A Baron in Her Bed (19 page)

“Spies are not well-regarded by society.” John crossed his legs and grasped a polished riding boot with his broad hand. “You have your secrets too, Guy.”

“Not that many,
mon ami
. I plan to have none standing between Horatia and me when we can wed.”

“Why wait? Why not marry the girl now?”

“I need first to prove I am who I say I am.” Guy struck the arm of the chair with his fist. “It appears I must clear my name as well if I wish to remain in England.”

“It would appear to be a difficult task.”

“
Oui.
First I need to visit the Bow Street magistrate with the hope something will be learned from this brigand.”

“I’ll accompany you part of the way.”

“You might ask those contacts of yours a question for me. If I am known to be a French spy, working to free Napoleon, why haven’t I been arrested?”

John gave him an enigmatic look. “Perhaps you have an influential friend.”

“If that is the case, then I am indebted to him.” He studied his friend’s face, but John’s eyes were shuttered. Guy leapt to his feet in frustration. “Can’t you tell me more?”

Guy turned as the door opened and Lady Georgina entered in a swirl of white muslin. “I need you both to escort me to a ball tomorrow evening at the home of Lord and Lady Taylor.”

“Why must we, Georgina?” Her brother frowned. Guy knew of John’s preference to visit his club, Whites, where he would spend most of the evening at the gambling tables before seeking feminine company. “Guy is betrothed to Miss Cavendish, as you know.”

Georgina’s gaze settled on Guy, obviously deciding he was the softer option. “My escort has fallen ill, and I cannot go alone. Eleanor is otherwise engaged. What better than a handsome man on each arm?”

“We would still have to ask Aunt Mary to come too, to chaperone you.”

She giggled. “Don’t glower at me, John. I know you don’t care for her company. But what if no one asks me to dance? I shall have you two for moral support.”

“I’m sure there will be many eager to do so, Lady Georgina.” Guy bowed. “But it will be my pleasure to escort you.”

John sighed. “We should depart. I’ll ride with you to Bow Street and thence to the Horse Guards.”

“Bow Street? Why would you go there?” Georgina asked.

“Nothing to trouble your head over, my sweet,” John said.

Georgina pouted in disgust. “You treat women like idiots, John.”

“Not if they have proved themselves to be otherwise.” Her elder brother folded his arms.

“Then you won’t escort me to the ball?”

“We shall escort you. I accept my role as your brother and protector.”

She squealed and rushed to hug him. John gave in to the embrace with a laugh.

“I shall hug you too, Guy,” Georgina said with a speculative look at her brother.

“You most certainly will not,” John said.

“I consider myself hugged,” Guy said, backing off with a laugh. An evening away from the gambling tables at White’s was an attractive prospect, although he suspected John wished him to come so that he could keep an eye on him.

Guy might have appreciated some light entertainment, except for the fact that Horatia was not invited. He would have to find a diplomatic way to explain it to her, and he had more than enough worries to plague him.

Chapter Thirteen

As he feared, Guy learned very little at Bow Street. The ruffian who had attacked him had appeared before the sitting magistrate presiding over the court, along with the usual sad array of prostitutes, thieves, and pickpockets. He’d pleaded that he was also a victim. A Frenchman had threatened to murder him if he did not carry out his request. But he knew not his name and had not seen him well enough to describe him, for the man had worn his hat low over his forehead and hidden his face behind a scarf. The magistrate, unmoved by the man’s pleas, bound him over for trial at the Old Bailey.

Guy employed a Bow Street Runner to trace the Frenchman. It was possible that his papers had fallen into the wrong hands. He’d spent hours searching the ground between where he and the horse had parted company and Rosecroft Hall. He held out the hope that once he’d gained some knowledge of this Frenchman, he might be able to retrieve the evidence of his birthright. When Geneviève arrived from Paris she would identify him, but he wasn’t sure when that would be. Familiar with his sister’s love for her
des enfants
, plus her inability to travel anywhere without a huge retinue in train, he doubted she’d appear in London any time soon.

