man grunt.
“Bateman!” Lydia caught his arm as the boxer swayed.
Worth moved in against his other side. “What was that?”
Bateman shook them both off, glaring into the shadows. Red trickled down his temple.
“You’re bleeding!” Lydia cried.
He wiped away the blood with the back of his hand. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Get in the carriage, both of you.”
Worth hurried Lydia down to the next carriage, where his coachman sat waiting. Petersham must not have noticed anything, for he held the horses steady with a ready smile as Bateman opened the door and hustled them in. Then the boxer darted back into the shadow of the building.
Lydia clutched Worth’s arm. “What’s he doing?”
Worth shook his head before his man jumped in beside them.
Petersham started the carriage forward as Bateman wiped at his face again. As if she thought he wasn’t doing a good enough job, Lydia took a handkerchief from her reticule and offered it to him. Her hand was shaking.
“What hit you, Bateman?” she asked.
“Brick,” the boxer said, accepting her gift. The fine lawn turned pink as he held it to his forehead. “Someone threw it at his lordship.”
Worth reared back. “At me? Nonsense. Why would anyone want to brain me?”
“Same reason they threatened to kill you,” Bateman said. “Or had you forgotten why you hired me?”
Lydia gasped. “Oh, Worth! That note!”
Worth put his hand over hers but addressed his bodyguard. “You think this has something to do with those threats?”
“Don’t you?” He set down the bloodied handkerchief. “I know you keep your head in your work, but you have to think of your ladies. The last note warned of harm to them too. That brick could as easily have hit Miss Villers as you.”
The very thought chilled him.
Lydia sighed. “It couldn’t have been meant for me. I doubt I’m important enough to warrant such treatment right now. If I was vying for Lord Worthington’s attentions, perhaps. But I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’m only in his company to learn more about natural philosophy.”
Hearing it said aloud was still lowering.
“That’s not what people expect,” Bateman argued.
“Then perhaps they should reconsider their expectations,” she said sweetly. “I believe I have given sufficient evidence of my true purpose.”
She certainly had, at least to him. He could not conceive that another woman was so jealous that they’d attack her, in public no less. And how would anyone have known she would be at the Royal Institution’s lecture, of all places? No, the brick had to have been meant for him.
But why? And by whose hand?
“Perhaps the stories were true,” Bateman said. “There’s more than one madman in London set on hurting those in power.”
“This has nothing to do with Perceval’s assassination,” Worth insisted, as Lydia’s eyes widened. “Bellingham made no secret of his dissatisfaction with government in general. Our threatening letter writer appears to be aggrieved with me specifically.”
“So, who did you set off?” Bateman demanded.
One name came to mind. John Curtis had been at the lecture, for all Worth had tried to ignore him. Was his former mentor so angry over their falling out that he’d aim a brick at Worth’s head?
Chapter Fifteen
What a night! Lydia was still shaking when she walked into Meredith’s townhouse. Why would anyone want to hurt Worth? She could imagine a few young ladies who’d go so far to remove her as a rival, and her brother had enough enemies that someone might have wanted to take their vengeance on him by hurting her. But the direction from which the brick had come made it seem far more likely that Worth was the target.
“You could probably have caught the culprit,” she said to Fortune, who had come to the door to greet her. She bent and swept the cat up into her arms. Amazing how a few cuddles against that silky fur made breathing easier.
“Everything all right?”
Lydia raised her head to find Meredith standing on the landing, head cocked as if she could see inside Lydia. Her elderly butler ambled forward.
“May I take your wrap, Miss Villers?”
Lydia turned so he could remove it from her shoulders, juggling Fortune in the process. “Thank you, Mr. Cowls.” She carried the cat up the stairs to join her mistress.
“I doubt Lord Halston’s lecture could have you in such a state,” Meredith said, stepping aside so Lydia could follow her into the withdrawing room.
“It was fascinating,” Lydia allowed. “And I met some interesting people. But you didn’t have to wait up.”
Meredith eyed her pet, who was purring, the rumble tickling Lydia’s chest. “Someone refused to settle until she knew you were home.”
“Sweet little kittykins.” Lydia lowered her head and rubbed her nose against Fortune’s. Fortune sneezed.
Lydia smiled. “Very well. I know when I have overstepped.” She bent and released the cat, who traipsed over and began winding around Meredith’s skirts, ruffling the lavender silk.
Meredith’s look softened, then she glanced up at Lydia. “You haven’t answered my question. You looked troubled when you came in. What happened?”
Lydia sighed, going to sit on the sofa. Meredith joined her.
“There was an incident after the lecture,” Lydia confessed. “Someone threw a brick at us.”
