“Ahem.” Flynn fairly growled in annoyance.
Was he jealous? Why, what an amusing notion. And thrilling too.
Angelina couldn’t contain her giggle as she eased her hand from the earl’s. She liked this charming rogue.
He raised his eyebrows and gave her another lopsided smirk. “Your bride is a good judge of character, Bretheridge. Indeed, she is.”
She curtsied. “Thank you, my lord.”
Rising, she glanced down the hallway. “Please excuse me. If we’re to leave as planned, Flynn, I must find Murphy.”
Much to her surprise, he placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “Go along. It’s early yet. If we should happen to leave later than intended, it’s of no consequence. My team is sturdy and they travel well. We’ll make good time.”
Yes, except she worried about her mother and sisters. Even the smallest delay seemed unbearable. And knowing it would take at least three days to reach London . . .
“It was a pleasure to meet you, my lord.” After another hasty curtsy, Angelina hurried toward what she hoped was the great hall. She shook her head and chuckled upon hearing, “Come, give over, old chap. Wherever did you find that delectable treasure?”
“Yancy, I’m not gullible enough to believe you traveled here to meet my bride.”
Flynn reentered the study, the earl at his side. He’d not spoken to Yancy since the night Father passed. Unreasonable though he might be, Flynn harbored resentment toward his long-time friend.
“In fact, how did you know I was here?” He froze, spearing the earl with a hard glare. “Did you stop at Lambridge? You didn’t reveal anything to them?”
“Of course not. I’m not an imbecile.” Yancy made straight for the liquor cabinet. He held up a glass. “Care for a dram?”
Flynn shook his head. “I am preparing to leave—within the hour, actually.”
“Was that Miss Farnsworth I observed out riding when I arrived?” The earl leveled him a contemplative look. “I’d wager things have been rather interesting around here.”
Flynn quickly explained his hurried nuptials to Angelina, her marriage to Renault, the baroness’s mysterious death, and the peril Angelina and her sisters faced due to the Frenchman.
Yancy released a low whistle.
“I’ve heard of the man. Nasty, contemptible cawker.” He took a swig of his brandy. “That beauty has you into it up to your elbows, I’d say.”
Flynn spared him a glance. “Yes, she does, but I don’t regret marrying her for an instant.”
Lifting his glass, Yancy swirled the burnished contents. “You know, I could spare some agents from the War Office to keep watch while you’re in London. Could be deemed an international concern, I’m thinking. I could also put out the word and have my agents keep watch for Renault.”
“That relieves my mind greatly. I might very well take you up on that offer, Yancy.”
The Diplomatic Corps boasted men proficient in subterfuge. Sethwick had worked as an operative for years before marrying Yvette.
Yancy shook his head in apparent disgust. “You ought to contact the Bow Street runners as well, especially given that slavery bit.”
“You’ve not told me why you’re here.” Flynn paused in straightening the items atop the desk. “Although, I suspect you have a distinct interest in Isobel.”
“That obvious?”
As a two-headed goose.
Yancy kicked the rug’s fringe with the toe of his Hessian. He resembled a schoolboy caught cheating at his sums.
Flynn quirked a brow.
The earl heaved a gusty sigh and finished his drink. “She has an aversion to me, though for the life of me, I don’t know the reason. I’ve no idea why I keep torturing myself, coming here on whatever flimsy excuse I can devise, so I can see her.”
“Egads, man, you do have it bad.” Flynn shook his head, offering a sympathetic expression. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Not unless you can convince Lady Isobel to let me address her.” Yancy set aside his glass. “Or discover why she’s put off by me.”
Shaking off his doldrums, he gave a careless shrug. “I do have a legitimate reason for putting in an appearance this time, however.”
“Indeed?” Flynn’s attention veered to the antiquated mantle clock. He really must be off.
“I’ve come to redeem myself.” Wandering to the wall behind the desk, Yancy scrutinized an ancient scarred claymore. He tossed a satisfied glance Flynn’s direction.
“I believe I’ve found the evidence you need to prove Waterford cheated your father.”
Chapter 19
Today was her birthday.
Angelina had forgotten until this moment.
Mama always made a scrumptious trifle and presented her with a lovely trinket of some sort. This year, the best gift would be to arrive at the boardinghouse and find Mama and the girls safe and well.
Peering out the window into the dusky sunset, Angelina marveled at the beauty of the clouds glowing against a backdrop of pinkish-orange, magenta, and violet—the colorful remnants of the sun, now spent for the day.
They approached London’s outskirts. More and more houses sprang up across the countryside and appeared beside the road. In the distant sky, an amber glow indicated they drew near the city.
