A Baron in Her Bed (26 page)

She scowled at Horatia. “What is that? If
Gee
is in trouble, we must help him.”

“But what trouble?” Horatia felt she’d done enough to unnerve him yesterday. “I thought it was all at an end. And what if he sees us? He will be
so
angry.”

“Leave that to me,” Geneviève said. She nodded sagely. “I will handle
Gee
.”

“If you’re sure?” Horatia was unable to resist a woman who preferred action to talk.

“Send the servant for your things. My carriage waits outside.”

Geneviève gave instructions for Berkley Square, and the well-sprung carriage took off down the street. They were there within minutes, for it was but a pleasant walk from her aunt’s house. Horatia’s heart beat so fast her head spun. She could almost see Guy’s scowl at the sight of them.

They left the groom to walk the horses in Berkley Street and followed the graceful curve of the footpath to where the row of large houses faced onto the park. Unsure quite what to do next, they hovered about further down the street for some minutes.

“If he plans to call on someone at two, he would have to leave soon,” Horatia said, half wishing to give the idea up.

Another ten minutes passed. They were discussing whether to leave when the door to number eight opened. Geneviève pulled Horatia down the steps of the house. They watched Guy through the railings, dressed in a dark brown coat and tall black hat, he walked along the pavement swinging his cane.

“It is as I suspected. He calls on someone,” Geneviève hissed. Guy reached the corner and disappeared from sight behind a stone wall.

The women hurried back to the carriage. “Drive around the corner and follow the man in the brown coat,” Horatia instructed the startled coachman. “Don’t lose him whatever you do, but don’t make us look suspicious.”

“There’ll be a bonus in it if you succeed,” Geneviève said.

With eager agility, the footman jumped onto the box, and the coachman moved the horses on.

They caught sight of Guy in Berkley Street. He turned left into New Bond Street. They followed smartly and arrived to see him hail a hackney.

The carriage trailed at a discreet pace as the hackney wove through the London streets. It pulled up in Cavendish Square, and Guy alighted. He looked neither left nor right but climbed the steps of an impressive residence to knock at the door. Minutes later, a butler admitted him.

“This square bears your name, mademoiselle. Surely it’s a family connection?”

“I’m not sure,” Horatia said.

“I wonder who my brother visits here,” Geneviève said. “Do you know?”

“No.” Horatia studied the three-storied townhouse. “It might be best if we get out and let the coachman walk the horses.”

“Make enquiries as to who lives here, Jacque,” Geneviève said to the groom.

“
Oui
,
ma dame.
”

He hurried to knock at the servants’ entrance of a neighboring house.

Moments later he returned. “A Corsican gentleman,
ma dame
. Count Forney.”

Geneviève shrugged. “I do not know him.”

The two women entered the pretty park at the square’s center. They chose a seat facing the house and opened their parasols, which would afford them some disguise if Guy should walk past them.

Guy was relieved when the butler admitted him into Count Forney’s home. At least he wouldn’t fall at the first fence.

In the grand salon, the count greeted him in surprise. “I did not expect to see you again, Lord Fortescue.”

“It is my practice to be careful, Count.”

Guy pulled back his coat to better display the bronze eagle pin nestled in the folds of his cravat. “The days grow long, and I find I miss the countryside, the charm of the wood.”

Forney’s eyes widened when he caught sight of the pin. He gave an oily smile and shook Guy’s hand. “Then I wasn’t wrong. You are one of us.”

“I had to make sure that no one followed me.”

“We have not done so, I assure you.”

“I think it’s safe to assume that no one does, Count.”

“That is good. I shall take you this evening to meet the others. They have long since wished to meet a man of your ilk. Your exploits are legendary.”

Guy bowed. “
Merci
.”

“We are in need of your expertise to help us in our quest to destabilize the English while we carry out our rescue of Napoleon. We must act with great speed before the English have him killed.”

“I should be happy to offer all I can. Where do we meet?”

