The Perfect Princess (24 page)

They were expected. As they neared the gatehouse, porters came running and swung open the massive iron gates—porters, Richard noted, who were wearing the same livery as the men who were escorting him.

The Middle Ages, it seemed, had arrived in the shape of the Castle Devere.

All he wanted was sleep. What he got was a lecture from Hugh, warning him that from now on he was to answer only to the name of Richard Harris, and that he was elevated to the rank of one of Lady Rosamund’s rescuers.
After Hugh came the doctor, who had fingers like steel claws, and finally the valet, who ordered him into a tub of hot water. Then he slept.

It was a restless sleep. He kept dreaming of chessboards, and pawns in blue and gold livery who were out for his blood. He knew that if he could only capture their queen, he could grasp the king and his nightmare would be over, but she was too clever, too elusive. Just when he thought he had her, she changed her shape and became one of the pawns.

It was the sound of the door latch that awakened him. One moment he was asleep and the next he was reaching for his pistol by the side of his bed.

It was only the valet, who had returned with his clothes all nicely brushed and pressed. He gaped at the pistol that was pointed straight at him.

Richard tucked the pistol under his pillow, and without a word of explanation got out of bed. “Where is everyone?” he asked.

The valet blinked, but spoke as though nothing unusual had happened. “I was to tell you when you wakened, Mr. Harris, that your presence is requested in the yellow salon.”

Richard began to dress. “What of His Grace? Will he be there?”

“No. His Grace remains at Twickenham House.”

It was the only good news he’d heard in a long time.

Ten minutes later, now fortified with a glass of excellent Madeira, courtesy of the beaming valet, Richard was escorted downstairs by another beaming footman. Every servant who passed treated him to a smile. These were not the men who had escorted him from Dunsmoor to Castle Devere. When he asked the footman who was escorting him where they were, he learned that they were sleeping off the effects of a celebratory dinner Lord Caspar had laid on for them.

In the Great Hall, they passed stuffed warhorses with
plumed knights on their backs. A lion skin, complete with head and fangs, guarded the cavernous stone hearth. Tapestries depicting ancient battles adorned the walls. The silver, the crystal, the intricately carved furniture—all spoke volumes, and what they told Richard was that he had entered the domain of a proud and privileged dynasty.

As though he needed reminding.

The yellow salon was at the end of a long, drafty corridor. When he was announced, he squared his shoulders, and entered.

A
s
the others had already dined, Lord Caspar had one of the footmen bring a pot of coffee and a tray of sandwiches for Richard, a courtesy that was much appreciated since it was hours since he had eaten. There were only four of them in that snug study, Lord Caspar, Hugh, Harper, and himself, and as Richard ate, the others explained how and why they came to be there.

Lord Caspar, he learned, had been quick off the mark, and had turned up on Hugh’s doorstep less than twenty-four hours after he, Richard, had escaped from Newgate. He also learned that he had Abbie to thank for persuading Hugh to tell Lord Caspar about Dunsmoor.

“You know Abbie,” said Hugh. “Though she was well aware that no harm would come to Lady Rosamund with you, Richard, she couldn’t bear to think of the torments her family must be suffering. So I made a bargain with Lord Caspar. If you did not release Lady Rosamund within twenty-four hours, I would help him track you
down. To be quite honest, I was sure you would return her to her family the first chance you got, and that would have been the end of it. But when you didn’t do as I expected, I thought things must have gone terribly wrong. So it was as much for your sake as Lady Rosamund’s that I decided to become involved. At any rate, Harper has explained the delay in releasing Lady Rosamund, but all things considered, you’re much better off under the duke’s protection than you were fending for yourself.”

“I don’t think there’s any doubt of that,” answered Lord Caspar dryly. He had a decanter of port in his hand, and after pouring out a glass for Richard, topped up the others’ glasses. “Short of granting you a pardon, which is beyond my father’s power, you can name your own terms, Maitland.”

“Does that apply to Harper, too?” asked Richard.

Harper was elated at the way things had turned out and it showed. “There’s no need to worry about me, Colonel, sir. I’m going to be a hero. Seems like you tricked me into thinking you was on a secret mission, and that’s why I helped you escape from Newgate. Then, when you wouldn’t let Lady Rosamund go, I began to have my doubts, so when your back was turned, I took off and made straight for Mr. Templar to ask his advice.”

Hugh took up the story. “And I shall say that I went straight to Lord Caspar, and here we are.”

“And,” said Lord Caspar, “all we shall tell the authorities about you is that you disappeared into the mist without a trace.”

Richard chewed on the last bite of his last sandwich and washed it down with a swallow of port. He was doing more than listening to his companions’ explanations and account of events. He was taking impressions, registering little changes in expression and tone of voice, adding up everything that was unsaid. One thing was abundantly clear. Hugh and Harper, whose judgment he trusted, had complete confidence in Lord Caspar. It
went some way to allaying his own suspicion that Lord Caspar would renege on the bargain he’d made with Hugh. It would be a stupid thing to do, but Lord Caspar might not know that no one crossed Hugh Templar, former master spy in His Majesty’s Secret Service, and got away with it.

He looked at Hugh and an unspoken message passed between them. Lord Caspar, Hugh’s look told him, was not a stupid man.

Richard said abruptly, “You have yet to explain, Hugh, how you found me. Who told you about Dunsmoor?”

“Ah.” Hugh smiled ruefully. “I eavesdropped on a conversation between you and your solicitor, so I knew about the house on the Berkshire downs. Lord Caspar and I tracked down Mr. Harley, who very obligingly told us about Dunsmoor. It seemed reasonable to suppose that that’s where you would make for. I simply plotted your course and there it was—Newgate, Chelsea, Lavenham to see me, then into Berkshire.”

