Though she’d half expected that lightning would strike her or that Lord Ebberling himself would be standing on the front drive waiting for her, instead the usual crush of horses and carriages rolled down the cobblestones, delivering and retrieving lords who’d come to visit the club.
Westfall had arrived in a high-perch phaeton, which she had to consider as a hopeful sign. If he meant to do her harm, he likely would have driven to collect her in a closed coach. On the other hand, everyone would be able to see her seated up on a phaeton. But this was the hand she’d decided to play, and she wasn’t about to flinch now.
He handed her up onto the high seat, then moved around the back of the carriage to climb up on her other side. “Do you have a destination in mind?” he asked, nodding at the groom holding the horses and then clucking to the team.
“I thought perhaps we might drive through Covent Garden.” There. It wasn’t a wilderness like Hampstead Heath, which was where someone who didn’t wish to be seen would go, and it wasn’t the middle of Mayfair, where someone she didn’t wish to see might be riding about.
With a nod he turned the matching gray team east. “I was surprised to receive your note,” he said after a moment. “I thought you wouldn’t wish to see me again.”
She considered her response carefully. She had enough suspicions to confront him directly, but she wasn’t certain yet that she was ready for what might come next. Aside from that, this was her first venture away from The Tantalus Club in nearly three years. Turning it into a battle wasn’t something she felt quite prepared for.
“You haven’t become mute, have you?” he asked, glancing sideways at her as they trotted along. “That would be disappointing.”
“I’m not mute. I’m … cautious.”
“Yes, because the sunlight is such a trickster.” His mouth curved in a smile. “I had a wonder.”
Emily attempted to keep her shoulders relaxed, even though she felt like hunching them against whatever it was he wondered about. “Yes?”
“All the Tantalus girls dress in rather splendid gowns. Is that a requirement?”
Well, that wasn’t at all what she’d expected. “Not strictly speaking, but the club maintains its popularity because of a certain allure. We are part of that.” They’d also found that the club’s members were more generous with their drinking and wagering and gifts when they were slightly distracted by half-visible bosoms and pretty smiles, but she didn’t want to insult him. Not to his face, anyway.
“A very large part, I imagine. I inherited my cousin’s membership, but Lord Allen told me there was a three-year waiting list to join.”
“Exclusivity makes us more interesting.”
He chuckled. “I think the nature of the club itself makes you interesting. If you don’t leave the grounds, though, does someone else order your gowns for you, or do you have a seamstress come in?”
“Camille Pryce and I were of a size, so she purchased gowns for me until she married last year. I use the same seamstress, though, and she has my measurements by now.”
Westfall nodded. “Camille Pryce. She’s the one who married Bloody Blackwood, isn’t she?”
“Keating Blackwood,” Emily corrected. “Yes.”
They turned up Long Acre, and the phaeton slowed in the heavy traffic. “Do you want to walk, or should we just tour?”
The idea of getting out and walking, out where anyone could see her and she couldn’t do anything but run away, sent a tremor up her spine. “I’d prefer to stay here, if you don’t mind.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Westfall returned. “My foot’s aching today.”
She almost asked if that had anything to do with the button he kept in his shoe, but he almost seemed to be baiting her. Was he waiting for a confrontation? If so, he could keep waiting. “Someone said a horse stepped on your foot,” she ventured. If he could wheedle information out of her, she could do the same with him.
“Yes. I wasn’t paying attention, and the deuced thing spooked.”
“That was clumsy, wasn’t it?”
His jaw clenched, then relaxed again. “Yes, I suppose it was.”
Emily nodded, covering her own smile. He might be a spy, but she’d survived by her wits for as long as she could remember. “Was this while you were in Europe? Lord Haybury said he recollected that you spent at least part of the Peninsular War searching for books.”
He freed one hand to push his spectacles up his nose, as if he’d just remembered that he wore them. “Sacking towns means burning things. Some of those tomes were irreplaceable.”
