The Perfect Princess (15 page)

She searched his face anxiously. “Oh, Hugh, what can we do?”

“We behave as if nothing has happened. We’ll visit the Roman ruins and the local points of interest, and in a few days, we’ll return to town.” When she shook her head, he rose abruptly and paced to the window. With his back to her, he went on, “I don’t like it any more than you do, but that was the plan, and we’re keeping to it. It’s what Richard wanted, not only for our sakes but for his as well.” He turned to face her. “Richard insisted that if things went wrong, it was every man for himself. That means—”

“I know what it means! And it sounds heartless!”

A muscle clenched in Hugh’s cheek. “It’s not heartless. It was the code we lived by as agents. We’re not out of the woods yet. I’m the first person the authorities will suspect of helping Richard. I thought you understood that. They could be here at any moment. They may be watching us as I speak. I’m not going to risk leading them to Richard.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” She shrugged helplessly. “I just wish there was something we could do.”

He crossed to her and with hands on her shoulders raised her to her feet. “Listen to me, Abbie. Richard was a crack agent. In Spain, he worked with the partisans. There was a price on his head. He always managed to stay one step ahead of his enemies. He’ll do it this time, too.”

She attempted a smile. “That’s what he once told me about you.”

“They won’t catch Richard, I promise you.”

“Then where will he go? What will he do? And what about Harper?”

“I don’t know. But you can bet that Richard had it all planned out before he broke out of Newgate. There’s a
house somewhere, in Berkshire. It was left to him by someone, I don’t know who. He may go there.”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it! I thought all he had were his rooms in Jermyn Street. So, where is this house?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Richard never mentioned it. But I overheard him in conversation with his solicitor once. When he realized I was there, he closed the door to his office. I think that’s where he’ll go, and Harper will join him as soon as he can.”

“What,” said Abbie with some asperity, “is so mysterious about a house in Berkshire that he couldn’t tell his friends about it? And it isn’t as though he has friends to spare. There’s just Harper and us.”

“There’s Jason Radley and his wife.”

“Richard hasn’t known them very long, and anyway, aren’t they touring France on a belated honeymoon?”

“So I heard. But I know Jason would have been here like a shot if Richard had only let him know of the trouble he was in.”

“Then why
didn’t
he?” demanded Abbie angrily.

“Because,” said Hugh, “Richard is a lone wolf. He doesn’t make friends easily. He’s like me, Abbie.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Before I met you.”

She didn’t return his smile as he’d expected, but shivered. “That’s what is so awful,” she said. “It could have happened to you, to anyone. Wouldn’t you think that the authorities would have known that a man of Richard’s stature could never have murdered that poor girl?”

“They might, if the scene hadn’t been so cleverly set to incriminate him, and Richard is his own worst enemy. He’s aloof, uncommunicative. He rubbed the investigating magistrates the wrong way. He wouldn’t even communicate with his friends, except to tell us not to get involved.”

“Well, thank God,” she said with feeling, “his friends did not listen to him. I just wish we could do more.”

“I know.”

“He’s so alone.”

“I know.”

“It’s his parents I feel sorry for. To live so far away and not know what’s going on.”

Hugh patted her shoulder. “I know.”

“If only he were married.”

“I don’t think Richard will ever marry. He’s too solitary, too reserved.”

“That could change, if he met the right woman.”

“Now, hold on! It’s a bit premature to be thinking of that. He’s already got one woman to worry about.”

Her brows arched. “Oh, yes, he had it all planned out, did he? And where did Lady Rosamund fit into his plans? Mmm?”

Hugh grinned. “That was a complication Richard couldn’t have foreseen. But she won’t be a complication for long. I’m betting that the first chance he gets, he’ll drop her at some isolated inn, then vanish into thin air.”

“If I took you up on every idle bet you make,” she said crossly, “I’d be a rich woman. What are you grinning at?”

“Richard and Lady Rosamund. They’re like oil and water. He’s the complete republican who would like nothing better than to see the aristocracy abolished, and she’s one step away from becoming a princess. She’s everything Richard cannot abide—privileged, haughty—”

Hugh stopped speaking, because Abbie was shaking her head. “You don’t think she’s haughty?” he asked.

“No. And I don’t think she’s privileged either.”

“Abbie, she’s a duke’s daughter. They live on a different plane from the rest of us.”

“That’s just what I mean.” She plumped herself down on the bed, then patted the mattress, inviting Hugh to join her. When he did, she went on, “She hasn’t spoken to me or anything like that, but I’ve watched her at the odd functions we’ve attended, and she strikes me as . . . well, a lonely person. She’s never allowed to mix with
ordinary people, only with dignitaries and people of her own class. She’s always smiling, always polite, but sometimes a look comes over her face—oh, I don’t know how to explain it!—but it’s as if she were a prisoner, and all the people around her are her jailors, not her friends.”

Hugh began to laugh, but stopped when he saw Abbie’s expression. “Well, anything is possible, I suppose,” he said.

“You’re the one who is always telling me that I’m a good judge of character.”

“No. What I’m always telling you is that you are quick to think the best of people. And if you hadn’t been so inclined, we wouldn’t be married. I’d still be that lone wolf.”

She pounced on that. “But who knew you were a lone wolf? Not me! Not when all those lovely ladies were throwing out lures to you, lures you were quick to pick up, I might add.”

“Abbie, that’s old history!”

“I’m only bringing it up to make a point. You say that Richard and Lady Rosamund are like oil and water. And I say they are two of a kind. I wonder how many close friends she has. No more than Richard, is my guess.” A thought struck her. “Hugh?”

“What?”

“I hope Richard isn’t terrifying that poor girl. I mean, we both know he’s a man of honor, but he can be ruthless when he wants to be.”