Toying with the tassels hanging from her reticule’s corded handle, she crossed and uncrossed her ankles. Nervous energy had her practically bouncing on the thick squabs.
Traveling dawn to dusk, the trip had taken four unbearably long days to reach London. As each mile passed, anxiety for her mother and sisters increased as did the soreness in her aching bum.
A wheel hit a hole in the road, and she cracked her side against the carriage. “Ouch.”
Pain shot from shoulder to elbow.
That’s what comes of perching on the edge of one’s seat.
One of the Scots escorts cantered his horse to the front of their procession. A total of six men, four of Lord Sethwick’s, including his cousin, and two of the baron’s, made up their party.
“Gregor’s knowledge of healing herbs and plants might be helpful to your mother,” Flynn explained when the mammoth man had trotted his horse to the carriage the day of their departure.
Another four Scots traveled to Lambridge Manse. Murphy had returned to Wingfield Court with them. Thankfully, nothing remotely untoward occurred on the journey to Town.
Rubbing her bruised arm, Angelina studied Flynn.
He seemed absorbed in what scant vestiges of the passing scenery could yet be seen. He’d kept her company within the coach the entire time. She didn’t doubt he would have preferred to ride.
Flynn’s valet, Kimball, as well as their meager luggage, followed behind in a second coach. They would require the additional vehicle to transport her family as well as their belongings.
Angelina’s focus sank to the wood panel behind Flynn’s polished boots. He’d stashed a pair of pistols in the cabinet below his seat. From her position near the gatehouse the day they left Craiglocky, she’d observed him secreting the guns in the compartment. No doubt he’d borrowed the firearms from Lord Sethwick.
They might be dueling pistols, but she couldn’t be certain. Her knowledge of weaponry fit in a thimble with room to spare. Were the guns loaded?
Likely, given their precarious situation.
“Are you anxious?” Flynn’s intoxicating baritone interrupted her musings.
The expanding dusk made it difficult to see his expression. He must have sensed her unease.
“Yes, I don’t know what to expect.” She resumed fiddling with her reticule. “The fear of the unknown is somehow more intimidating. My imagination, always a bit fanciful, is running amuck, I’m afraid.”
Flynn scooted across the carriage. He lowered himself beside her. Lifting her hand, he gave it a gentle squeeze before entwining their fingers and settling them on his solid thigh.
Was there a soft part anywhere on the man? Every time she touched him she encountered hard planes and firm muscles.
Except his lips. Now those were very soft.
“I’m confident we’ll find everything well.” Stretching his legs before him, he relaxed against the seat.
The lengthy hours of carriage confinement must have taxed him as much as her. Probably more so, given his much larger frame. Her muscles screamed to be stretched and exercised. She imagined he fared worse, yet he never hinted at any discomfort.
Did Mama have sufficient funds to see to her and the twins’ needs? However had she managed the fee for their passages? And coal, medicine, food?
Though worried, Angelina wouldn’t burden Flynn. Naught could be done at this juncture anyway. Settling further into his warm side, she relished the peace touching him brought her.
He stifled a yawn. “From all accounts, your mother is a wise woman, and remember, Devaux left armed guards.”
“True, but Mama has never had a robust constitution. This bout of ill health worries me as much as any threat from Pierre.”
Forcing herself to think of Pierre by his real name had become a necessity. She found it easier to associate his villainous behavior with that identity than the man who had wooed and wed her.
Every time she dwelled on how easily he’d duped her, Angelina fell into doldrums. She hadn’t, as yet, been able to forgive herself for her stupidity. Perhaps in time she could, enabling her to move on.
She snuggled the tiniest bit closer to Flynn, needing his comfort.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, nestling her securely against him. As was his habit, he dropped an absent kiss atop her bonneted head, only to promptly sneeze. No doubt a feather adorning her hat tickled his nose again.
“Another feather?”
“I think I’ll have to forbid you to wear anything upon your head that has the remotest chance of tickling me or making me sneeze.” His gravelly chuckle accompanied the slow stroke of his fingers across her shoulder and upper arm.
The shivers of desire she’d come to expect at his touch made themselves known. Did she even remotely affect him as he did her? Dozens of times during their trip, especially at night when she lay alone in an inn’s borrowed bed, her mind conjured up images of them lying naked together, picturing Flynn doing to her what Pierre had done.
Only with Flynn, she could envision ever so much more. She did have a most vivid imagination. Warmth skimmed her face. Fortunately, the dim interior of the vehicle hid her blushes.
Goodness, she’d become wicked.
If she’d continued to keep her catalog of attributes that should be sought or avoided in a man, she would certainly have to add, one who set a lady’s mind and body ablaze with desire to the top of both lists.
Wonderful and dangerous.
