Miss in a Man's World (15 page)

As the coach sped eastwards, his lordship soon accustomed himself to the hardness of the seat and the faintly musty interior, but wasn't in the least sorry when he arrived at his destination and was able to let down the window.

He rapidly discovered the odours in the street were no better, but quickly forgot the unsavoury atmosphere when he detected a figure emerging from a side alley. The tricorn hat and the frock coat were familiar, as was the slender figure wearing them.

‘Coachman, I believe we're in luck. Be ready, and hand me down that rope!'

A
lthough she had made the journey in just such a conveyance herself earlier, it finally struck Georgiana as somewhat strange, as she approached the vehicle, to find a hackney carriage lingering in this part of town. A wagoner's cart—yes. Now that, she reasoned, wouldn't have seemed out of place at all, not even at this late hour. But a hired carriage awaiting custom in this impoverished area of the city, where the people could barely scrape together enough to live…? Yes, definitely odd, she concluded, but the thought of walking through hostile and darkened streets decided the matter and she stopped to address the jarvey.

‘Are you for hire, my good man?' she enquired in her gruffest Master Green voice.

‘I might be, young sir, iffen you 'ave the blunt to pay for your ride.'

‘I have funds enough about me,' she assured him, delving into her coat pocket in order to show him a shiny coin.

‘In that case, young sir, tells me where you wants to go and then 'op aboard,' the jarvey invited.

Georgiana had opened the carriage door and had clambered half-inside before she realised the vehicle was not, as expected, unoccupied. Unfortunately by then it was already too late. The large, shadowy figure looming in the corner had moved with remarkable speed. Before she could do much else other than utter a gasp of alarm, some heavy fabric had been tossed over her head and she was being hauled the rest of the way inside the vehicle in a rather rough-and-ready fashion. A strong arm then pinioned both her own before a cord was being wound round them, holding them fast to her sides.

Panic overcame her, and without taking time to consider her actions, she attempted to extract the pistol from her pocket. How she ever hoped to put it to good use with her arms so successfully constrained didn't cross her mind for a moment, and, as things turned out, she wasn't granted the opportunity even to make the attempt.

As though divining her intentions, her captor wrested the pistol from her grasp as easily as if he'd been taking a toy from a child and then proceeded to treat her as such by administering a hearty slap to the seat of her breeches, before tossing her on to the seat opposite. Tears stung her eyes and she was smarting from the indignity of it all, but had sense enough to heed the advice when a menacingly low and threatening voice warned her to sit still and behave, unless she wished to receive more of the same.

Although he had clearly been trying to disguise it, Georgiana instantly recognised something achingly familiar in that husky whispering timbre, most espe
cially when he then went on, in the same undertone, to instruct the jarvey to move off. Fincham! She was very nearly sure of it. And the humiliating punishment just meted out only went to confirm the strong suspicion that her silent abductor was none other than the Viscount himself! But why on earth would he want to abduct her? Moreover, why was he attempting to conceal his identity?

As the conveyance turned a sharp corner and a hand grasped her shoulder steadying her, the questions at last burst into her mind. It just didn't make any sense at all. Yet, whoever it was seated opposite had known full well that she was a female. If nothing else, she felt convinced of that much at least. He hadn't uttered so much as a gasp of surprise when her tricorn had toppled off her head in her struggles and her long hair had gone tumbling down her back.

As the carriage went round a further sharp corner, those steadying fingers once again grasped her shoulder, but not before she had felt something hard and heavy knock against her side. Could it possibly have been another pistol? Fincham's own, perhaps? She opened her mouth and was on the point of demanding an end be put to the farce at once, when common sense prevailed and she thought better of it.

All at once she detected sounds of other vehicles, which suggested they had now entered the more affluent part of the metropolis. Although it was comforting to think she was now in familiar territory, the fact that all of those favoured gamesters, and that included Fincham, of course, resided in this part of the town was hardly consoling. Clearly someone had discovered her plans for that evening. That much was blatantly obvious. Had Nell betrayed them? But even if this was so,
how had her infuriatingly silent captor known her true sex? Nell hadn't known; Georgiana would have staked her life on that. Only Fincham would have known her true sex for sure, she reminded herself, as the carriage at last turned a corner and drew to a halt. This fact alone all at once gave rise to some very alarming possibilities.

