Dangerous Pursuit (Lords 0f Whitehall Book 1)

by Ann Chaney

  Without speaking, he relayed his disdain with his cold eyes and tightened mouth. He did not frighten her, but she did wish he would speak. She knew he believed he could wait her out. The man was in for a long wait. It was quite clear he also did not know the person she was now.

  He was about to learn the difference between a simpering maiden and herself. After four seasons and still unmarried, she was determined to take control of her life. There was nothing he could do to stop her.

  He moved further into the library then crossed to stand behind his desk on the far side of the room. Richard reached into one of the drawers of the desk and withdrew a leather purse. He tucked the small bag into his pocket.

  “Serena, this is a dangerous game you are playing. We are no longer running through the orchards of Pendleton. Arnold moving about in Society without being sniffed out by the gossiping tabbies proves traitors do not wear badges to tell us who they are.” Serena opened her mouth, Richard held up his hand. “Let me finish. You do not know how to handle these people. Your own inexperience could get you killed. I would be powerless to save you from harm. You ask much of me with your intention to see this through.

  “Sweeting, I know more than you think. I can help you. I know what you are about. I also know I am the one who brought you into this travesty of a situation. I am not saying you cannot go to Staines—”

  “How do you know?” Serena demanded.

  “My hearing is excellent. I heard Arnold tell you.” Richard grinned and shrugged.

  “You didn’t say a word.”

  “I know you. Had I told the others the direction, you’d still have gone on your own. This way I will be with you to keep you out of trouble. Of course, that was before you remembered the lady had died and we were most likely walking into a trap. I will admit I considered leaving you behind. You were right not to trust me. Shall we?” Richard waved his arm towards the door. “My coach is waiting in the mews. No need to attract any more attention than you already have this morning.”

  She glared at him as she reached for her bonnet and proceeded to tie a little bow near her ear. “You ordered the coach when your butler told you I was here?”

  Richard shrugged and grinned. “I know when to accept gracefully that I have been outmaneuvered. Nettie is waiting for us.” His smile disappeared. “Serena, take heed, if you are correct and this is a trap, we will be most fortunate to find ourselves alive when night falls.”

  Richard went over to a cabinet, took out a polished wooden box with an inlaid design etched on its top then tucked the box under his arm. He crossed back to her side and led her out of the room.t

  Once they were settled in his traveling coach, he instructed his coachman to run all out for the village of Staines. They’d reach their destination on the southernmost edge of London by noon. He’d met up with Sturmbridge and Crossley on his morning ride to finalize their plans. His friends would ride at the rear of his coach with one of Moreham’s black nondescript coaches following. Never had he such a vaunted pair of outriders. The two men and the second coach were an insurance policy. If they were walking into a trap, he wanted to walk away with everyone involved hale and hearty.

  Serena and Nettie sat on the forward-facing seat. No one seemed to be inclined to converse which was just as well. Nettie gave him an evil eye any time he glanced in her way. In his opinion, the maid should’ve been casting that fierce gaze in her mistress’ direction.

  He enjoyed the quiet and took advantage to sleep. His nap came to an abrupt end when the coach slowed down to a stop. Richard leaned forward and looked out the window. All he saw was sheep grazing in a meadow next to the road. Since his father’s death, he worried about traveling through the countryside. Maybe Arnold’s goal had been to get them out of London. A plot to use Serena as a hostage to gain Moreham’s cooperation was not far-fetched.

  Richard stuck his head out the window and called up to his coachman. “John, is all well?”

  “Aye, me lord. Almost there. A farmer blocked the road. Herding a flock of sheep. I can see the rooftops of the village through the trees.”

  “Halt the coach on the far side of the third house on left after passing the Three Swans on Folkstone Lane.”

  His capitulation for Serena’s participation gnawed at his insides. Her appearance in his townhouse had sealed their fate. The best he could hope for was a special license, a wedding at St. George’s and a quick coach ride to Camberley, his country seat in Surrey. Once he had Serena situated, he would return to London. That notion was also the perfect solution to Serena’s involvement with Moreham and the spymaster’s schemes.

