Squibbs simpered and blushed and muttered a thanks. Then he was out the
door with a request that the duke send word to him when the lass was safely returned to London.
“Now what?” asked Vinnie, watching the duke’s guarded face. He had a plan in mind, that she could tell, but it was unclear whether it included her or not. It would have to include her.
“We give chase. She can’t have gotten far.”
“Can’t have gotten far?” Vinnie was not as complacent as Trent. “You
forget who we are talking about. The Harlow Hoyden went from London to Newmarket in under four hours.”
“Yes, but we’ve already decided she’s taken the stage,” he reminded her. “They travel at considerably slower speeds than your sister.”
Vinnie laughed, genuinely amused even though she was still terribly distressed. “Come, your grace, if you really believe they got past Hyde Park before Emma
insisted that the coachman hand the reins over to her then you do not know her as well as I thought you did.”
“Vinnie, you devil, I was trying to put a brave face on it. If your sister hasn’t made it to Dover and crossed over to France by now then I should be very surprised.”
This was not something that had occurred to Lavinia, and her face paled as she contemplated the possibility. “You don’t
think that even she would be foolish enough to cross into a foreign country.”
Even seeing her white face, the duke could not lie to her. “I would hope not, but I can’t say for certain. Considering how vehemently she feels about Sir Windba—uh, Windbourne, she would confront Napoléon himself if it would prove that he was a villain.”
Vinnie’s shoulders sagged. “I was afraid of that. We should
be going, no? The sooner we leave, the sooner we shall find her.”
“Yes, let us depart immediately. Don’t worry, Vinnie,” the duke said, patting her hand in comfort, “we will find her before it’s too late. I have every interest in seeing her returned to us without harm, for I intend to thrash her within an inch of her life for worrying us so.”
Contemplating his passionate words , Vinnie thought
again how perfect he was for Emma. “I suspect that thrashing her is the last thing you want to do to my sister,” she said, mischievously.
The duke smiled. “Well, not quite the
last
thing, but it certainly isn’t the first. Come, there’s no reason to delay. The horses are ready.”
They were walking down the path to the street when a figure cloaked in a black cape approached the duke. “There you
are, Trent, been looking all over for you. Keeping close to home, are you?” Pearson said, a glint of humor in his eye. “The clubs haven’t been the same since you stopped coming by. Ealing is an interesting companion when he’s sober, but get a few drinks in him and he becomes deadly dull. He has the devil’s own luck when it comes to cards. It’s awful enough losing your blunt to a sober man but losing
to a man who is three sheets to the wind? Not at all amusing, Trent.”
“Sorry, old man, I’ve been out of town on business,” explained the duke, unwilling to linger longer than necessary. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Harlow and I have an important errand that cannot wait. Look for me tomorrow at White’s.”
“Which Miss Harlow are you?” he asked, examining Lavinia for some clue to her identity. “Are
you the one who was out riding with Cousin Philip today or the other one?”
“The other one,” said Vinnie, a dimple appearing despite her intentions. His question was rude, but the questioner had such a charming smile and a handsome face she was unable to resist. “But I suspect that doesn’t help you with your identification.”
“True,” said Pearson, “and since you have not stepped into the void
to introduce yourself, I will continue to call you the other—”
His speech was cut off abruptly as the Duke of Trent grabbed him by the arms. “Pearson, you saw Emma today out driving with Philip?”
“Yes,” he answered, perplexed by this treatment.
“Around what time was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think! Was it after one o’clock?”
“Had to be. Took tea with my mama at one. I was there for an hour,
perhaps two. I’d say I saw them sometime after three. I assumed they were going to the park, since the hour was fashionable. Now that I think about it, they were going in the wrong direction for the park.”
