He allowed himself a knowing smile. Freya might be one of the boldest women he’d ever met but he knew when she was nervous.
Her shoulders lifted as she took in a deep breath then she turned toward him. “Tell me, what happens if they decide I should not be taking part in all of this?”
“Well, we shall have to kill you of course.”
She blinked at him several times then a brow rose. “You are teasing me.”
“Naturally.” He offered a quick smile. “Rosamunde is already determined you are to be our newest member. Her husband would never argue with her and Nash is usually content to go along with whatever decisions are made. Grace will most likely make up her mind about you after you meet. She’s the analytical sort.”
“I recall writing of their nuptials, but I confess, I do not know much about Lady Southam.”
“We kidnapped Grace.”
“Oh my.”
Guy nodded. “It is how they met. She needed to hide away for a while. I cannot say I approved of their relationship initially, but Grace has been a steadying influence on Nash.”
“And I imagine you are happy that your friend has found love,” she said, nudging him with an arm.
“Oh, yes, that too.”
She rolled her eyes. “Such a romantic.”
The woman had no idea. No idea at all. At this point, he’d concluded they had little choice but to bring her in. He didn’t like it for a few reasons. Firstly, the group had expanded a little too much. The fewer people involved, the better. However, Grace and Rosamunde were more than useful members. Grace with her rather large intellect was able to find solutions to almost any problem and Rosamunde was about the boldest of them all. Having a woman with connections did not hurt them either.
Still, he’d have preferred to keep Freya out of it. For most of them, should anything be discovered, their ranks might protect them. For Freya, he could not be so certain and there was only so much he could do. The thought of anything happening to her because of him made his chest tight.
“We’re here,” he announced, drawing the buggy to a halt outside of a dilapidated farm building. Set amongst the gentle slopes of the Surrey countryside, the grey stone building offered little more than shelter from prying eyes. Tiles were missing from the roof and the door hung off its hinges. Guy stepped down from the carriage and assisted Freya in climbing down. She paused, straightened her skirts and eyed the building.
“This is your meeting place?”
“For now. We change meeting place regularly these days. It’s safest that way.”
“Goodness.”
“Goodness?”
“When I started following you, I could not have fathomed this was what you were up to.”
“No. I was some evil abductor of women, was I not?”
She gave him a look. “I only thought that briefly.”
“I knew it.” He gestured inside, noting the horses tucked around the rear of the building. “Come, it looks as though the others are here.”
He pushed open the creaky door and he ushered Freya in. Daylight seeped through the holes in the roof and the shutterless windows whilst everyone gathered in the center of the building. Nash gestured to the roof. “I want it noted this is my least favorite place to meet.”
His wife, a dark-haired woman of extremely small stature, shook her head. “This is the best, Nash. I already counted the number of people we saw on the road and there’s a far less chance of being spotted here than any of our other meeting places.”
“Must you be so logical,” he grumbled.
She blinked a few times. “Always.”
Freya glanced around at the four other people, her posture stiff. For some reason, Guy’s chest tightened for her. Why, he did not know. It seemed important that the other members accept Freya but then he supposed it was, after all, if they took her into the group, she would never write about them.
Not that he ever expected Freya would now. She was many things—determined, stubborn, far too hardworking—but she cared far too deeply to put the women they helped at risk.
“I’m so glad you are here,” Rosie said with a smile. “I just knew you would be perfect for us.”
“Thank you.” Freya clasped her hands together. “I’m glad to be here.”
“Russell tells me Miss Haversham here has made quite the impression on you, Guy.” Nash offered a sly smile. “She must be special indeed for you to want to bring her in.”
Guy glared at Nash and his grin widened.
“Actually, Lord Huntingdon told me of your latest problem,” Freya said before he could come to her defense.
Of course, the woman did not need him running to her aid. She was so used to doing everything alone. He could not help but wish she’d let him help her a little more, though, at times. Or a lot more.
Not that such thoughts were helpful right now. He’d already come too damned close to giving in and sweeping her into her bedroom and to hell with whatever she thought of him. But he couldn’t. He’d scare her. Maybe hurt her. He just couldn’t do that to her.
“I think I could help,” she continued. “Naturally you are all known to Pembroke, but I will not be. No one knows my face.”
“Oh yes.” Rosamunde nodded. “Your anonymity could be quite useful.”
“I thought I might pretend I am looking for work. I could get into the house to speak with the housekeeper then try to make contact with Lady Pembroke.”
Guy glanced around. Russell shrugged. Grace frowned for a few moments, drew out a notepad then nodded.
“It’s a better solution than any we have come up with.” Nash pointed to Russell. “Since it became known he’s your brother, it’s been harder for Russell to go unnoticed, and Rosie already attempted to call on her but had no luck.”
“It’s settled then. I shall go enter their house and speak with Lady Pembroke.”
“Not without me you will not,” Guy said tightly.
Grace shook her head. “But everyone knows you, Guy. It makes no sense for you to accompany a maid.”
“I’m not leaving Freya alone in the house of a known bastard like Pembroke.”