Guy left Bow Street and walked to the corner of Russell Street, searching for the carriage. The sunny day brought all manner of people out into the streets from nearby Covent Garden. Vendors, errand boys making deliveries and small groups of ladies intent on perusing the shops. A street girl sidled up to him. “Lookin’ for luv, sweeting?”

Guy smelled gin on her breath. She looked painfully thin and very young. He reached into his waistcoat pocket. “Have a drink on me.” He tipped a handful of coins into her waiting palms. “Better still, have something to eat.”

“A real pity, sweeting, I’d be happy to oblige you,” she said.

Guy raised his hat and smiled. Seeing the carriage pull up nearby, he ran for it.

The carriage stopped in Whitehall, outside Horse Guards where John waited. Guy studied his solemn face as he climbed inside.

Ignoring a stab of anxiety, Guy told him the little he’d learned. “And you, John?”

“Not much more than I’ve already been told,” John said.

So it was true. John had known of this all along. Guy tamped down his fury. “And what is that?”

John raised his brows. “That you’re to be watched, as you are suspected of being a French spy.”

“
Tiens!
” Guy grabbed the door handle as the carriage swung around a corner. He fought the temptation to leap out and run away.
But where?
He pulled his hand off the door handle and leaned back, casting John a cool glance.

“I did find it hard to believe from the first,” John said with a shrug of apology. “But I was instructed to follow you and watch your activities in London. I saved you from your attackers in that alley because it was advisable to keep you alive until you led us to a nest of saboteurs known to be in London.” He leaned over and placed his hand on Guy’s sleeve. “But after I got to know you, Guy, I knew you were innocent of such a charge. I would bet my life on it.”

Guy pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “What’s going on, John? I’ve never met Napoleon, let alone arranged his escape from Elba. And yet Count Forney has shown me evidence from the Foreign Secretary’s office that I’m listed as a spy.” He searched his friend’s face. “You are under orders.” Guy sighed. “I wonder what you plan to do with me.”

“You might say I’m keeping you under observation. But that also means I’m watching your back, my friend.”

Guy bowed his head. “
Merci
.”

“For now,” John added with a helpless shrug.

Staring at him soberly, Guy said, “
je vois
.”

Horatia received Guy in her aunt’s parlor suffering the strange fluttering low in her belly that was ever present at the sight of him. He sank onto the sofa as if burdened by worry. “Are you all right?”

“
Oui,
why do you ask
?
”

“You look tired.”

“Keeping up with Lord Strathairn I suppose,” he said with a smile.

She didn’t believe that but clamped her lips on more questions.

“I came to invite you and your aunt to Lady Bloxham’s rout tomorrow evening. This evening, I am engaged to escort Lady Georgina to a ball,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes, thinking he looked guilty. “Alone?”

“No. Lord Strathairn and an elderly aunt make up the party. I am indebted to these people who have taken me in, Horatia. ”

“Will you dance with Lady Georgina?”

With a laugh, he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Things will be better once we are married.”

“Then why don’t we elope to Gretna Green?” Horatia still feared for his safety and wanted to remain by his side. Didn’t he wish it too? She must now spend the evening with a group of ladies discussing the merits of Coleridge’s poems. She thought of her aunt and her ingratitude made her blush, but she did not look forward to the evening.

“Have patience, Horatia. I cannot marry with this Sword of Damocles hanging over my head.”

“I don’t care if you haven’t found your papers. I wouldn’t care if you drove the refuse cart.”

Guy’s eyes widened. “
Qu’est-ce
?
”

Horatia searched for a French equivalent. “
Refusent
?
”

Guy held up his hands and shrugged.

Horatia smiled at his Gallic gesture and glanced at the door. Her aunt had become quite lenient of late and had gone upstairs for her shawl. She shifted closer on the sofa, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her lips to his, convinced this would prove a better explanation of her meaning than any words.

Guy needed little encouragement and pulled her close. The kiss deepened, and her fingers found his hair.