Trent gave his friend a hearty pat on the back. “Excellent, Pearson, you do not know what a helpful friend you have been. Miss Harlow and I must go now, but could you do me a tremendous favor
and look in on Mrs. Sarah Harlow? Tell her that Vinnie and I are going to Dover and all shall be well soon. This is all in strictest confidence, of course, but I know you’re trustworthy.” The duke could tell that his friend was extremely curious as to what was going on. In order to preempt further discussion, he said, “I promise to tell you the whole of it when we return. There is nothing havey-cavey
going on, I can assure you of that.”
Pearson bit down further questions and agreed to the duke’s request. It was not often that Trent asked something of him and it was the least he could do. Perhaps Mrs. Harlow could be persuaded to tell him what was going on.
“Very well, Trent. I will see you when you return. And you, the other Miss Harlow.”
As soon as they were in the carriage, Vinnie said,
“At least now we know how she travels and that she is not alone.”
The duke gave her a thin smile. “I take little comfort in her choice of traveling companions. I somehow feel that Cousin Philip’s presence complicates the matter rather than simplifies it.”
They were a few miles out of town when Emma insisted Philip stop the coach.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned. “Are you feeling ill? Take
a deep breath. I often find that deep breaths calm a disturbed stomach.”
“I am not suffering from a motion ailment like a frail miss,” she insisted, disgusted by the very idea. “I’ve simply had enough of your driving. Give them here.” She stuck out her hands.
“What?”
“You might as well give me your gloves as well. I was in a rush when I left the house and didn’t plan for every contingency.”
“My gloves?” He looked at his hands, large and masculine, and then at her small fingers. “They’ll never fit.”
“They’ll fit well enough. Now give me the reins and your gloves.”
Philip handed both over with great reluctance. It was one thing to have an adventure with the Harlow Hoyden but quite another thing to have a scrap of a girl criticize your driving.
“Now pay attention,” Emma ordered as
she took the reins from her hesitant companion. The gloves were large and her fingers were indeed swimming in them, but she made do. One of her best traits was the ease with which she made do with most things. “There’s no reason why you can’t learn a thing or two about driving a team. Now we only have two horses here so there’s really nothing to it. See how I am holding the reins? My fingers are
relaxed.”
“My fingers were relaxed,” he muttered under his breath.
“Your fingers were not,” she corrected. “You were clutching the reins as if your life depended on it. That might work in the city, where one never achieves a respectable speed, but here on the open road you must trust your horses to know what’s best. These are Trent’s, are they not?” she asked, admiring his choice in horseflesh.
“Yes,” he answered, reluctantly observing how much more control over the horses she had than he.
“He does know a thing or two, doesn’t he?” she said sadly. Trent not only had his pick of prime horseflesh but females as well.
“Yes,” he said again. “And awful showy about it, too. He is always telling one how to go about it. Philip, do this. Philip, don’t do that. Philip, in civilized society we
don’t pick up our dinner rolls and eat with our hands.”
“He can be quite monstrous at times, can’t he?” she asked, taking comfort in this unattractive trait and delving for others. If she could just discover enough disagreeable things about him, then perhaps she could get over this uncomfortable episode. She didn’t have to love him if she didn’t want to.
“Yes, the way he calls me a young puppy
and takes me to task for talking about frogs with your sister-in-law, Sarah. In Yorkshire, I went about as I pleased, talking about frogs without anyone protesting.”
Emma had to admit that some of Trent’s criticism were not far off the mark. Philip did have the exuberance of a puppy, and while it might be charming in its own way, it was also exhausting and not at all the thing for society. Emma
herself did not care a wit for what the
ton
thought of her, but she could understand why the duke would want his cousin to have its respect. Philip was a Keswick, after all.
“My cousin is a great showoff,” he continued, warming to his topic. “He is always knocking Gentleman Jackson down. None of the other customers knock down the proprietor, nor do they expend the energy that my cousin does.
He’s the only one who works up a sweat. Honestly, Miss Harlow, if I worked up the sweat that he did, he would not doubt tell me that one only sweats in Yorkshire, not in London.”