“Don’t worry, Abbie. Richard is no fool. He has enough troubles without making mortal enemies of Lady Rosamund’s august father and hot-tempered brothers. They’re more to be feared than any branch of the Secret Service. Richard knows this, which is why I am confident that Lady Rosamund will soon be back with her family with little to complain about except, perhaps, a few ruffled feathers.”

“Poor Romsey,” she said softly. “What he must be
going through! He doesn’t know Richard as we do. He’ll be fearing the worst.” Her head suddenly lifted. “Hugh, do you think they’ll come after us?”

“You can count on it. But not Special Branch. They won’t be allowed to investigate one of their own. It will be another branch of the Service.”

“I wasn’t thinking of the Secret Service. I meant Romsey and his sons.”

“Good Lord!” After a moment’s sobering reflection, Hugh said, “It won’t come to that. They won’t come after us if they get Lady Rosamund back. And I’m sure Richard will release the girl the first chance he gets.”

Abbie nodded. “Of course he will.”

They both stilled when the front door knocker sounded.

“Could that be Richard?” Abbie whispered. “Or perhaps Harper?”

“At the front door? That doesn’t seem likely. Wait here.”

Hugh quickly donned his jacket and left the room. The visitor was becoming impatient, and the knocker beat a relentless tattoo. It wasn’t Richard or Harper, however, who faced Hugh when he flung open the front door.

“Lord Caspar,” he said, then recovering himself quickly. “Well, well, well! Speak of the devil! Come in, come in.”

R
osamund came slowly awake. When she breathed in the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, her brow wrinkled. That was odd. Nan had made a mistake. It wasn’t coffee she drank first thing in the morning, but chocolate, sweetened with a little honey. And why were the candles lit? Nan should have pulled back the curtains to let the sunlight in. She turned her head and stared at the window. Dawn was creeping over the horizon.
Dawn?
She was never awakened before ten o’clock.

Her next thought made her groan.
Maitland
.

He was seated at the table, calmly drinking a cup of coffee, looking as hale and hearty as she’d ever seen him. This was her doing, she thought. She’d bound his wound and stanched the bleeding, and now he was ready for anything.

Was she insane?

He said, “Your coffee is getting cold.”

She pulled herself up and said none-too-pleasantly, “What?”

“Your coffee.” He indicated the coffeepot on the table. “Get up, Rosamund. There’s something I want to say to you. You see, I’ve figured out how to get rid of . . . how I can return you to your family without any risk to myself.”

She stared at him hard. Was this a trick? Could she believe him? Anyway, what choice did she have?

She didn’t waste time in arranging her hair or straightening her clothes. All she did was slip into Harper’s jacket. When she was seated at the table and drinking her own cup of coffee, Maitland told her his plan.

“It’s simple,” he said. “I’m going to hire a chaise and tell the postboys to take you to your house in Twickenham. I, of course, shall make other arrangements for myself.”

He was certainly in a good humor this morning. And she hadn’t missed his nasty, half-finished sentence—
I’ve figured out how to get rid of
. . . He meant how to get rid of
her
, of course. She was afraid to believe him, afraid of being let down again. There had to be a catch in it somewhere.

He sat back in his chair. “I thought you’d be overjoyed.”

“Mmm,” she said musingly. “It’s the part about sending me home without any risk to yourself that bothers me.” She curled both hands around her cup, and went on carefully, “What’s to stop me, as soon as the chaise is out of your sight, from redirecting the postboys to the nearest magistrates? They would be after you before you could say your own name. Not that I would do such a thing,” she hastened to add. “I’m only trying to see things from your point of view.”

“You’ll be gagged and tied up.” He frowned when she sucked in a breath. “Listen to me, Rosamund, I need
time to get away, and I doubt if the postboys will notice you until you reach your destination. That will give me a two-hour head start. That’s all I want.”

It was true, then. He really was going to let her go. She didn’t mind, not really, about the gag or being tied up. From his point of view, it made perfect sense. There were worse things that could happen to her.

She wanted to thank him. She wanted to tell him that she wouldn’t cause any trouble, or tell the authorities where he was, not even when she was back with her family. She wanted to tell him that she believed in his innocence, and when she was free, she would do everything in her power to clear his name. But she didn’t tell him any of these things because she knew he wouldn’t believe her.

He got up. “I’ll give you five minutes to get ready, but don’t try any tricks.”

She sat there, unmoving, as she heard him lock the door on the outside. The thought of disobeying him flashed through her mind, but only because he’d put the thought there. She didn’t want to betray him, because then he would surely hang, and in spite of everything, she really did believe in his innocence.

But that didn’t mean she had to like him.

Five minutes, he’d said. She made for the closet first.

In the livery stable, when he tried to order a chaise, Richard received a setback.

“You’d be quicker walking, guv’nor,” said the proprietor, who was also the ostler. “’Aven’t you ’eard? Some duke’s daughter got ’erself snatched, and the militia have set up barricades on all the bridges. No one and nothing is getting in or out of London unless the militia says so.”

This put paid to Richard’s plans of sending Rosamund home to Twickenham. Her chaise would be
stopped on Westminster Bridge, and that was too close for comfort. The militia would be on his tail like a swarm of hornets. He couldn’t change his plans, not if he wanted to meet up with Harper. He’d have to send her somewhere else.

Brighton, he thought. They’d probably stop in a matter of hours to water the horses, and the postboys would find her. By then it would be too late to catch up to him. Yes, Brighton would do very well.

“I want a chaise at once,” he said. “See to it.” And to soften his command, he tossed a shilling into the air, which the ostler caught with the ease of long practice.

“And,” said Richard, “if the chaise is ready to roll by the time I fetch my brother, there’ll be another shilling for you.”

The ostler grinned. “It’ll be ready, guv.”