“So did you fight any battles?” she asked slowly, a queer combination of dread and excitement touching her. If she wasn’t asking questions then he would be, and this felt safer—to a degree. In bed he wasn’t at all bumbling, and something in his gaze thrilled her. She had the distinct feeling that the man having sex with her was the closest to the real Nathaniel Stokes she’d yet met, and he was very interesting and arousing. And a sense of danger, for want of a better word, seemed to emanate from him when he relaxed enough to forget that he was a bumbling academic with spectacles and a limp.
He turned them to one side of the street and pulled the matched grays to a halt. Holding the team hard in one hand, he faced her. “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice very level.
Another thrill went down her spine. “What do you mean? I thought we were having a conversation.”
“A conversation where you seem to feel the need to continually point out my shortcomings. If you’re angry with me for something, simply say so. I do have other things to do if you only mean to insult me with every breath.”
Emily studied his gaze. The light green eyes seemed nothing more than annoyed, and if she hadn’t had that conversation with Jenny, if she didn’t know he was a very dangerous man, she would have been utterly fooled. Did she want him to continue to believe that he held the upper hand? Considering their whereabouts, perhaps that was the wisest way to proceed. For the moment.
“I apologize,” she said after a moment. “You’re an earl, and I’m a Tantalus girl. I feel a bit … overwhelmed by all this. I suppose I’ve been attempting to level the field.”
“Mm-hm. You’re certain that’s all it is? You’re intimidated by me?” He lifted an eyebrow, the expression both attractive and amused at the same time.
“Take me driving again tomorrow, and I’ll do better,” she returned.
An earl would have duties, servants to order about, festivities to attend, Parliament to sit through. But the Earl of Westfall nodded. “I’ll bring a picnic luncheon. One o’clock?”
“You’re certain you don’t mind that people will begin talking? Two of my friends from the club married peers, you know. Your fellows will begin speculating if you’re seen driving me about Town again.”
He met her gaze, a slight smile touching his mouth. “I’m not afraid if you’re not.”
Oh, she wasn’t afraid. She was worried. And she was beginning to enjoy this man’s company far too much. “One o’clock. I’ll dress for the country.”
* * *
When Nathaniel came downstairs the next morning he had a letter waiting for him from his friend with the government. He showed it to Laurie while they sat down for breakfast together. “No Lady Sebret exists,” he said.
“That’s what you thought.”
“Yes, but I wanted confirmation. I imagine there are quite a few minor titles out there that never make it out of their own little villages.”
He blew out his breath. Something had been afoot yesterday with Portsman, but he didn’t quite know what. He’d expected her to ask why he seemed to be wearing spectacles he didn’t need, but instead she’d drilled into him about his actions during the war. He hated that Rycott had concocted such a stupid reason for his meandering about the Continent, but he had to admit that it had more than sufficed. It had even saved his life once or twice. And he supposed it was the only reason he was able to go about England these days a
s absentminded Nathaniel Stokes.
“How certain are you that you’re on the right track?”
“Fairly.”
“Oh.”
Nate eyed his brother over the rim of his teacup. “I’ll know more today.” If she wasn’t involved, he wanted to know. Because if she wasn’t involved, he would have a different decision to make, since Tantalus girl or not, accused killer or not, he enjoyed being around her. It couldn’t mean anything good, but for the moment that sense of—not peace or contentment, but life, liveliness—was something he hadn’t felt in years. Whoever she turned out to be, he would miss her when this was over. And if she was who Ebberling accused her of being … No. He shook himself. Later was later. And today he was going on a picnic.
She waited inside the club out of sight again, as if she didn’t want to be seen by anyone. He didn’t believe for a second that it was the sun she feared. Did she know that Ebberling was in London? Because she’d certainly walked among the club’s members before now. He couldn’t come up with another reason for her caution, try as he might to conjure one.
