by Sophia James
He handed the telescope to Vennor. Audevere had been right. She was watched at every turn by servants and Inigo knew who owned the servants’ loyalty. The house was a veritable fortress. Brenley could leave in full confidence that his daughter would go nowhere undetected, receive no one unchaperoned. Not that one would notice how carefully she was watched. It was all discreetly done. He waited for Vennor to survey the landscape from their position across the street, wanting a second opinion.
‘There are four men who walk the street,’ Vennor confirmed. Which meant that someone was passing in front of the house every five minutes and that the house was always in view both front and back to someone. He handed the telescope back to Inigo and grimaced. ‘Anyone trying to get in will be noticed approaching the house, even from the back. We can’t storm the castle, not without giving ourselves away, and the odds would be against us, two on four assuming no one else joins in.’
Calling attention to the escape was the last thing Inigo wanted. The more time between Audevere’s disappearance and its discovery and sending word to Gismond Brenley the better. With luck, they might already be in Cornwall before Brenley returned to London. And then the letter would be waiting for him, a shield against him racing to Cornwall to drag his daughter back. ‘If we can’t go in, she’ll have to come out.’ He opened his pocket watch and studied the watch face. ‘The delivery will be here in half an hour.’ The delivery was a bouquet of flowers, nominally from Tremblay, with a small envelope of powder tucked inside meant for the guards. Inigo didn’t like putting it all in Audevere’s hands, or risking someone opening the note and becoming suspicious. Not because she was helpless—she was far from that. He just preferred having more control. He wanted to be there if anything went wrong. Now, all he could do was wait. The hours until tonight would seem endless.
Vennor clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Let’s go to Manton’s and shoot something. Time will pass more quickly if we stay busy and it wouldn’t hurt if word got out that you were practising.’ No, it wouldn’t, Inigo acknowledged. There was a hypothesis among London’s gentlemen that shooting well at Manton’s in front of a crowd was often the best deterrent to being called out for a duel.
* * *
‘If Brenley saw you shoot today, he’d think twice before issuing a challenge.’ Vennor chuckled as Inigo took up his position, arm extended, body in profile, and sighted the wafer at the end of the lane. He fired with exacting precision, the paper wafer on the target showing a hole. A smattering of applause broke out along the perimeter of the shooting gallery. Twenty-Seven Davies Street, home to Manton’s, was busy for an afternoon out of season. Inigo and Vennor had shared a lane, putting on an impromptu shooting clinic as they practised slow shots with smoothbore barrelled pistols.
‘That makes eighteen culped for me out of twenty, to your fifteen,’ Inigo said, stepping back so Vennor could take his last shot.
‘Soon to be sixteen,’ Vennor corrected confidently as a boy ran to replace the wafer. ‘I’ll make this shot, not that it matters. There was no beating you today.’ Normally, they split their expertise between them—Vennor with guns and Inigo with rapiers. But today, Inigo had been intent on excellence. If Brenley chose to duel, he wouldn’t pick rapiers. Inigo would need the ability to summon one good shot.
Vennor took his shot, hitting the wafer. ‘Told you I’d hit it.’ He grinned as they handed their pistols off to a waiting page. They put on their jackets and headed out in search of a drink. Outside, a sharp breeze made the late afternoon cold. ‘Do you think it will come to pistols?’ Vennor asked once they were alone and could talk seriously.
‘I would almost prefer that, but there’s no guarantee Brenley will play fair.’ He’d rather not live with the fear of looking over his shoulder, of waiting for another assault to come. Getting Audevere away tonight had to be secretive, but there would be no hiding it or his involvement for long, not once the letter was read. What had begun as one woman’s attempt to sneak away from home unobserved had become open warfare. Tonight, he and Audevere would start the four-day journey to Cornwall and the battle would be fully engaged. Inigo drew the collar of his greatcoat up to ward off the chill, a reminder that fall was fully upon them.
Inigo jerked his head towards the inn, hoping for a distraction. There were still hours until tonight, five of them to be precise, before he could effect his rescue of Audevere. ‘Shall we call in at the Running Horse for an early dinner?’ It would be his last dinner with Vennor for a while.
* * *
Once settled inside, Vennor stared at him, hard. ‘I don’t know the last time I’ve seen you in love—or if I ever have. Although I thought there was someone once, years ago. But you never said anything and nothing ever came of it.’ Vennor paused, understanding he was on intimate ground. ‘What becomes of this after?’ To his credit, Vennor asked carefully, ‘Is this an affair or something more permanent?’
Inigo shook his head. ‘I don’t know. She insists on cutting all ties once she reaches safety.’ He understood that she was afraid, but he had faith in the strength of the protection he and his family and friends could offer her.
