Between a Rake and a Hard Place (7 page)

Jonah raised his mug and drained it. Nate was right. The wretched stuff improved with increased quantity. The guilty ache in his chest migrated lower to simmer uneasily in his belly.

“On to the purpose of this meeting,” Rhys said. “We've learned that Alcock's supposed witness, Sergeant Leatherby, has taken ship to Portsmouth. We have reason to believe he's still there since according to Alcock, the man has a wife in the vicinity, but we need to find and detain him in case he decides to set sail for parts unknown.”

“I'll be leaving for the Wyndleton country estate tomorrow,” Jonah said. “That's close to Portsmouth, I believe. Within an easy ride, at least.”

“Good. You can locate the man and have him bound over to the magistrate. We'll come and collect him as soon as you send word.”

“Wait a moment. What happened to the ‘we' in ‘we need to find and detain him'?”

“A married man's life is not his own,” Nathaniel said. “Georgette has us scheduled for a number of dinners and events to support that charity house of hers in Covent Garden.”

Rhys grinned. “And I'm happy to report that my lovely wife is in…an interesting condition and blossoming daily, so she wouldn't appreciate me haring off to Portsmouth on an extended fishing expedition of this sort.”

“Would she appreciate you being branded a traitor?” Jonah said sourly. “It could still happen, you know.”

“I know.” Rhys's smile faded. “We either need to find that witness and compel his testimony on our behalves, or you need to keep your assigned virgin from wedding a royal duke. Which is why we want to help you with your part of Alcock's plan, if we can.”

Jonah looked at his two friends. They'd both suffered after the horrific loss at Maubeuge. Rhys had attempted to bury his grief in endless rounds of pointless debauchery. Jonah had heard that Nathaniel had actually spent time in common lodgings living rough among the desperately poor of Whitechapel while he sought oblivion in opiates. His family finally sent a runner to find him and bring him back against his will till he could be made to understand that his family still stood by him.

And what had Jonah done to try to forget? Things that further scarred his soul, things that left him with hands that would never be clean. They were things that needed doing for the good of king and country, and he wouldn't undo them, but “the end justifies the means” was beginning to ring increasingly hollow in his heart.

He didn't hold out much hope for himself. However, if he could help his friends regain some semblance of righteousness, he owed it to them to try.

“All right, I'll see if I can find this Leatherby. But if someone doesn't wish to be found, they can hide fairly easily. Even in plain sight.” His friends, for example, looked so out of character in their disreputable garb, none of their set would recognize them. That realization caused a new and frankly outrageous brain brat to hatch in Jonah's head and whisper in his ear.

“Does your family still keep that hunting lodge on the road to Portsmouth?” he asked Rhys.

“Yes, though it's vacant right now. To my knowledge, there's not even a caretaker.”

“That's all to the good.” It would occasion less suspicion if the place was a bit derelict. “I'll be using it for only a short time, I expect. Now here's what I want you to do…”

While on the road to Brighton a fortnight past, Lord and Lady Sangerton's coach was set upon by a pair of highwaymen. The brigands relieved the earl of his diamond studs, his gold signet ring, and even the mother of pearl buttons on the fall of his trousers, as well as a strongbox filled with an undisclosed number of valuables. From Lady Sangerton, the robbers stole only a kiss—after informing the lady that she'd already suffered a loss, for the ruby pendant at her throat was assuredly paste.

As it happens, Lord Sangerton had lost the genuine necklace in a game of poque at Boodles some two months previously and had substituted a paste replica without his wife's knowledge.

Lady Sangerton has reportedly left London to visit her family in the Lake District with no plans to return for the foreseeable future.

At least not, one suspects, until Lord Sangerton recovers the real necklace.

From
Le Dernier Mot,

The Final Word on News That Everyone
Who Is Anyone Should Know

“Honestly, Serena, I have no idea how you can read with the coach rocking so.” Amelia raised a perfumed handkerchief to her nose. Despite the supposed strengthening properties of the lavender scent, her complexion was pale.

“It's no trouble,” Serena said as she held the tabloid to the shifting light spilling in through the slit in the window curtain. “Here, let me read it aloud to you. There's a rather amusing piece about highwaymen.”

“There's nothing amusing about highwaymen,” Amelia complained. “Especially when one is on a journey.”

Amelia wasn't a very good traveler in the best of times, but Sir Jonah had insisted that Amelia and Serena take the forward-facing squabs. He shared the other seat with Serena's maid, Eleanor, whose sleepy head was nodding precariously close to his shoulder. Serena had hoped to bring all the servants she'd need for the house party and ball with her to Wyndebourne in a couple of coaches, but Mr. Brownsmith would only let her take Amelia and Eleanor. He promised to send the rest after her in a day or two, assuring her that there were already plenty of willing hands in the estate's employ at Wyndebourne.