“My carriage will call for you. Where do you stay?”

“I’ll be at Grillon’s Hotel in Albemarle Street,” Guy said.

“At ten of the clock, then.”

Guy emerged into the square. He glanced at the two women in the park who chatted beneath their parasols and continued on. He had to report to John. Tonight would put an end to the whole infernal scheme. He had no real faith in these so-called spies, for they appeared more like mischief makers. A plan to free Napoleon was bizarre. Their idolatry of Vincent seemed amateurish to him. Had the Home Secretary been ill informed? Yet, he surmised, amateurs they might be, but obsessed and determined they were nonetheless.

He crossed the juncture of Henrietta and Margaret Streets and began to walk down Holles Street, making his way to Oxford Street, where he had a better chance of finding a hackney. The streets were cluttered with horsemen and carriages. Guy cursed and stopped suddenly causing a knife grinder to give him a speculative look as he wandered past. A grand aqua carriage waited on the next corner, the four matched grey horses held by a liveried groom. Not only did this fit Horatia’s description of his sister’s carriage perfectly, it was surely the purple and blue of the duke’s livery. He was sure of it. He swivelled abruptly. The two women in the park, hidden behind parasols… Could it be? “
Zut
!” he muttered again. He strode back into the square to meet the two ladies. Had he not been so angry, he would have laughed at their stricken expressions. It was one thing for him to be in danger, but he would not have his two favorite people in all the world thrown into the arena.

“And what might you be doing here?” he asked in glacial tones.

“I took the duchess to meet a friend of mine, but she is not at home.” Horatia’s face flushed crimson, and she refused to meet his gaze.

“You are a very bad liar, Horatia,” Guy said. He raised his brows at his sister. “Who is behind this absurd notion?”

“I am,” Horatia blurted.

“
Non
. ’Twas I.” Geneviève revealed a sisterly lack of fear at his wrath. “You are in trouble. We wish to help.”

He ground his teeth. “You can help enormously.”

Two pairs of pretty eyes looked at him in fascination. “How?” Horatia asked in a breathless voice.

“By going home and staying there.”

“Oh.” She looked at Geneviève, who made a moue with her lips.

“Then you don’t deny you are in trouble? Geneviève asked.

“I do deny it. You are being absurd. Allow me to escort you both to your carriage.”

“But where do you go? Why don’t you come with us now?”

“Because I have a prior engagement. You are both outrageous. Must I tell you every detail of my life?”

When his sister began to object in a flood of outraged French, Guy held up his hand. “
Assez
!”

The unmanageable pair climbed into the carriage. “Can we give you a lift somewhere?” Horatia asked with a sweet smile.

“
Non merci
!” He slammed the door. “I shall call on you both tomorrow.”

“Not this evening?”

Guy ignored Geneviève and instructed the coachman to take them directly home.

Horatia stared back at him from the window, looking apprehensive as the carriage trundled away down the street.

Horatia watched him stride away. “He’s very angry,” she said. “Will he ever forgive us?”

“Pooh!” Her Grace said. “He is bluffing. I know my brother.”

“You are sure he is in danger?”

“
Oui
. He’s evasive. What other reason would he have for not coming to see you and me this evening?”

Horatia studied Geneviève. She had no way of knowing if the duchess’s opinion could be relied upon. Guy had been very angry but… He had looked shifty-eyed and clenched his jaw the way she’d seen when he was tense. And he had failed to meet her eyes when questioned. “There is nothing we can do.”

“We shall follow him again this evening.”

“He may not go out this evening,” Horatia reasoned.

“He would have come to visit one of us, otherwise,” Geneviève said with French practicality.

“But, he’ll be on the alert for us.”

“We’ll dress in costume,” the duchess said promptly.

“What kind of costume?”

“Men’s attire, and we’ll hire a hackney.”

“Where will we get… Oh!” Horatia bit her lip. “I do wish I’d brought them with me.”