Miss Harlow was hardly listening to this last charge that he laid at Trent’s feet. She was too distracted by the image of the duke’s sweating muscles. She knew it was hardly the thing to do, but she indulged herself
for a few moments. Although she had never seen his bare chest, she had felt enough of it to know it was impressive. And the muscles in his arms. How warm and soft they had been….
“Perhaps we should talk of something else?” she said, wanting to erase the distracting picture from her head.
“Like what?” he asked, reluctantly to abandon a topic that had given him such satisfaction.
“We need a
plan. What are we going to do when we catch up with Windbag?”
“That’s simple,” answered Philip. “We knock him on the head with a heavy object like a bottle or a chair; then we tie him up and call the constable.”
Emma examined his plan as she directed the horses around a sharp bend. It was indeed simple, but she knew that sometimes simplicity was what the situation called for. But she could not
like the idea of knocking him out and then calling the authorities, for what good would that do? Sir Windbag would only proclaim his innocence and without proof, who would they convince of his treachery? Such a course would slow him down, of course, but with Dover so close, the loss of a few hours—or even half a day—wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. Sir Windbag’s message must not get
through, not with the lives of so many Englishmen at stake.
No, she refused to consider the idea of turning him over to a country constable, but knocking him unconscious and tying him up appealed to her. The most important thing was that he did not reach Dover. She and Philip could keep him hostage in their room at a posting house for days, or even a week if necessary. If they put a gag over
his mouth to keep him quiet and explained to their host that a traveling companion had taken ill, then nobody would notice anything amiss. This had definite possibilities and would work in a jam, but Emma was more ambitious. It was her goal to bring about Sir Windbag’s downfall. It was not enough that he fail in his evil mission but that he be publicly disgraced. The selling out of his country was
a crime, surely, and deserved to be punished as the Crown saw fit. But courting the Harlow Hoyden’s sister with the sole intention of stealing information from her brother was the worse sin by far, and Emma was determined to see him pay. Nobody toyed with her sister. Nobody.
“Do you have a pistol on you?” she asked Philip now, determined to keep her thoughts to herself. He was a useful companion
and a goodhearted friend, but she was afraid that the duke’s assessment of him was right. The boy was still a pup.
“A pistol?” He seemed disturbed by the notion. “Why would I take a pistol to Hyde Park, which was where I was going when I picked you up?”
“We must acquire one then. Windbag will surely be armed.”
Philip accepted the truth of this statement and felt a glimmer of fresh excitement.
He could hardly wait until Trent learned that he’d saved England from invasion—with the help of Miss Harlow, of course. She was a right ’un, and he would give her her due. “I don’t have much experience with pistols, I’m afraid, but I’ve been hunting my whole life and am a decent shot with a rifle. Don’t worry, Miss Harlow, I shall protect you.”
Miss Harlow laughed, delighted. “I shall count
on it, Philip. And I assure you that I will do my best to protect you. But I can only do that if I have a pistol. I’ve never hunted in my entire life, but I’m a decent shot with a pistol. And please call me Emma,” she added. “We are hunting down a traitor to England together and that affords us a certain amount of intimacy, don’t you think?”
Philip agreed to address her with such informality
and then fell silent, preferring silent contemplation. In his mind, he was busy reviewing all the different manners in which his cousin could learn that he had saved the kingdom. The one he preferred most, of course, was the one in which he told him himself. That way he would see the look of complete shock give way to grudging respect. Still, having the Prince Regent call on Trent with the news that
his cousin was a hero wasn’t too shabby either. Really, there seemed to be no unacceptable way for it to happen.
Emma was glad for the quiet. She hadn’t held the reins in ages, and it was a heady experience. She loved the wind in her hair, and she loved speed. Nothing else in the world was quite this exhilarating, nothing else gave her quite the same feeling of control. This was what she had
been pining for, all those long hours in the house as she sought some occupation to take her mind off weighty matters. Reading to Roger had felt like a good substitute at the time, but now that she had the reins in her hands, she knew it had been a very poor one indeed. There was nothing to compare with this feeling of being alive. And this feeling of being alive made problems seem small and inconsequential.