A Lady's Secret Weapon (22 page)

Leaning against a large oak tree trunk, William Townsend watched the woman with the shocking red hair make her way along the park’s footpath. He checked his timepiece—precisely half past eleven. Punctual, habitual, and female, a perfect combination.

He followed her progress as she made her way toward his location. The redhead was not an attractive woman, nor was she difficult to look upon. No, Margaret Finley was average in every way—features, intelligence, height, bosom. Every way except her feet, he amended. Her feet were small and attached to the prettiest ankles he’d ever seen. And William had seen quite a few.

When she drew close enough for him to see her eyes, he was pleased to note the glint of excitement reflected in their depths. “Fine morning to you, Margaret.”

She halted at the sound of his voice and her gaze searched the area. The moment she located him by the tree, her lips curled into a sunny smile of welcome. “Will, you came.”

For some time, he’d understood the impact his countenance had on women, especially females who were not accustomed to focused male attention. He found their vulnerability rather pathetic, though he had used it often to his advantage. As he would now.

“Of course I did, love.” He straightened but did not leave the shelter of the tree. Instead, he motioned for her to come to him, infusing as much desire as he could into his dark gaze.

An unflattering shade of crimson blossomed along her throat and into her spotted cheeks. As many would in her situation, she glanced left and right in a pitiful show of modesty. Satisfied no one would witness her clandestine meeting, she plodded across the length of lawn until she stopped beside him, breathless.

He skimmed the back of his knuckle down the length of her cheek. Soft and smooth. Like Lydia’s. “You’re looking quite fetching today, Margaret.”

“Thank you.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Not as fetching as you, Will. I swear you’d be the handsomest gentleman in Hyde Park, wearing nothing but a potato sack.”

Stepping closer, he said, “Perhaps we might test a portion of your theory later.”

“Let’s go, nurse,” a small, petulant voice demanded.

Margaret’s shy smile dimmed, and she turned to the toddler sitting in a sturdy wooden carriage. With his chubby fingers clutched around the rim, he made emphatic go-motions with his upper body.

“Now, Master Henry, you must be patient,” Margaret-the-nurse said. “We’ll be off in a moment.”

“Want to see ducks.” His go-motions rocked the carriage forward an inch or two.

Margaret sent William an apologetic smile. “He’s in a demanding mood today.”

“Another Great Tyrant in the making,” William said, referencing the toddler’s illustrious grandfather’s sobriquet.

“Pardon?” Margaret’s confusion clearly stated her awareness of political affairs.

William smiled. “Nothing, my dear. Shall I show you a shortcut to the Serpentine?”

A look of uncertainty crossed her spotted face. “Will you show me the way back to this footpath? I’m so easily lost in this big park and all its various walks and paths.”

“Of course. We will take the footpath behind us, which will bisect the main carriage route and lead us straight to the Serpentine.”

Her dull blue gaze tried to follow his verbal directions, though she appeared to lose track at the word
bisect
.

“Nurse, I want ducks.”

Margaret glanced between the demanding toddler and William.

“Trust me.” William smoothed a strand of flaming hair behind her ear. “I won’t lose you.”

“Then I would love to see your shortcut, sir.” She grasped the carriage handle and began to pull it across the bumpy lawn with some difficulty.

William ignored her struggle until other pedestrians came into view. He peered down at her in feigned surprise. “Allow me, my dear. Master Henry’s carriage must be quite burdensome to draw across such uneven ground.”

“Oh, no, sir,” she said in horror. “It is only a little ways more.”

“I insist.” William gave her no more opportunity to argue. He towed the toddler over the lawn and down the footpath, while maintaining a constant chatter with the nurse. Once they crossed the main carriage route, the woodlands thickened, providing a natural shield.

Even though the blood in his veins pumped more wildly, William kept his gait even and his voice calm. His gaze was another matter. With systematic precision, he scanned his surroundings for anything out of the ordinary and for familiar faces.

Soon, he would have the means to satisfy LaRouche’s newest ultimatum. Regret shot through his chest. He found his current course distasteful, but no more than any of the other directives LaRouche had given him in recent weeks. This would be the last time he bent to the Frenchman’s demands. He had already booked passage for two to America. In twenty-four hours, England would be nothing more than a speck of dirt at his back.