However, her silly inventory no longer mattered.
Nor does my reason for marrying in the first place.
Davy . . .
A wave of nostalgia caused tears to prick behind her eyelids.
She daren’t contemplate the possibility of bearing Flynn’s child. Not yet anyway. Far too soon to wander down that mental path. Did they even have a future together? They barely knew each other. She wasn’t prepared to let him see how vulnerable she’d become to his charm.
Your heart recognized its mate the moment you saw him.
Her fickle heart led her astray before. Could she trust it this time? Did she dare?
If only God would give her a sign. Nothing miraculous. Something simple would do. Perhaps a pair of doves perched on a hedge or a triple rainbow after a rain shower.
She smothered a snort. Were doves even native to England? She’d not seen a single one since arriving. And the chance of even a single rainbow in July was dismal at best. A triple one would be a phenomenon straight from heaven.
The clip-clop of the horses’ hooves echoing on pavement revealed how far they’d traveled while she reminisced.
Angelina leaned forward to peer into the darkness and tried to guess their location. London was much vaster than Salem.
“Are we getting close?” She settled back into the seat. “I’ve a terrible sense of direction. I cannot tell you the number of times I’ve gotten lost at a social function by taking the wrong hallway or garden path.”
Flynn gave her shoulder a slight nudge, his chest reverberating with silent laughter. “I wondered how you ended up in Craiglocky’s kitchen rather than your chamber the day we departed.”
“I spent half an hour trying to find the way to my room.” Angelina sniffed in mock annoyance. “Those old stone corridors resemble each other, and they go on forever. So, I followed my nose. I assumed someone in the kitchen could help me.”
“I got lost myself the first several times I visited. Craiglocky is a medieval monstrosity. If I recall correctly, Sethwick once told me the keep has in excess of one hundred seventy rooms, though many aren’t in use any longer. Lambridge Manse boasts but seventy-four.”
Only seventy-four?
“Endicott Hall, my childhood home, is modest in comparison.” Mama had made the sixteen room house into a warm, inviting home, despite Papa’s miserly ways and preference for austerity.
“Is it much farther?” A toddler possessed more patience than she. Angelina shifted to get a better view through the dusty window.
“Not too terribly. I’ve given Hodges the address Devaux provided.”
The sound of flint being struck drew her attention.
A flame sparked and Flynn lit the carriage lamp. “Much better.”
Extinguishing the char cloth, he smiled. “I’d like to move your family to my residence in Mayfair at once. When your mother is well enough to travel, we’ll relocate to Lambridge. The country air will do her good and is much preferred to the coal-laden vapor that often hangs heavily in Town.”
“That seems wise.”
Angelina’s attention remained fixed on the row of lamps glimmering the length of the street. A misty fog swirled eerily around the lights, as if seeking to warm itself. The temperature had dropped considerably in the past few hours.
Her fingers cold despite her gloves, she shivered and gripped the front of her buttoned linen spencer. She couldn’t be altogether confident the weather caused her chill or if it portended something else.
A harsh and indifferent mood hovered about London. Angelina didn’t much care for the city, preferring the freshness of the countryside.
The coach turned onto an unlit road. Its rumbling wheels gradually slowed until, amidst creaks and a last lurch of protest, the vehicle came to rest.
The outriders clattered to a stop. The low timbre of the men’s voices carried into the vehicle.
Flynn didn’t wait for the driver to climb down. After opening the door, he stepped onto the cobblestones. He spoke a few words to two of the riders waiting beside the door.
They answered softly before venturing farther along the foggy lane.
He turned and extended a hand, his gaze kind and encouraging. “I’ve asked the men to disperse and keep their eyes sharp, except for those two there.”
He indicated a pair of Frenchmen. “I had them go in search of Devaux’s other men and alert them to our arrival. It wouldn’t do to have the others act rashly when we approach.”
Angelina peered beyond him. “That seems prudent, thank you.”
Though outwardly collected, her stomach roiled as if a herd of goats leapt about inside.
“Your family is in that building.” Flynn pointed to a modest, three story house. He extended his hand. “Are you ready?”
&n
bsp; “Yes.” She pulled in a bracing breath and allowed him to assist her from the coach. Anxious to see her mother and sisters, Angelina also feared what she might find within the humble structure.
She lifted her hand and covered her nose, wrinkling it against the unpleasant odors assailing her nostrils. “Does it always smell this dreadful?”
“Unfortunately, yes, except it’s more bearable in the winter.” Flynn indicated the direction they’d come. “The River Thames is little better than a cesspool. Summer’s temperatures intensify the stench.”
Triumph and Treasure (Highland Heather Romancing a Scot Series Book 1) Page 24