Richard said tersely, “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have—” He checked himself, sighed, then after a moment said in exasperation, “I can’t believe you eavesdropped on a private conversation between my solicitor and me. Is nothing sacred?”

Hugh laughed. “Not to two old hands like us, Richard, leastways not eavesdropping. Besides, you should be thanking me. If we hadn’t appeared when we did, Digby would have arrested you, and I don’t think you would succeed in escaping from Newgate a second time.” Hugh watched Richard’s expression change, and he shook his head. “No, we didn’t lead Digby to you. In fact, it turns out that we were following
him
. He was ahead of us, Richard, and we only caught up to him because he decided to wait out the fog in the local tavern.”

Lord Caspar said, “You must have left a trail and he followed it.”

“Or,” said Hugh, “he knew about Dunsmoor.”

Richard didn’t think he’d left a trail, but he’d made the journey when he was at his lowest ebb. It was possible that he’d grown careless. The other alternative, that Digby had known about Dunsmoor, was more disturbing.

He looked up to find Lord Caspar’s eyes upon him, assessing eyes that looked faintly puzzled, then the look was gone.

“So,” said Richard, “where do we go from here?”

Lord Caspar smiled, the first smile he had cracked in Richard’s memory. “Twickenham,” he said. “His Grace, as I’m sure you’ll understand, is anxious to make your acquaintance.”

“We’ll be his lordship’s footmen,” said Harper. His eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “And don’t you worry none, Colonel, sir. No one will recognize you, ’cos no one ever gives servants a second stare.”

“His lordships’s
what?”
demanded Richard between his teeth.

“It need not be for long,” Hugh added diplomatically. “This will give you a respite, Richard, time to get on your feet before you decide where you want to go and what you want to do.”

Richard held Hugh’s stare for a moment, then looked away. He didn’t resent the fact that he would be disguised as a footman, but that he would be at his lordship’s beck and call, a prospect Lord Caspar seemed to be relishing if his smile was anything to go by. When it occurred to him that he was behaving like a sulky schoolboy, he almost smiled. He had to admit that if their positions were reversed, if Lord Caspar had abducted Rosamund, his lordship most likely wouldn’t be breathing right now.

Maybe the duke would make up for his son’s omission?

Lord Caspar’s next remark went some way to allaying that suspicion. “Naturally, you may depend on my
father’s support. A Devere’s word is his bond, and His Grace will not renege on the bargain he made with Mr. Templar. If you want safe passage out of England, that can be arranged. If you want to change your identity and start fresh somewhere else, that can be arranged, too. But all that can be gone into when you meet with my father.”

There was more in this vein, but Richard’s mind was appraising the merits of hiding out at Twickenham House, at least until he was on his feet again. The more he thought about it, the better he liked the idea. No one would think of looking for him there, and it would be a great relief not to be watching his back all the time. And, as Hugh said, it need not be for long. A week should do it. Two at the most. Then he would do what he’d always intended to do—flush out the persons responsible for falsely incriminating him.

There was one little problem. Rosamund.

As the conversation went on around him, he let the problem of Rosamund revolve in his mind. He had to talk to her and make sure she understood that what happened at the bothy hadn’t meant anything. They’d both been in the grip of powerful emotions. Fear had drawn them together. He’d comforted her. She’d comforted him. That’s all it was.

Leastways, that’s what he was going to impress upon her. The truth was, there was no future for them. This was her future, Castle Devere and her brother, Lord Caspar. He could no more fit into her world than she could fit into his.

Special Branch—that was his world, and though it was lost to him right now, he wanted it back. And if it wasn’t Special Branch, it would be something similar. It was true that Dunsmoor had a sizeable acreage and provided a comfortable living, but that was a far cry from the luxury Rosamund was used to.

Not that Rosamund cared about luxury. What she wanted was a life of her own.

If only I were an ordinary girl
.

Her words tormented him because he felt so helpless. He wanted to set her free, but he didn’t know how it could be done, short of marrying her, and that was out of the question. It wasn’t only her wealth that separated them. The Deveres were a powerful family, and highly connected. If they wanted to, they could utterly crush him. Even now, his fate was in their hands. Besides, he’d only known the girl for a week, and he mistrusted these softer feelings she stirred in him.

What he would like to do was take the duke aside and talk to him man-to-man. There was more to Rosamund, he would say, than the duke realized. Then he would drive home his point by illustrating how resourceful she’d been during her few days of captivity.

He bit back a chuckle when he remembered how she had almost unmanned Harper when her gun went off in the coach; how she had set the brawny rioter on him to make good her escape; how she’d lectured him on what he should have done when he escaped from Newgate; how she’d attacked him outside the cottage in Chelsea, sending him flying into the bramble bushes.

He’d told her that she was the loveliest and most desirable woman of his acquaintance. He should also have told her that she was the only woman who could make him laugh.

Rosamund
, he thought.
Ah, Rosamund. If only
. . .

Lord Caspar’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “Have I said something to amuse you, Maitland?”

Richard wiped the grin from his face and said sheepishly, “The port. It’s made me drowsy.” He got up, bid them all a polite goodnight and left.

Lord Caspar followed him out and shut the door. His lordship wasted no time with niceties. “How much
money,” he said, “will it take to persuade you not to marry my sister?”

Richard felt as though a steel comb had been raked through his teeth. When he could unlock his jaw, he said, “I think you must be confusing me with someone else.”

Lord Caspar took a step closer and his eyes narrowed. “Let’s not play games, Maitland. How much?”

Richard inhaled a long, calming breath. “If you knew me better,” he said, “you’d know that those tactics won’t work with me. If I decide to marry Lady Rosamund, I won’t be bought off or frightened away. A simple ‘no’ from Rosamund will suffice.”