She suspected it was the steward's way of maintaining control over the event she was supposed to plan.

One
nice
thing
about
marrying
a
royal
duke,
she mused,
will
be
servants
who
don't still see me as the child they helped raise.

“Those highwaymen actually did the lady a favor,” Serena said after she finished reading the short article aloud to her companions.

“I fail to see how,” Amelia said.

“She had no idea her husband was the real thief. They opened her eyes.”

“So the serpent did to Eve, but the knowledge of good and evil gave her no joy,” Amelia countered. “Do you think Lady Sangerton is happier for knowing of her husband's gambling losses?”

“It's not the losses so much as the fact that he tried to hide them. It is deception which speaks to his lack of character,” Serena said. “And happier or not, Lady Sangerton owes those highwaymen. I'd certainly want to know if someone close to me were perpetrating a fraud.”

Sir Jonah shifted uncomfortably on his seat. It occurred to her that the big man was not accustomed to traveling by coach and was undoubtedly feeling confined.

“Would you care to signal a halt so you can ride for a while, Sir Jonah?”

She asked more for her sake than his. With every sway of the coach, Serena was strangely aware of how close his knees were to hers. Occasionally, their legs brushed against each other and a desperate tingly sensation shot up her thighs with each contact. It was why she was so intent on
Le
Dernier
Mot
. Ordinarily, she didn't make much time for tabloids, but by feigning interest in the gossipy rag, she could cover her hitched breaths with pretended outrage at something she'd read.

“No, I'll stay where I am,” Jonah said after he lifted the window shade to peer behind them at the horses following the coach. “The outrider in charge of Turk weighs a good bit less than I, so it's a rest for my horse to carry a lighter load on a journey of this length. Looks like he's doing fine with him. Your mare is keeping up as well.”

“I suppose she is mine, though I've never ridden her. Father bought her for me and couldn't pass up this opportunity to send her to the country.”

The coaching company advertised a nine-hour journey over the fifty-odd miles separating London and Portsmouth. However, Lord Wyndleton had requested a slower pace and more frequent stops to accommodate both his daughter's comfort and the horses being ridden along behind.

“I have to agree with Miss Braithwaite about the highwaymen,” Jonah said. “Articles like the one in your tabloid are attempts to make romantic Robin Hoods of them, but they are actually quite ruthless for the most part.”

“But no doubt our driver carries a gun,” Serena said.

“I didn't see one, and besides, a blunderbuss is a notoriously unreliable weapon,” Jonah said. “But don't fret, milady. I would never allow harm to befall you.”

Serena wondered if that was what was behind her father's insistence on sending the baronet with them. If his lordship had had any inkling of the misadventures she and Sir Jonah had already shared, he'd never have allowed him to set foot inside the coach, much less become a guest at Wyndebourne.

She shot a quick glance Jonah's way, relieved to find him peering out the window again.

Despite the fact that he'd played nursemaid to her after the cigar, he was still willing to head off for weeks of rusticating in the country with her. The memory of that failed foray into forbidden pleasures made her cheeks heat with embarrassment. It was a painful reminder that not all intimate moments were romantic ones.

Not
that
I
want
any
romantic
moments
with
Jonah
Sharp.

“Suppose a highwayman realized who you were,” Amelia broke in. “He might rightly assume you'd be worth a good deal more than any jewels we're carrying.”

“You're borrowing trouble,” Serena said.

Amelia leaned across the small space and put a hand on Jonah's forearm. “If we should be stopped, don't worry about our things. They can be replaced. Take the extra horses and ride away with Serena as fast as you can.”

“Amelia, please.”

“It would go against my conscience to abandon you and Lady Serena's maid,” Jonah said.

“But it goes against sense not to,” Amelia said with forcefulness Serena rarely heard from her. “You must promise me, Sir Jonah.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, there's not a brigand in sight!” Serena stuffed the folded tabloid back into her reticule. She certainly wasn't going to read the article about footpads in Chelsea aloud now lest Amelia see one behind every tree.

“I suppose you're right,” Jonah said to Amelia as if he hadn't even heard Serena's objections. “In such an instance, that would be the most prudent action.”

“But—” Serena began.

“But it's highly unlikely we'll be set upon by highwaymen,” he said. “Didn't you read that the pair of brigands was seen on the Brighton road?”

“That's right,” Serena said. “Chances are good they wouldn't risk a different area, would they? After all, miscreants of that sort need a bolt hole someplace close, I'd imagine, and—why are you smiling like that?”

Sir Jonah gave up and let out the chuckle he'd evidently been suppressing. “The turn of your mind never fails to amaze me.”

“How so?”

“You seem to know a great deal about the practical needs of a pair of felons.”

“It's pure logic, nothing more. I'm only using the mind God gave me.”

“Remind me to thank Him. You have a very nimble mind.”