They came to the intersection where their footpath crossed one of the main routes. Outside of a couple carriages, a stray rider, and a small group of uniformed children, the wider gravel walk was fairly deserted at this time of day. Such would not be the case this afternoon. Once the fashionable hour approached, the children would disappear and this part of Hyde Park would teem with gleaming carriages and elegant riders.

“Ready?” William asked the nurse, who nodded in return. “We’ll cross after this carriage passes.”

But they had idled too long for the toddler. “I want ducks!” the future Viscount Melville screamed at the top of his lungs.

Heads swiveled toward them. William jerked his chin downward to protect his features from curious onlookers. Furious, he threw his leather coin purse in the child’s lap to shut him up.

“Oh, Will,” Margaret cried, making the situation worse. “Your purse.” She bent to retrieve it.

He grabbed her arm, halting her interference. “Leave it. The sound will keep the child entertained until we reach the du—waterfowl.”

She peered up at him with wary eyes. “You’re hurting me.”

He released her and then smoothed the backs of his fingers over her upper arm. “My apologies, love. I’m not used to such squealing and fear I overreacted.”

The nurse smiled, though the beam seemed weaker than before.

Movement to the right caught his eye. An open-top carriage pulled to the side to speak with two women and a child on horseback. A ribbon of unease skipped down his spine. One of the riders sparked a faint sense of familiarity. He narrowed his concentration on the equestrienne with the yellow bonnet. Her seat was accomplished and her figure slender. Beneath the bonnet, he could see that her sable-colored hair was styled in a close-cropped fashion. It wasn’t until she tilted her head just so that he noticed the scar.

His chest rose on a harsh intake of breath. He knew of only one woman whose beauty was marred by such an unfortunate disfigurement.

Cora deBeau. Raven. One of the Nexus’s most valuable secret service agents. Once his comrade, now his enemy.

William spared a glance around the area to make sure no other agents lurked nearby. He detected none, but with the Nexus, one could never be certain. Sweat pebbled on his upper lip. He was torn between retreating to a safe distance and finishing his task. When he glanced back at the group of women, he found a footman on horseback staring right at him.

The toddler jangled the coin pouch. “Ducks, ducks, ducks.”

William grabbed the toddler from the carriage.

“What are you doing?” Margaret asked.

“Making it easy for us to cross,” he said. “Come along.”

With long strides, he set out for the other side. He heard a
plop-ping
sound, but paid it no mind. Master Henry started to fuss.

“Will, wait,” Margaret said. “He dropped your coins.”

He did not slow his pace.

“Go back,” the toddler said, stretching his body over William’s shoulder.

William smacked the boy’s bottom. “Hold still. We’re almost to the ducks.”

The swat rendered the child silent for all of three seconds and then he released a blood-curdling scream.

“Will, stop!” Margaret’s voice grew more distant. “Someone, help me. Please.”

Cursing, he half walked, half ran toward the dense tree line. About twenty feet away, he chanced a glance at the Raven and her group. Raven and the footman wheeled their mounts in his direction.

“Let me go!” the toddler yelled, wiggling in earnest. “Nurse!”

“Master Henry!”

The shadows from the canopy closed in around William, and the brush grew thicker. Another quick check behind him revealed he was no longer visible, though he could hear the distinctive sound of horse’s hooves bearing down on him.

He tossed the toddler over his shoulder, like a side of beef, and ran.

A woman’s scream of terror pierced the serenity of Sydney’s outing. Craning her neck, she noticed a distraught woman standing at the edge of the gravel path and a gentleman carrying a child, walking quickly toward the woodlands. “What’s going on?” She rose to her feet for a better look.

“Stay here,” Mac commanded, with a severe look in her and Amelia’s direction. He kicked his horse into motion.

“Sophie,” Catherine Ashcroft said, “come to me.”

Sydney watched as the seven-year-old did as her mother bid, though her gaze kept slashing back to the unfolding tableau ahead. “What’s happening, Mama?”

“A minor family squabble,” Catherine said. “Nothing for you to worry about, but I want you to stay by my side, understood?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Rigby,” Sydney said to her driver, feigning nonchalance for Sophie’s sake, “I’m stepping down.”

“I’ll hold them steady, miss.”

Amelia laid a restraining hand on her arm. “You’re injured.”