“Guy...” Russell warned.
He lifted a hand. “I shall remain hidden, but I refuse to send her into danger alone.”
Freya twisted toward him. “I’m sure I can manage—”
“Don’t argue with me on this,” he told her. “For once in your life.”
She eyed him for a few moments before sighing. “Very well. I shall go into the house and you can remain nearby. Happy?”
Guy grimaced and Nash caught his eye, his smile far too smug for Guy’s liking. When had he gone from being entirely in charge of this club to essentially being told what to do by all the female members?
“HOW IS YOUR mother?” Lucy asked, glancing up from her sewing.
Freya paused too, flexing her aching hand. “Much better. I think I shall have to bring her home soon.”
“Have to?”
“Well, I can hardly trespass on the earl’s hospitality for much longer. It would not be right.”
And if she stayed, she could not guarantee she would ever want to leave. The man had put his reputation, his life on the line to help women for years now. The more she learned about him, the harder it was to avoid the truth of the matter. He might have privilege and wealth, but he was no average member of the ton. Unfortunately, that made her like him all the more.
It made her like him too much.
If this continued, she might well end up falling entirely, head over boots in love with him, and where would that leave her? Penniless reporters did not marry earls. Not to mention he kept pushing her away. She would be a fool to stay longer than necessary.
Lucy lowered the fabric and needle to the table and rose, moving around where they worked to retrieve a biscuit from the nearby plate. She handed one to Freya and took a large bite of her own. Freya set down her work and nibbled on the edge of it while Lucy leaned against the back of
a chair and eyed Freya.
“I think the earl will not want you to leave.”
Freya shook her head. “He will, trust me.”
“I saw how he looked at you when you were here before.”
“Yes, with annoyance.”
“And he bought you the ribbon, and he took your mother in when she was ailing.”
“And he made Brig a perambulator,” Freya added then paused, putting a hand to her mouth.
“He did what?”
“He made Brig a perambulator so I would not have to carry him to the park,” Freya admitted.
Lucy yanked out the chair next to Freya, dropped herself down on it and shoved the remaining biscuit in her mouth. “Wait a moment. He made it? By hand?”
Freya nodded grimly. “It is quite beautiful.”
“Dear God, he must be in love with you.”
A laugh escaped her. “Love? That’s preposterous.”
“Why else would an earl of all people make your dog something by hand if he did not love you?”
Freya lifted a shoulder. “He is just that sort of person. He sees a problem and wants to fix it.”
“Not unlike someone else I know.” Lucy eyed her. “And this also explains why you are dropping the story you thought would make your career.”
Freya eased out a breath. Not telling Lucy everything was the hardest thing in the world. “I am dropping it because there is no story.”
“You were so certain for so long, Freya. There must be something there, though I cannot believe it is anything nefarious. The man helps sick mothers and old dogs, it seems. Hardly the sort to prey on poor little society women.”
“He isn’t,” she confirmed. “And so I have nothing to write about.”
“Or there’s still something but you are too in love with him to reveal it.” Lucy pursed her lips. “Though, what could it be if he’s too good a man to harm anyone?”
The story of a lifetime, Freya admitted silently. If she wrote about an earl kidnapping women to escape beastly members of the nobility, she would never want for work again. Every paper would want her to write for them. But she couldn’t do it. Not to Lord Huntingdon and not to the women he’d aided.
“Lord Huntingdon would not harm anyone,” she confirmed. “And there is no story.”
“So what will you do now?”
Freya discarded the half-eaten biscuit on the table, her appetite gone. Not because Lucy had hit on anything, of course. Loving an earl would be ridiculous for a woman like her. It happened too often. They ended up tossed away like her biscuit, used up and often pregnant.
Lord Huntingdon would never do such a thing, of course. She knew that because, honestly, he could have taken her willingly to bed last week, and he did not. Instead, he’d left her with the oddest, sweetest kiss on the forehead and sent her away.
It did not take her investigative skills for her to realize nothing would ever come of whatever was between them. No love, no silly ideas of marriage, no stolen moments together. Lord Huntingdon did kind things because that was who he was. He was entirely incapable of being anything else.
She was nothing special to him.
“I will have to find another story I suppose.”
“I’m sure one will come up. What of that man you were investigating recently? The baron?”
Freya hadn’t explained why she had decided to delve into his business dealings to Lucy, but she had concluded if she was going into enemy territory, any information she had on him would help.
“He is not a good man, I know that much.”
“Well, then that’s your story. He might not be an earl, but if he is involved in something nefarious, you have a duty to write about it.”
Freya nodded slowly. “You’re right.” So now she just had to find the time, in between aiding The Kidnap Club, and the rest of her duties, she would need to dig deeper into the man’s past.
“I still cannot believe the earl made you a perambulator.” Lucy shook her head with a smile. “If I were you, I would have fallen at his feet and begged him to take me then and there.”
“Lucy!”
She chuckled. “You are a better woman than I.”
Freya wasn’t so sure. If the earl had wanted her, she would have given herself. She probably still would. She had a horrible suspicion that even one night with the earl might be worth the heartbreak that would follow.