His odd compliment made heat bloom up her neck and spread across her cheeks. Some women were praised for their eyes, their swan-like necks, and white hands. Sonnets had been composed to the dimples on a lady's knees in some of the more salacious love poetry she'd read. She'd never heard of a man praising the way a woman's mind worked.

It was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

“You know, on second thought, I believe I will ride for a bit.” Sir Jonah rapped on the coach's ceiling and the team of four dray horses came to a lumbering halt. He lifted the curtain and peered out. “It's cold but clear. Would you care to ride as well, Lady Serena?”

She wouldn't be able to use her muff, but she had a pair of good gloves in her pocket. Her pelisse was fur-lined. If she wrapped her muffler around her neck twice, she'd be warm enough.

“You can't, dear,” Amelia said. “The mare isn't equipped with a side saddle.”

That settled it. “I'd greatly admire the chance to ride, Sir Jonah.”

***

The March sun promised warmth, but the brisk wind gave it the lie as it whipped away any hope of heat. The shivering outriders were quick to disappear into the coach with Amelia and Eleanor. Despite the cold, Serena fairly danced with excitement as she tried to figure out how to mount the horse without totally sacrificing her modesty.

“Turn around,” she ordered Jonah before she put her left foot in the stirrup and hauled herself onto the back of the mare.

Her column dress was a bit narrow to ride astride without hitching it up almost to her knees, but when she undid the row of buttons on her pelisse from the hem to her waist, she was able to spread the warm coat over her legs and drape the excess over the horse's rump behind her.

“Very well, you may turn back around now.”

He walked over and pulled aside her pelisse, baring her ankle.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking to make sure you can reach the stirrups on both sides. These are too long.” He bent and made quick work of adjusting the straps on the stirrups.

If he was distracted by her nearly naked legs—her pantalets were thin enough to be almost transparent, after all—he gave no sign. The situation made Serena's skin tingle with something more than cold. After he finished the left side, he went around to the right to shorten that one. Finally, he took her booted foot in hand and pushed it further into the stirrup.

“Heels down,” he advised before mounting his gelding in a fluid movement.

“This is item number four, you know,” she said.

He gave her a quizzical look.

“On my list of forbidden pleasures.” It was likely to remind him of her last failed adventure, but she was so excited about this one, she couldn't resist sharing. “I've always wanted to ride astride.”

“Then I'm gratified to help you cross another small escapade off your list.”

Jonah's eyes sparked with amusement, but she didn't care. It might seem a small thing to him, but it was yet another experience she'd been denied until now. She settled into the saddle, a surge of accomplishment washing over her.

Of course, it would be better if she could figure out how to make the horse move forward. When she rode aside, she merely chirruped to her mount or perhaps drummed its side with one heel to encourage it to walk on.

As if she'd asked him, Jonah said, “When you wish to proceed, squeeze the horse between your thighs.”

“Thi—”
She couldn't bring herself to repeat the word. Granted, she was a bit unconventional and they had shared some unique situations with each other, but the man had the temerity to say “thighs” to her, bold as brass, as if it weren't a serious breach of etiquette. “A gentleman would have said ‘limbs,' you know.”

“Perhaps if he were speaking of a tree,” Jonah said with a wicked smile. “I believe in direct discourse.”

Indirect discourse might have been vague, but it also wouldn't have made her cheeks heat.

Sir Jonah signaled the coach driver, and when the equipage began rolling, his mount trotted after it.

Serena's mare stood stock-still.

Squeeze
the
horse
between
your
thighs.

That was something new. She gave the mare an experimental squeeze.

The horse ambled forward.

Serena clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth and the mare broke into a trot. She moved with the horse, lifting herself in time with the mare's gait. Between posting and squeezing the mare again and again to keep her moving forward, Serena decided that riding astride might not be as freeing an experience as she'd hoped. At least the constant squeezing and rocking kept her from feeling the cold. She caught up with Jonah in short order.

“So, don't you think it's about time you told me what else is on that list of yours?” he said.

“Why? So you can make fun of me?”

“Would I do that?”

“In a heartbeat.”

One of his dark brows arched. “Nonsense. I helped you with the cigar, didn't I?”

“For which I'm not sure I should thank you.” Sometimes she still thought she could taste that horrid smoke. “Besides, whether or not you
helped
me with the cigar is highly debatable.”

“I saw you home safe when things went awry at least.” He shook his head. “That's the problem with adventures. They don't always turn out as we expect.”

She shot him a sidelong glance. “What adventure have you had that didn't turn out as expected?”

He laughed. “Where would I start? My brother and I got into countless scrapes as lads. None of which was our fault, you understand.”

“Of course not,” she said with a laugh. “I am always bitterly disappointed when I'm blamed for the things I do. Now, upon what sort of boyish misdeeds did you and your brother embark?”