  The coach rolled to a stop. Serena turned to her maid. “Nettie, you will stay here with John. I’ll be fine. Richard will see to it. I am certain his friends are nearby.”

  “Yes, sweeting, you are correct. Close enough to come to our aid. Should this be a trap, please favor us with one of your screeches. They will come running.”

  “See, Nettie, nothing to worry about.” Serena straightened her bonnet and patted her reticule.

  “Huh? Sounds to me as if you two are doomed. Neither one of you has ever listened to me before so why would you start now? I will pray for your deliverance from whatever mischief you have involved yourselves.”

  Richard silently agreed with the old woman and said a prayer himself. The carriage door swung open.

  “My lord, the house is the second one across the street. The one with them purple flowers in the window boxes.” John Coachman busied himself with lowering the steps.

  “John, keep a close watch on Nettie—”

  “I don’t need no bodyguard. I have my needle to take care of me.” Nettie jabbed the air with what looked to be a wickedly long darning needle.

  “Very well, Nettie would you watch out for John?”

  With a haughty nod of her head she replied, “Yes, my lord.”

  Serena waited for the step to be lowered before she hugged Nettie and gave Richard her hand to help her out of the coach. She smiled at the coachman and patted his shoulder. The man had her sympathy. Safeguarding Nettie would be the harder job.

  Richard led her to the house and up the path to the front door. He knocked, they waited. The door creaked open and a lady of advanced years with a full head of gray hair pulled back in a severe topknot She looked from Serena to Richard with fear in her eyes. Serena squeezed Richard’s arm. All was not right with Mrs. Arnold of Folkstone Lane.

  “Hello? What do you want?” The lady’s harsh words rattled Serena.

  “Madam, are you the mother of Mr. Percy Arnold? We are friends of the gentleman and he asked us to call upon you as we traveled up to Town,” Richard asked with a tip of his hat.

  “Percy? You are friends of his? He is not here. I’m too busy for company.” The woman looked over her shoulder before continuing in a soft whisper. “Please leave.”

  Serena’s heart broke at the desperation in the lady’s voice. Without any doubt, there was someone in her home who wanted to do harm to her and them. Richard had to do something.

  Desperate to gain entrance and provide aid to the woman, Serena reached for the lady’s hands and squeezed before asking, “Madam, could I trouble you for a glass of water?” She sensed Richard stiffen at her unexpected request.

  Arnold’s mother shook her head in resignation and opened the door. Richard’s grip on Serena’s arm tightened.

  The sitting room was small with just two chairs both currently occupied by a pair of rather large cats. Mrs. Arnold shooed the felines from the chairs before bobbing a curtsey and leaving to fetch the glass of water. Serena took one of the seats while Richard roamed around the room picking up a ceramic shepherdess from a side table.

  “Mrs. Arnold does not resemble her son very much,” he commented while examining the shepherdess. “She looks more like your Aunt Philly than Percy.”

  “Percy must have inherited his height from his sire,” Serena replied as the tiny woman reappeared in the doorway with a mug of water
. Mrs. Arnold handed the mug to Serena.

  “Thank you, madam. It has been a warm morning. We are trying to make our way to London before nightfall. You know how men are. Always in a hurry to arrive at their destination.” She batted her eyelashes and smiled at Richard who glowered back.

  A hard voice droned from behind her in the shadows. Mrs. Arnold stood frozen in place. “My lady, I fear we must put a stop to your rather fine rendition of a preening lady wife.”

  Richard stayed where he was with the shepherdess in hand. “I don’t suppose introductions are called for under the circumstances?” he asked.

  Serena felt the hair on her neck rise. She turned around still with her glass in hand to find a man holding a pistol pointed at her. Serena tried to keep her lips smiling. A difficult feat considering she’d never been on the business end of a pistol before.

  “Sir, I assume you are a member of the 1804 Social Club,” Richard glibly observed.