Not that her heart could be broken anyway. One had to be in love with a person for that to happen, and she certainly was not in love with Lord Huntingdon. Not at all.
Chapter Twenty-One
“I’ve changed my mind.”
Freya fixed Guy with a look. “You cannot just change your mind.”
He peered around her at the townhouse. No sign of the skulking henchmen could be seen, but from what Russell had said, they were always present, watching over Lord Pembroke’s wife. “I can and I have. You’re no longer part of The Kidnap Club.”
“I will be fine.” She put a hand to his arm, drawing his attention to her. “No one shall pay any attention to me.”
“They shall if you get to Lady Pembroke.”
“Believe me, I am quite well versed in not being noticed.”
“I noticed you, if you recall.”
Her cheeks reddened a little. “Well, yes, that was just because you are the suspicious sort.”
It was more likely that one could not miss Freya. Or at least he could not. Her pale skin and fair hair, and stupidly innocent eyes and pointed chin, and tiny waist were all far too noticeable. Someone was going to spot her, and she would get into trouble and his hands were tied. How the devil would he protect her once she was inside the enemy’s house?
“I don’t like it. We’ll come back another day.”
“I have already arranged an interview as a maid. I’m going inside,” she said firmly.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw. Had anyone ever been able to tell Freya to do anything? He doubted it. But he was sorely tempted to throw her over his shoulder and lock her away somewhere until she gave up on the idea of stepping foot in that house.
“If there is any sign of danger, you leave, understand?”
She nodded. “I’m no fool. All will be well, I promise.” She hesitated, rose slightly on her toes then backed away, giving his arm a little, awkward tap. “I will be back soon. Stay out of sight.”
He gave a grunt. Since when had he been the one taking orders? From his position across the street, the trees hid him from view, but he had full sight of the house. His gut tightened when she went around the back and vanished from his view.
What a terrible idea. The worst. Even Russell kidnapping the wrong woman could not be as bad as this. He should never have offered her a role in the club or even listened to the others. Hell, who was in charge anyway? Him or them? It would have been easy to keep her quiet. Freya might be ambitious, but the bloody woman hauled a blind dog everywhere. Hardly the sort to turn in a group of people trying to help vulnerable women.
Of course, now he’d forced her to give up the story that would make her career. That niggled him too. He was half-tempted to go out and create some sort of scandal just so she’d have something to write about. He just could not quite figure out what would match up to that of an earl kidnapping society women.
A carriage pulled up outside the house and he held his breath. Lord Pembroke had returned—and he was damned early. According to Russell, the man spent every Wednesday afternoon drinking in White’s. They’d anticipated he would be gone for at least another four hours. The man stepped out of the carriage and headed straight up the stairs and into the house.
Guy clenched his fists. Freya would still be being interviewed surely? She couldn’t be anywhere near his wife. Not yet.
But what if she was? And what would any man who was keeping his wife under watch do as soon as he returned home?
He’d go to her of course. And then he’d come upon Freya. And then God knew what might happen. It was no good. Hiding i
n a damned tree would not help Freya. He had to get to her.
He didn’t need to figure out a plan. One had already implanted in his mind when they’d arrived. The tree at the side of the house would give him access to one of the windows on the second floor and was out of sight. Climbing the mature tree would not be much of a problem—he just hoped the windows were easy to open.
Then he could slip inside, find Freya and drag her out of there.
And hopefully not get caught.
Waiting until the streets were quiet, he hastened across, making a show of looking at his pocket watch when someone passed by with a tip of his hat. Once the man had gone, Guy slipped around the side of the house, flung off his hat and jacket then hauled his way up the tree, his boots scraping against the bark. Brown would have his head for the state of his clothing after this.
He peered into the window but saw no sign of Freya or any of the hired men. Which was good, surely? The chances were the housekeeper was still interviewing her. Maybe he would remain here and wait to see if he spotted her. Nothing odd or ridiculous about that. An earl sitting in a tree was a perfectly normal sight.
But what if she didn’t know Lord Pembroke had arrived? What if she still decided to go to Lady Pembroke and was caught? He muttered a low curse then leaned over to the window, using one hand to slide it up. The window moved. Which really left him with no choice.
It was practically an invite.
SLIPPING UPSTAIRS HAD been easier than anticipated. The baron kept few staff according to the housekeeper, something that irked her to no end. Given Freya wore a uniform borrowed from the earl’s household, it was no wonder no one had paid any attention to her while she moved through the hallway of the house. Now all she had to do was find the baron’s wife.
The housekeeper said she tended to stay in her rooms with no hint that there was any mistreatment, but Freya could not fathom how it had passed the stern woman by. She suspected the woman turned a blind eye or did not want to acknowledge the lady of the house’s treatment. Either way, it angered Freya to no end that none of these people thought to aid an abused woman.
She paused before turning the corner, tucking herself next to a generous plant and making a face when its leaves jabbed their sharp points into her skin.
Taking the Spinster (The Kidnap Club Book 3) Page 14