“Us?” Meredith’s dark brows arched.
“Lord Worthington and me.”
“One brick doesn’t seem a sensible weapon against two people,” Meredith said with a shake of her head.
“And there lies the question,” Lydia said. “Was it meant for him, or me?”
Fortune jumped up onto the sofa and eyed each of them as if trying to determine which lap held the most promise. She must have decided on Lydia, for she made herself comfortable on the spruce gown.
“And there was no one else about?” Meredith questioned.
Lydia shook her head. “Only Mr. Bateman. He pushed Worth aside and took the brunt of it, poor man. The wound wasn’
t serious, just bloody.”
Meredith shuddered. “Well, I suppose we should be thankful it wasn’t any worse. Still, why would anyone assault Lord Worthington? He hasn’t done anything notable, unless you count this balloon he’s building.”
Lydia threw up her hands, startling Fortune, who glared as if deeply offended, jumped down, and stalked off behind the sofa.
“How does everyone know what we’re doing?” Lydia demanded. “Worth makes it seem a dark secret.”
“I was informed by Mr. Cowls,” Meredith said, “and I am no longer surprised by what he can ferret out. Nor do I question how he acquires his knowledge. One should not look a gift horse in the mouth. So, Lord Worthington wishes the matter kept quiet. Why? Does he fear failure?”
“He estimates failure whenever asked,” Lydia admitted. Something tickled her skirts—Fortune, sneaking up on her mistress. “But I truly believe he thinks we will succeed in the end.”
“Interesting,” Meredith said, leaning back. “Could this assault this evening have been from a rival, attempting to prevent him from that end?”
A rival. John Curtis had commented along those lines, but he had implied the impetus for the rivalry lay on Worth’s side. Lydia could certainly imagine that. Worth had taken a dislike of her on no more evidence than a story from a colleague. Perhaps someone had said something bad about Mr. Curtis. She certainly couldn’t see the slight fellow heaving a brick at Worth’s head.
Then again, it was difficult to imagine anyone she knew doing such a dastardly deed, except, perhaps, her brother. Beau was off on his honeymoon to the Lakes District and likely had no reason to accost Worth regardless. Blackmail was more his style. She might have blamed him for the vague note someone had sent to the Worthington establishment, but that hand hadn’t belonged to him. And he would never have convinced his thoroughly-proper bride to help him.
“I can’t think of anyone who would want to brain Worth,” Lydia said.
Meredith cocked her head. “Except you, perhaps.”
Lydia laughed. “Well, maybe once. But I need Worth now. He’s providing me with the opportunity to advance.”
Meredith trailed her fingers along the edge of the sofa. Fortune popped out from behind Lydia’s skirts to watch, ears twitching as if she listened for the slightest sound. “And is that the only reason you’re interested in Lord Worthington?”
“Of course,” Lydia said.
Either she said it too readily or too flippantly, for Meredith’s brows arched once more. Why did that look demand she confide?
“Very well,” Lydia said. “I still admire him. But he treats me like any other member of the team, with no more than professional courtesy, if that at times.”
Meredith’s fingers stilled. So did Fortune. “Nothing more?”
His apologies came to mind. He did seem to regret the way they’d parted. He’d said he liked her, that he still cared. And once in a while, she thought she saw something like admiration shining from his grey eyes. Miss Janssen had noticed it as well.
“In truth, I’m not sure,” Lydia admitted. “Perhaps I merely want to see more. Is it foolish to hope?”
Meredith drew back her hand, and Fortune jumped up and into her lap as if in search of her fingers. “It depends on the hope. What is it you want, Lydia?”
To hear him say he admires me.
To hear him say he loves me. To feel his arms around me, his lips against mine. To know I am cherished, just for myself.
Her eyes felt warm. She blinked back tears. “For most of my life, what I wanted and what was possible were two different things.”
“And now?” Meredith challenged.
Lydia spread her hands. “Now, working with Worth, it seems as if anything might be possible.”
Meredith smiled. “Excellent. That is exactly what I want my clients to feel. I believe I should begin looking for my next opportunity.”
The sofa seemed to sink beneath her. “Will I need to leave?”
Meredith waved a hand even as Fortune climbed off her lap and sidled over to Lydia as if giving her another chance to share her lap.
“Not at all,” Meredith said. “Most of my clients are placed into living situations, and I have another room I can outfit if need be. You are welcome to stay as long as you like.”
Lydia drew in a breath. “Thank you.”
“Allow me, however, to make a prediction,” Meredith said. “Very shortly, you will have a new place to live, one that you can call home for the rest of your life.”
If only she could believe.