  Serena slid a foot forward. She heard Richard groan as she stumbled. The man reach out to her. She threw the water glass at his face while Richard tossed the figurine at the man’s head then pushed her out of the way. The two men struggled for control of the weapon. In the chaos, Serena almost fell into the fireplace, knocking the fire poker from its resting place. Without thinking, she grabbed the poker and lunged back into the fray.

  She knew they needed the scoundrel alive. She swung the poker at the back of their attacker’s knees. Richard, at the same time swung his fist to the right and contacted the man’s jaw. She dropped the poker as the man crashed to the floor. Richard’s blow had rendered the man unconscious, but hers probably left the man crippled.

  “Very good, my lord. You always did have a vicious right hook.”

  Richard surprised her by turning to her with his eyes filled with anger. “I cannot believe I ever thought you possessed exceptional intellect.” He ran his hands through his hair and pulled on the strands until they stood up. Richard loomed over her with his nose only an inch or so from her own. “You threw a glass of water at an assassin! That man would shoot you as easily as he breathes! You did not remove yourself and Mrs. Arnold from danger. Instead, you jumped up with a heavy fire poker and swung. That man could have taken the poker from you and beaten you to death.”

  She leaned away from him and tried to explain, “It was that water glass that gave us the diversion we needed to take the fellow to the floor. As for the poker, I am stronger than you think. I would recommend you apologize to me for shouting and to Mrs. Arnold for causing her life to be so disrupted by this lump of pestilence at our feet. I would also suggest you tie the fiend up before he wakes, or I may have to use the poker again.”

  Without waiting for Richard to respond, Serena turned her back to him to find Mrs. Arnold wringing her hands in her apron and watching them with confusion. She should explain. “Mrs. Arnold, we are agents of the King—”

  “You are not an agent of the King,” Richard muttered behind her.

  She ignored Richard’s growled comment and continued to address the lady of the house. “We are here on behalf of the King. Now, where was I? Oh yes, Mrs. Arnold, could we be of further imposition by asking if you have water boiling for a pot of tea. I think we all could use a cup before that miserable beast awakens, don’t you?”

  “My lady, I don’t know who you are, but you are really quite something. My lord, you do have your hands full with this one. If I were you, I’d marry her and get her with child as soon as you can.” The lady shook her head and laughed as she left the room to fetch the English cure-all…a good strong pot of tea.

  With their captive trussed up like a Christmas goose, Richard turned his attention in Serena’s direction. She moved toward the door. But he moved more quickly and had her hand in his grasp before she could seek out their hostess for sanctuary.

  “No so fast, my lady of the poker. If memory serves me, you agreed to do as I said during this little jaunt.”

  Serena smiled and fit her fingers to interlace with his own. “I did make such a pledge and I kept it until circumstances demanded I act. I reacted to the danger of the moment in much the same manner as you did.”

  Richard raised her fingers to his lips and kissed each finger. Spellbound, she followed his lips as he moved from finger to finger succumbing deeper and deeper to the romance of the moment. He ruined that lovely moment by looking up at her and grinning. Once again, he’d made a jest of her feelings. When would she ever learn?

  “Still the same flirt as always. Nothing’s changed,” she muttered as she jerked her hand out of his grasp. “Were you taught that penchant at some school for spies? If so, you failed to learn the finer points of seduction.”

  To her delight, Richard’s undoubtedly, pithy reply was postponed when the rattle of cups heralded the arrival of their hostess. Mrs. Arnold entered the room with a large tray filled with her best china and a lovely tea service. Since she’d not broken her fast, Serena was thrilled to see a three-tiered plate with sandwiches and cake slices.

  Richard whispered in her ear as he eased around her, “Later, Rena.” Richard reached for the tray. “Ah, a nice cup of tea is exactly what we all need after that scoundrel broke into your home.”