The vehicle rocked as her companion alighted. Georgiana then heard a brief exchange between the two men. Although the jarvey's voice was clear and carrying, the advice he offered on unruly nephews was rather puzzling. A moment later she felt a hand grasp her arm. Then, evidently deciding she stood no chance of negotiating the step, her abductor hauled her from the seat and tossed her over a broad shoulder.

Her first impulse was to struggle and kick out with her legs, but she resisted the temptation to attempt to inflict an injury. She might so easily alert him to the pistol he'd inadvertently left in the pocket of what she could only assume was his coat or cloak. Her docility clearly pleased him, for no sooner had he turned a key in a lock and entered what she increasingly felt must surely be a particular residence in Berkeley Square than he began to whistle a cheerful ditty. He then paused to pick up what she suspected was a lamp off a table and then carried her in the same ignominious fashion a short distance further before tossing her, quite without warning, down on to something soft and bouncy.

Her faint cry of alarm succeeded in eliciting a rumble of deep masculine laughter, which also held that disturbingly familiar ring to it. She detected the click of a door closing and then heard him moving about the room, before he finally came over to release her from her confinement. Although deep down she had strongly suspected all along her captor's identity, she
was powerless to control the heart-rending pain that shot through her when the cloak was finally pulled off and she stared up into those unforgettable dark brown eyes.

In her confused and highly suspicious state, she foolishly imagined everything fitted into place. In those same frantic moments she even recalled just where she had heard that Frenchman's name before. Her reaction was instinctive and she reached for the discarded cloak. Swiftly extracting the pistol from the pocket, she managed to dart out of reach before levelling the firearm.

Lord Fincham rose slowly to his feet, understandably enough not best pleased at having one of his own weapons levelled at his chest. ‘I think you had better give that to me.'

‘Don't come any closer,' she warned, ‘or I'll shoot you down.'

‘Then you had better do so, my dear,' he silkily invited, ‘for I intend to come very much closer.'

Her finger automatically curled round the trigger, but amazingly enough nothing happened. It was almost as if her body would no longer respond to the commands of her brain. Although her mind might urge her to show no mercy to the villain who was responsible for the death of her beloved godfather, something far more powerful was staying her hand. She allowed the pistol to be taken from her without putting up the least resistance and then stared up to see the unmistakable glint of smug satisfaction in those same unforgettable dark eyes.

A semblance of fight returned, enough at least to enable her to pummel his chest for a second or two before abject misery became too much to bear and she crumpled back down on to the sofa.

‘Why you…? Dear God! Why did it have to be you!' she managed to cry out, before great racking sobs shook her body.

For several moments it was as much as Lord Fincham could do to stare down in disbelief. Then, emitting a sound somewhere between a growl and a grasp of dismay, he tossed the gun aside, scooped her up in his arms as though she weighed no more than a child and proceeded to cradle her in his lap.

It took some little time before Georgiana at last began to appreciate that the hand stroking her hair away from her face and the lips brushing lightly over her forehead, murmuring words that were quite unintelligible, were, oh, so very gentle. Hardly the actions of a cold-blooded killer, she finally reasoned. She sniffed loudly and felt a handkerchief being pressed into her hand. She proceeded to make good use of it, before raising her eyes and inadvertently brushing wet lashes against the line of a firm jaw.

She felt him stiffen and repositioned her head further down his shoulder so that she might stare into his face. It offered him the opportunity to do likewise and he was pleasantly surprised by what he saw. ‘My compliments, child. You are one of the few females of my acquaintance who doesn't look perfectly hideous after a severe bout of weeping. But what induced such an inexhaustible flow, I cannot help asking myself? You are not a girl easily brought to tears, I think.'

Becoming more confused with every passing second, and suddenly appreciating her unseemly situation, she eased herself a little away from him. ‘This is most improper, my lord. We should not be sitting like this.'

‘A somewhat insignificant detail at such a time,' he responded with gentle irony, but didn't attempt to pre
vent her scrambling off his lap, before he himself rose and went over to the decanters.