Hearing her aunt’s footsteps on the stairs, Horatia drew away and tidied herself. The heated look in Guy’s eyes told her he understood her meaning. He attempted to smooth his disordered locks and rose to his feet as her aunt walked into the room.

“Aunt, Guy has invited us to Lady Bloxham’s rout tomorrow evening.”

“I have met Lady Bloxham.” Aunt Emily smiled warmly at Guy. “She is a devotee of the Romantic poets. It will be delightful to enjoy her company again.”

“Excellent. I must go.” Guy bowed. “Until tomorrow evening.”

Horatio jumped up to give him a pert curtsey. “Enjoy your evening, my lord. But not too much.”

Guy laughed, donned his tall hat, seized his cane and gloves, and departed.

Aunt Emily raised her brows at Horatia. “What did that parting quip mean?”

“Guy escorts Lady Georgina to a ball this evening.”

“I shouldn’t worry,” Aunt Emily said. “By his distracted expression and disheveled hair, I feel he’s more than content with his lot.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue and shook her head. “Perhaps I should be more diligent as chaperone.”

“Nevertheless,” Horatia said with a heavy frown, “Lady Georgina is an aristocrat of good fortune. And she’s very pretty to boot.”

“Lady Georgina has been kept in cotton wool and is a trifle spoiled,” Aunt Emily said. “I believe Guy has too much sense to take on a girl who would try to turn him into a Bond Street Beau.”

“Well, I doubt he wishes for that,” Horatia said with feeling. He’d showed little interest in becoming a fashionable leader of society. She’d come to understand Guy, his faults as well as the finer points in his character. He would be a stalwart friend to the last, but he was unequivocal in his demand for loyalty from others. She suspected Guy would never forgive Eustace for doubting him, even if he was proved innocent of any crime. Guy had come into her life like a blaze of energy, shattering her dull existence. Sometimes lying in bed at night, it all seemed like a dream, from the moment she first saw him lying on the road.

She loved his passion, his humor, his masculine pride and would trust him with her life. What would the future hold for her without him? It seemed a dry and dusty prospect.

Guy stood outside in the street and ran a finger along the inside of his cravat, glad he didn’t have a chance to tell Horatia of the cloud he now found himself under. He would find it difficult to reassure her, and he didn’t want her involved in this. He had hoped a trip to Bow Street would unravel the mystery; instead, it had deepened.

John was attending to business when Guy left the house. He disliked being watched for any reason. He was confident, if he kept alert, he could handle himself well in a crisis, and even though John was a trusted friend, he was not acting out of love for him but on instructions from Sidmouth, the Home Secretary.

It galled him to think he’d become a public enemy without recourse to prove his innocence. He rested his cane on his shoulder and walked the few streets home.

In the evening, he and John escorted Lady Georgina along with their severe aunt to the ball, which was a celebration of Miss Taylor’s eighteenth birthday.

As soon as they walked into the ballroom, a crowd of hopeful young blades crowded around Georgina. It was not surprising, for she looked very pretty in a silky white gauze gown, with flowers and ribbons dressing her dark curls. “Promise me a dance, Guy,” she whispered before a gentleman led her to the dance floor for the quadrille.

Out of respect for Horatia, Guy had not intended to dance. He planned to move amongst the guests to test society’s mood. He steeled himself for variations of the cut direct. The ruthless
ton
would turn their backs on anyone of whom they disapproved.

Instead, he found polite interest. A couple of the older men remembered his father and spoke of him with regret. Of course no one even hinted that Guy might be a dangerous spy. Spying was a secretive business.

John danced with Lady Sibella Winborne, a beautiful dark-haired young woman, daughter of the Marquess of Brandreth. Interesting that if Strathairn danced at all it was always with Lady Sybella. They were deep in conversation, but Guy guessed John merely amused himself. His preferred feminine companions came from far lower down the social scale, as he did not intend to marry for some time yet.

Guy smiled to himself. A lady such as Lady Sibella might change John’s mind. He passed through a group of eager young men, claimed Georgina’s hand, and led her onto the floor for the waltz she had made him promise her.