Her Grace stared at her. “
Quoi
?”

Distracted by the sudden likeness to her brother, Horatia muttered, “It is nothing. I’ll explain later.”

“I can borrow some clothes from my staff. The footmen are huge, but the younger servants aren’t so very big. No one goes out before nine in London. I’ll come to you at eight of the clock.”

An alarming thought struck Horatia. “What…what if Guy goes to see a woman?”

“A mistress?” Geneviève asked, in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

“Yes.” Horatia swallowed a lump in her throat. Had she driven Guy into the arms of a Cyprian?

The duchess shook her head. “She would not keep him from me for days at a time. And he is in love. A man in love does not visit a courtesan. Not a man of my brother’s
tempérament
.”

Worry clenched Horatia’s stomach. She took a deep breath to ease it. “How can you be sure?”

“Guy is a man of honor. This I know.”

“But Guy told me he hasn’t seen much of you for years.”

“He wrote me many letters. As a child he was honorable. Vincent was not. They were opposites. The light and the dark. This does not change.”

The coach stopped in front of her aunt’s house. Horatia alighted as another problem faced her. What on earth could she tell her aunt?

Chapter Eighteen

Horatia walked in and found the house in upheaval. A maid scurried past with her arms full of linen. “What has happened, Sarah?”

“Your father has arrived,” Sarah said. “Your aunt has put him in the guest bedchamber next to yours.”

“Father?” Horatia’s voice quavered.

Aunt Emily bustled out of the parlor. “He has news.” She gave a conspiratorial smile. “I shall let him tell you himself. But he plans a celebratory dinner.”

As she trudged up the stairs, Horatia searched her mind for an appropriate reason to be absent this evening. She knocked on her father’s door with the hope that a suitable excuse would spring from somewhere when the need arose.

Her father stood before the mirror making adjustments to his neckcloth. He turned as she entered, and she was struck by how lively he looked. His beaming face looked years younger.

“My dear.” He kissed her cheek. “I had to come and tell you the news. I have asked Marina Illingworth to marry me. And she has accepted.”

She smiled with relief and pleasure. His future with Mrs. Illingworth was sure to be a happy and fulfilling one. “Father, that’s wonderful news. I’m so pleased for you.”

“Are you really, my dear? I hoped you would be.”

“I like Mrs. Illingworth very much.”

“She is a sensible woman.”

“Indeed she is.”

“I thought we might have a small celebration this evening. If you are not otherwise engaged?”

“I’m afraid I do have an engagement tonight,” Horatia said cautiously. “I received an invitation from the Duchess Châteaudunn, Guy’s sister.”

Her father’s face fell. He considered her words and recovered a little. “The Duchess Châteaudunn, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, it can’t be helped. I suppose I should have written, but I couldn’t wait to tell you the news.”

She hugged him with a fresh flush of guilt. “I’m so glad you did. I’ve missed you, but I see you’re in excellent health. When do you plan to wed?”

“Come and sit down.” He took her hand and steered her to the sofa. “I thought it safe to proceed and have the bans read.” He frowned. “Might the date for your wedding have been set? I’ve been expecting a letter from you.”

“Not as yet… Guy has had matters to attend to. He plans to obtain a special license and arrange for the wedding to take place at St. Georges in Hanover Square.”

His eyes widened. “Well, indeed. St. Georges? This is a pleasant surprise. I gather I shall see Guy when he calls for you tonight?”

“Not this evening, Guy has another engagement.”

“Which does not include his betrothed?” He studied her. “You are happy, Horatia? I think he is a good man.”

“He’s the very best of men, Father,” Horatia said. The words almost stuck in her throat, her guilt overlaid with uneasiness. Was Geneviève right to follow Guy? Might it be a private matter that was none of their concern? What was the matter with her? It was most unlike her not to want to take matters into her own hands. She almost wished she could avoid accompanying the duchess tonight, but she couldn’t let her down.