Sydney patted her friend’s hand. “I’m not going far, I promise.” Using her walking stick, she thumped her way toward Cora, who sat on her horse, tense and ready, staring at the spot where Mac disappeared into the woodlands.

After Ethan had left that morning, Sydney had removed the bandage and noted the damage wasn’t as bad as she had feared. The knife wound was raw and tender, but barely deep enough to need stitches. She gave the area another thorough cleaning, lathered it with a foul-smelling salve left by Amelia’s apothecary and then she insisted on a drive through the park. Her decision was met with much tsking by her assistant and scowling by her bodyguard. With Mick gone to meet the thief-taker Cameron Adair, she was spared his opinion.

In the end, she won the row, reasoning they could use the opportunity to touch base with any of their service clients who might be in the park. Although they had not run across any clients, their paths had crossed with these three interesting young ladies.

Sydney sidled up next to Cora’s horse and noticed the agent’s right hand rested on something at her waist. Standing there calmly was one of the hardest things Sydney had ever done. Had Mick been with them, she would not have felt quite so anxious.

“I don’t like the feeling of this,” Cora said in a low voice.

“Nor do I.” Sydney couldn’t take her eyes off the place where Mac had disappeared. “That wasn’t a domestic issue.”

“No. How skilled is your footman under difficult situations?”

“Very. Though the child might complicate things.” Sydney peered up at Cora. “All appears to be well here. Perhaps, you might check on Mac while I speak with the child’s chaperone.”

The agent met her gaze; a wealth of understanding passed between them. Cora nodded and kicked her horse into motion.

Over her shoulder, Sydney said to Amelia and Catherine, “I’m going to go speak with the child’s—” she glanced at Sophie, “mother.”

In an uneven gait, she hurried to where the woman paced at the edge of the tree line. Given her attire and the way she referred to the child, Sydney doubted the woman was the child’s mother. More like his nurse. “Hello, I’m Sydney Hunt. Are you harmed?”

“I’m fine.” The woman paused. “What’s happening? Why would Will steal Henry?”

“I don’t know.” Sydney settled her hand on the woman’s back. “But my friends will bring back your child.” She prayed she was telling the truth.

“He’s not my boy. I’m Margaret Finley, his nurse. Was his nurse. Once Mr. Saunders-Dundas finds out I lost his heir, I’ll be sacked for sure.”

“Saunders-Dundas,” Sydney repeated, stunned. “Robert Saunders-Dundas?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the nurse said. “Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation.” Sydney’s mind raced. “Did you know the gentleman who ran off with your charge?”

Margaret’s face crumpled. “Not well. I met Will yesterday. He was so gallant and charming. Said he wanted to see me again today.” She blew her nose in a handkerchief. “What could he want with Master Henry?”

“What’s Will’s surname?”

Margaret’s gaze dropped to the ground, her eyes frantically shifting from side to side. “He never told me,” she whispered.

Sydney rubbed the nurse’s back, feeling an odd kinship with the woman. Movement near the tree line caught her attention. Cora guided her mount out, her expression murderous. The hope Sydney had been carrying in her heart plunged into her stomach. Then she caught a glimpse of Mac’s dark head.

Relief washed away the dread. They were both safe. But the child—her throat closed.

“Ducks,” a small voice cried. “Want to see ducks!”

Margaret’s head whipped up. “Master Henry.” She ran toward the trio.

The plump-cheeked child sat in front of Mac, waving his arms in frustration. She smiled and followed the nurse at a more sedate pace.

“Thank you, sir.” Margaret pulled the child from the saddle and hugged him close. “Thank you so much.”

Sydney stepped closer to Mac and Cora, while the nurse cooed nonsensical words into her charge’s ear. “What happened?”

“He was not able to lose us in the woodlands like he thought,” Mac said in a quiet, dangerous tone. “So he dropped the child to distract us.”

Cora said, “When the kidnapper broke free of the underbrush, he knocked a gentleman off his horse and took off.”

“Everyone is all right?” Sydney asked.

“Yes.”

Sydney checked the nurse’s location before asking, “Who was it?”

“I don’t know for certain,” Mac said.

“But you have a guess.”

A muscle in Mac’s jaw jumped. “A loose one.”

“Mine is better than loose,” Cora said.

“Who then?”

“Lord Latymer.”