  “Oh, he did not break in. The man came to my door at first light this morning, banging his fists. He demanded I open the door saying he was a friend of Percy’s. I did as he said. Once inside, he pulled out his pistol and told me there were some strangers from London coming to see me. I tried to explain to the fellow that I was not Mrs. Arnold. The dear soul passed on five years ago. This was her house. I lived with her to help with the upkeep of the place. She left it to me, she did. I asked the ruffian to leave me in peace. He said he did not care who I was. Today I was to be Mrs. Arnold when the callers knocked on my door.” The woman finished with a sniff. “You came.”

  “Someone knew of Arnold’s capture and knew he would send us here. If you had not overheard Arnold speak of his mother’s death at Whitney’s rout, we would have walked into a trap.”

  “Madam, your name please.” Serena reached for the woman’s hands and held on.

  “Agatha Fletcher, uh…miss.”

  “Mrs. Fletcher, may I introduce Lord Richard, Viscount Weatherington and I am Lady Serena Preston. Is there anything we can do for you?” Serena asked as she patted the lady’s hand.

  “Oh, dearie, nothing for me. Just get that piece of filth off Mrs. Arnold’s carpet. She so loved that carpet. Her pride and joy, it was.”

  Richard drained the last of his tea and stood. “Removal of the rubbish can be arranged.” He left the room and returned moments later with Sturmbridge and Crossley on his heels. The men each grabbed an arm and dragged the unconscious man from the room. She felt the older lady’s relief at their departure.

  “Mrs. Fletcher, I think it would be best if you came with us. What if another of Arnold’s colleagues were to come looking for that fellow?”

  Mrs. Fletcher waved her hand dismissively through the air. “Oh, milady, there is no need. If you will send me word when it will be safe to return home, I will stay with my neighbor down the street. I was born in this village and lived here all my life. Everyone watches out for me. No harm will come to me now I know there is mischief afoot.”

  Serena looked to Richard for guidance. She did not want the lady nor anyone else to come to any harm because of them.

  “Madam, I am sure Lady Serena would feel better if you introduced her to your friend. Once she is confident you will be safe, we will depart.”

  Agatha Fletcher beamed at him. “I knew when I saw you admire my lovely little shepherdess that you were a good boy, milord.”

  Serena watched him blush at the woman’s compliment. She laughed as he bade the woman farewell and made his way quickly out her cottage door.

  Serena went down the street to meet Mrs. Fletcher’s neighbor and to explain about the man who forced his way into her home. The neighbor promised Serena Mrs. Fletcher would be taken care of until
word came the lady was no longer in danger. With a final hug, Mrs. Fletcher handed her a small packet of food for Nettie and the coachman.

  Serena made her way to the two coaches where the three men stood. Richard’s face was a thundercloud while the other two were laughing. The sight of all that masculine handsomeness was breathtaking.

  Three of them? Moreham? Why had she not questioned their de facto leader’s absence before now? She stopped walking and tried to remember. Yes, Richard had said this business with Arnold was being handled by only Moreham’s most trusted agents which now she knew were the lords of Whitehall. Did that mean Arnold was being guarded by Moreham and the two guards from the night before?

  She hurried to Richard’s coach and handed the coachman the packet of food and drink before going around the vehicle to the other side where the men were still laughing, What Richard didn’t realize was her value to Moreham was more than bits of gossip. Over the last six months she’d uncovered and provided analysis of several conspiracy plots all from eavesdropping. She was quite good at it, or so Moreham told her.

  Richard would be hard to convince her theory was valid. The man thought he knew everything. He was about to find out she was up to the task of being equally as determined.

  Richard joined his friends who were now standing beside Moreham’s coach down the way. He knew the pair well enough to know they would give him a good ribbing over Serena’s part. He shook hands with each man.

  Grinning, Sturmbridge spoke first. “Well done, your assailant has not revived yet. You must have hit him hard. I do have a question though. Why does the man have black smut marks on the back of his breeches?”

  Richard ignored his friends and looked over into the coach to find their prisoner still out cold. He tried to think of a question to ask to divert his friends’ interest in what happened in Mrs. Arnold cottage. A fruitless effort. Sturmbridge was always up for a humorous tale and Crossley was like a bulldog when he sensed one was not telling all.