When she stepped out to meet him, Nate took a moment just to look at her. She’d dressed more conservatively than she did as one of the Tantalus girls, in a pretty yellow and green sprigged muslin that went halfway down her arms and all the way up to her throat. Atop that she’d donned a yellow bonnet that darkened the color of her hair. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought her some peer’s daughter out driving with a beau.
Today he almost felt like that beau. “I tracked down another copy of The Scottish Cousin,” he said as he sent them off at a trot. “It still doesn’t make sense, but I have to admit that it has a certain amount of whimsy that I appreciate.”
“It’s not about making sense,” she returned. “It’s about love and passion. Feelings. Two people who would die for each other.”
“And they nearly do, simply because the hero decided not to ask the cousin one vital question.” The whole lot of the characters were fools, but they’d been described as pretty, so he supposed that was all that mattered.
“You mean a vital question like why someone would wear spectacles they don’t need?” she asked.
He gripped the reins hard, then loosened his hands before she could notice. So today was to be the day. Damnation. He’d hoped for a few more drives with her, a few more evenings in her bed. “Beg pardon?”
Emily mentally squared her shoulders, all of her attention on the tall, lean man seated close enough to touch beside her. “I asked a few questions about you. You’re a spy.”
Even with her watching his lean profile, she couldn’t detect a flinch or a blink. “A what?” he asked, chuckling.
“I know someone who knows things that most people don’t,” she explained, finding that it was much more pleasant to keep her attention on Westfall than to dwell on the fact that she was out in the open once again, after someone might have noted that she’d been seen in Westfall’s company yesterday. “You spied for Wellington. Are you still in his service, or do you just enjoy fooling people?”
He glanced sideways at her. “If I was a spy, haven’t you just placed yourself in danger by revealing that you know about me?” Westfall edged them around a wagon loaded with hay. “I would imagine that on occasion spies kill to protect their identities, after all.”
Had he just threatened her? He said it so mildly that he might have been discussing shaved ices or mules. Considering that she’d expected him to admit to the truth, to be so concerned with securing her cooperation and silence that her own identity would become secondary, she wasn’t at all certain what to do. She didn’t feel frightened, but she imagined that the best spies wouldn’t seem at all threatening before they struck.
“With the number of people who know that we went driving together, that would seem rather foolish,” she countered, “especially for a man as skilled as you’re rumored to be.”
For a moment they continued in silence. Finally he sighed, a grin touching his sensuous mouth. “For a Tantalus girl, Newbury, you are a great deal of trouble. I don’t suppose you’ll tell me who this source of yours is, will you?”
“No. But I have no intention of telling anyone else about you, if that makes a difference. The—” Abruptly she realized what he’d called her. Ice stabbed down her spine, and she twisted on the high seat, gathering her legs beneath her to jump.
Iron fingers gripped her arm. “Don’t,” he muttered. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“You—”
“I thought it was only fair if you admit to knowing my identity, that I admit to knowing yours.” He squeezed her wrist tighter, then released her. “Don’t jump. I’ll drive us somewhere we can talk.”
“Talk?” she repeated, feeling as hysterical as she must sound. “Talk about what? I can’t—I need to go. Now.”
“Take a moment and think,” he shot back, his voice harder. “You have no blunt, no clothes, nothing but what you’re wearing. I only wish to talk. Truly.”
She didn’t seem to have much choice. He was correct, after all; she had a little money with her, in her reticule, but it wasn’t sufficient to get her far enough away to be safe. He was supposed to retreat, to deflect, to allow her to gain more insight into what he was about. Three years. She’d felt too safe for too long. And now it was too late.
“Stay where you are,” Westfall stated again, his steel tone not at all resembling that of some absentminded scholar.
She never should have approached him. Simply because she was clever and lucky didn’t mean she had nothing to worry over. And it certainly didn’t mean she could stand toe to toe with one of Wellington’s spies. The remains of her breakfast roiled uneasily in her stomach. Perhaps if she cast up her accounts on his fine-fitting gray jacket and waistcoat, it would provide her with a moment or two to escape. Where she would go after that, though, she had no idea. She needed just a few seconds to think.