‘Here, take it,' he urged when she made no attempt to accept the drink he had poured for her. ‘It will not do you a mite of harm. It is only brandy.'

She took it from his outstretched hand, docilely took a sip and then grimaced at the taste. The fiery brew put heart back into her, none the less—at least sufficient for her to stare up into those dark eyes that had been branded into her memory for so very many long and lonely months. She had seen them hard, angry and penetrating, but they were not so now. There was a hint of gentle compassion behind the evident curiosity. But they were definitely not the eyes of a cold-blooded killer.

She sighed and shook her head, sending her silky black locks sweeping across her face, and removed the strands with a hand that wasn't perfectly steady. ‘I just don't understand,' she at last admitted.

‘Then we are in that respect at least in complete accord, my sweet life,' he revealed. ‘Although perhaps not so absolutely in the dark as I once was,' he amended, a moment later. ‘Would I be correct in thinking that your—er—somewhat unorthodox behaviour last summer and your madcap venture tonight has something to do with the death of your godfather?'

The startled glance was answer enough. ‘Yes, I rather thought it might be. After my brief tête-à-tête with the Dowager at the Mertons' ball, I began to suspect something of the sort.'

‘You spoke with her ladyship…? But why?'

He lifted one shapely hand and waved it in a dismissive gesture. ‘I cannot recall precisely just what it was that prompted me to favour her with my company,' he
responded at his supercilious best. ‘But your name was brought up in the conversation, and it became perfectly clear to me that she was deeply troubled because you had failed to accompany her.'

Manfully suppressing a smile, he added, ‘Consumed with curiosity as I sometimes am, and finding the ball tiresomely mundane, I decided to satisfy my inquisitiveness, and so paid a call at the Grenville town house, where I subsequently enjoyed a short interlude with your manservant.'

Although she didn't quite believe everything she was hearing, Georgiana at last began to appreciate just why Lord Fincham had been in that particular area of the city. ‘Digby told you where I'd gone, didn't he?'

He couldn't mistake the thread of annoyance in her voice, and didn't hesitate to come to the servant's defence. ‘Only deep concern for your well-being persuaded him to do so. But it didn't tempt him to reveal why you had gone. That I began to deduce for myself on my travels through the city. Why, I asked myself, did a young woman who generally conducts herself with the utmost propriety behave so recklessly on occasions?'

She couldn't resist smiling at this, for she well knew that very little shocked Viscount Fincham. ‘Your assumption was correct, my lord,' she was more than happy to tell him. ‘And I do thank you for ensuring my safe return, though I would have preferred had you not adopted such rough-and-ready means and had revealed your identity from the first. But I suppose your intention was to alarm me, thereby adding to my punishment.'

He was totally unmoved by the reproachful look he received and was even less impressed when she rose to her feet in order to place the half-emptied glass on
the mantelshelf, as though she had every intention of leaving.

‘And where do you imagine you are going, young woman?' he demanded, his tone distinctly bored. ‘If you suppose for a moment I shall calmly sit here and permit you to leave without first receiving a full explanation of your extraordinary behaviour, you may think again.'

She resented the haughty, dictatorial attitude, which was so much a part of his character on occasions, as much as she resented the fact that she was very much in his power and that he was very capable of preventing her departure if he should take it into his head to do so.

He seemed impervious to her resentful scowl, and it was soon borne in upon her that he was determined to have his curiosity satisfied. ‘Oh, confound you, Fincham! Why must you become involved? The matter doesn't concern you.'

‘Of course it concerns me,' he countered, setting his empty glass aside. He then rose to his feet and grasped her shoulders to administer a slight shake. ‘So let's have no more evasion! Unwittingly I became involved that day at Deerhampton.' He stared down at her intently. ‘Or was our first encounter not pure chance, but design?'

The astonished expression told him all he needed to know, even before she said, ‘How on earth could it have been? I had no knowledge of your existence, let alone that you were, indeed, one of the five.'

The Viscount's dark eyes became markedly more intense. ‘Ah! Now you begin to interest me greatly.' Releasing his hold on her, he collected his glass and wandered across to his tray of decanters once more.
‘Tell me, child, where did you first hear that expression…? Not in London, I think?'