~~~
Worth woke early the next morning. The sun was shining. The air smelled new. Odd thought. He knew the origin of air, its movement and properties. Nothing had re-created it anew. Yet he couldn’t help the feeling that the very breath inside him was different, better, than it had been only yesterday. He defied his valet to throw on his clothes, knotted his cravat, and ran down the stairs.
Charlotte was generally up before him, had breakfasted and planned her day before he arrived. She hadn’t even started her first cup of tea when he peered into her study.
“I’ll be in the garden,” he said.
“And good morning to you too,” she said, rising to follow him down the short corridor. “What’s the hurry? Did you learn something last night?”
Yes, that I still have feelings for Lydia Villers, and someone hates me enough to attempt to kill me.
He shook his head. “Nothing that can help us immediately. Halston’s thoughts on time pieces were very helpful. I’ll send a note this morning to the watchmaker he recommended about a new chronometer. With any luck, it will arrive before the demonstration.”
Charlotte hurried to keep up with him as he reached the rear door. “You are in a good mood.”
Because I’m in love.
“Just eager to start the day,” he told her. “We have a great deal of work to do.”
“I fear we will be short-handed,” Charlotte said as they stepped into the garden. The scarlet silk had been taken inside for safekeeping, but the basket and brazier stood waiting, dew setting them to sparkling. From the garden next door, he heard birds singing, the merry sound making him smile.
“Oh?” Worth asked, eyeing the coal feeder and remembering how hard Lydia had worked to make her idea a reality. “Has Miss Pankhurst requested time off again?”
“No, Lydia has.”
He froze, cold slipping over him. “Has something happened to Lydia?”
His concern must have leaked out, for Charlotte regarded him oddly.
“Not to my knowledge. She sent round a note early. She has an appointment this morning but hopes to join us afterward.”
Relief and disappointment vied for his attention. “Good. We’ll need all the help we can get.”
Bateman came out of the house just then. “Why didn’t anyone call me?” he demanded. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
Charlotte laughed. “Really, Beast. I doubt anyone would accost us in our own garden.”
“I don’t.” He came abreast of them and scowled at Worth. A jagged red line marred his forehead under his thatch of brown hair.
Charlotte must have seen it as well, for she sobered. “What happened to your head?”
“You didn’t tell her?” Bateman asked Worth. When Worth shrugged, his bodyguard turned to Charlotte. “Someone tried to smash your brother’s head in last night.”
His sister turned white as she glanced between them. “What!”
“He makes it sound worse than it was,” Worth assured her. “Someone threw a brick as we were leaving the lecture. It could have been aimed at anyone.”
He thought that might assuage at least some of his sister’s concerns, but she turned on Bateman. “And I suppose you stepped between it and Worth?”
Now Bateman shrugged. “That’s my job.”
Charlotte glared at Worth. “He could have been killed.”
“I wager my head’s harder than his,” Bateman said.<
br />
“That is immaterial,” Charlotte scolded. “Honestly, how can you two stand here so casually? Someone might have died!”
Worth caught her hands. “No one was seriously hurt, Charlotte. Bateman likely had a headache last night, but he’s here and ready to work this morning. That’s what’s important.”
She pulled out of his grip. “You and I will never agree on what’s important.” She turned and marched back to the house.
“You worried her,” Bateman said watching her.
Perhaps. But Worth had the unsettling feeling that it was the boxer’s injury that had most concerned his sister.
“I appear to have worried you too,” he told his bodyguard.
Bateman’s jaw was tighter than usual as his gaze swept back to Worth’s at last. “I don’t like it. We don’t know who did it, whether it will happen again.”
Worth nodded. “Point well taken. Let’s apply some logic. It was dark. Most of the others had gone. Likely the few who remained never noticed the culprit.”
Bateman crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s true enough. I tried looking but couldn’t see anything or anyone that might be associated. Petersham claims he saw nothing until we arrived to get in the coach.”
“So either the fellow had been waiting in hiding for more than an hour during the lecture, or it was someone who had left the lecture before us.”
Bateman dropped his arms. “One of your fellow philosophers? They don’t seem the type to get their hands dirty. But it could have been one of their servants. Or a thug they hired. Some will do anything for money.”
From what Gentleman Jackson had said about Bateman before Worth had hired him, the boxer had cause to know. Thousands of pounds changed hands at any boxing match, none of it strictly legal. That was one of the reasons the magistrates tried to ban such sporting events from the city proper.
“Then we’re back where we started,” Worth said, “the culprit’s identity and motivation unknown. What do you advise?”
Bateman glanced around the garden. “You should be safe enough in here. Nothing can get over that wall without being noticed. But we’ll be more careful when you leave the house.”