When the traffic began to clear as the phaeton turned north he urged the team into a trot. Emily supposed she might have jumped to the ground, then, but at that speed it would leave her scraped and bruised—which she wouldn’t mind, except for the fact that it would make her easier to recognize if he or any of Ebberling’s other dogs should come after her.
He’d clearly made the same determination, because now he didn’t even spare her a glance as they left Town for the meadows and scattered woods and farms beyond. Considering that she’d expected to be driven directly to Ebberling, she didn’t quite know what to make of this drive to the wilderness—unless the marquis was waiting for them out where there would be no witnesses at all. Another shudder ran through her. The moment they stopped, she would run. Plan or not, she likely wouldn’t get a second chance.
Finally they turned off the road along a narrow track that ran alongside a tree-lined stream. Emily kept herself as still as she could, attempting not to tense as the horses slowed once more to a walk. When a heron took flight from the streambed Westfall turned his head to look and she jumped to the ground.
Stumbling to her knees, Emily dug her hands into the dirt, righting herself again, and ran back the way they’d come. She didn’t care where she went, but this would slow Westfall down the most as he attempted to turn the phaeton on the narrow path.
Except that he wasn’t in the phaeton.
She risked a glance over her shoulder. The earl was on her heels, only a few yards behind her. With a squeak she altered her direction, veering across the stream and up into the woods on the far side. So much for either the button in his shoe or the horse treading on his foot—whichever it had been.
Nathaniel caught up to her amid the tangle of roots and rocks on the stream bank, but held back until Emily—Rachel—reached the meadow beyond. Then he lunged forward, grabbing her about the waist, and twisted so that she fell half on top of him. From the way she jabbed her elbow into his ribs she didn’t seem to appreciate his consideration, but that hardly surprised him.
“Stop it,
” he grumbled, planting her face down amid the grass and flowers with his weight. He grabbed both her wrists and brought them around to the small of her back so he could hold them with one hand. “That was stupid.”
“I’m not attempting to impress you,” she snapped in between hard draws of breath. She managed a nice kick into his backside with her heels.
He wanted to meet whoever it was who’d identified him as a spy. Not many could, and he or she had not done either him or the woman beneath him a kindness. Subtlety, gaining her trust, or learning more about her before he acted had just been tossed out the window with the morning’s piss. And the button in his left boot felt like it had worked its way through half his foot, damn it.
Very well, he had his own suspicions about what had truly happened at Ebberling Manor. Now he could put them to the test. With his free hand he drew the knife from his boot and stabbed it into the earth a foot past her head, where she could see it. “I’m letting you go,” he murmured, leaning closer to her. “You can have the phaeton, if you can get past me.”
Before she could conjure whatever reply she thought might be appropriate to that, he pushed away from her, rolling to his feet.
Portsman scrambled around to face him, balanced on her haunches. “Why?” she asked, brushing chestnut hair from her face with one dirty hand.
“I’m being sporting.”
Keeping her sharp brown gaze squarely on him, she angled her chin toward the knife. “And after I run you mean to kill me? Fine. Give Ebberling a message for me, then.” Her voice shook, but her gaze never wavered. “You tell him that I wrote it down somewhere. Someone has it, and sooner or later he’ll pay for what he did. And that he’ll never know where or when. Then he’ll have as much peace as I ever did.”
“Y—”
She exploded into motion—not past him and not toward the knife, but north and west. Was she making for Hampstead Heath? It would provide her with a multitude of hiding places, if she could avoid the highwaymen and cutthroats who lurked in the vales and hollows.
Nate gave her a moment’s head start while he scooped up the knife and shoved it back into his boot. She hadn’t seen it as a weapon with which she could defend herself or remove him from the game. And she’d assumed that once Ebberling found her, he would have her killed before she could give out information that she claimed to have passed on in secret.
The Handbook to Handling His Lordship Page 12