Vennor gave a wry smile. ‘But you think otherwise. I see it in your face.’ He reached across the table and squeezed Inigo’s forearm in brotherly commiseration. ‘I hope it works out for you. Shall we go and fetch her?’
‘We?’ Inigo looked surprised as he laid down coins for their meal. He’d thought Vennor would say goodbye here.
‘You didn’t think I’d let you face Brenley House alone, did you? We’ll pick up my horse and I’ll travel with you as far as the outskirts of London.’ There would be just enough time to make a detour to the Newlyn Mews to get Vennor’s horse. The time that had dragged all day was suddenly starting to fly. Inigo checked off items in his mind: ready Vennor’s horse, meet the travelling coach, which he’d packed this morning, then be in position to pull up outside Brenley House at quarter past nine. He was glad of Vennor’s presence. Vennor was good in a fight, as he’d proven throughout their childhood. What they found at the Brenley town house would depend on how successful Audevere had been. But successful or not, they weren’t leaving there without her. It was tonight or not at all.
* * *
Audevere slipped the powder into the mulled wine and stirred the mugs quickly. She had only so much privacy between the kitchen where Cook had mixed the evening draughts for her father’s men and the mews at the back which they all eventually passed on their circuit around Brenley House. It had been difficult enough to convince Cook she wanted to deliver the tray personally to thank them for their efforts to protect her in the absence of her father. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves and checked the time again. Eight o’clock. By the time all the men had been served it would be half past. That would give the powder three-quarters of an hour to work for and the house to settle for the night. The last was up to her. If she retired early, it would give a cue to the staff that they could retire as well.
Audevere stepped out into the night with her tray. The sooner the men were served, the sooner she could begin. The sooner she could walk out her front door. And Inigo would be waiting.
That one thought got her through delivering the wine. It got her upstairs; it got her through waiting for the house to quiet. Even Patsy, who could likely be trusted, had been sent to bed. That had been the hardest of all: saying goodnight to Patsy as she had every night for eight years and pretending she’d see her in the morning. But she didn’t want Patsy to be implicated in anything when her father found out she was gone.
Now she was alone in her room, a single valise packed for her new life. She didn’t dare try to take more. She needed to move quickly, silently when the time came. And if she met anyone on her way down the stairs, she needed to be ready to leave the valise behind if she had to run for it. Dear lord, she hoped that wouldn’t happen. Her palms were sweaty as the last minutes ticked by. She rubbed them
on her skirts, looked at her room one last time, picked up her valise and made her way into the hall.
The walk along the landing to the stairs, down the stairs, and across the hall to the door, had never seemed so long. Her ears were alert to any creak of the floor, every sound of her footsteps. She made it to the door, shutting it carefully and quietly behind her, her heart hammering. She took in the street, sweeping it for any sign of the men, any sign the powder had not worked. But it was the sight of Inigo’s dark coach across the street that brought her the most relief. The lanterns were not lit, but she could make him out beside it, dressed in his greatcoat. She began to run, her body shivering as she crossed the street—from the cold, from nerves, from the enormity of what she’d chosen to do. But somehow she knew that if she could just reach him, all would be well.
Inigo reached out to take the valise from her, hefting it in one hand. ‘Is this all?’ He stowed it beneath a seat and helped her in, as eager as she to be underway without being noticed.
‘All I could carry.’ She gave a smile as if the joke came easily to her. In truth, it had been difficult to choose which few items to take with her—which dresses, which shoes, which accessories would serve her best in her new life. She settled in her seat, Inigo giving the signal to go to Vennor, who rode up next to the coachman.
‘You were expecting trouble. You brought Vennor.’ She tried to hide her trembling hands in the folds of her skirt, but nothing escaped Inigo’s notice.
‘You’re shaking, Aud.’ He drew out a travelling rug and tucked it about her lap, taking her hands in his. ‘You’ll be warm soon. That will help.’ His gaze held hers with reassurance. ‘Don’t be frightened, Aud.’
‘I’m not shaking because I’m frightened.’ There was even a tremor in her voice and her mouth was dry. ‘I’m shaking because I’m free. For the first time since my mother died, I’m free.’ Free. And alone, at the mercy of her wits with nothing more than four dresses, a hairbrush and a bag of odds and ends to her name. It was an overwhelming mixture of excitement and fear. So much was uncertain. There would be danger down this path she’d chosen, and risk. But there would also be the opportunity of happiness, of reclaiming a kind of purity that had eluded her until now.
‘Free doesn’t mean you have to be alone.’ Inigo divined her thoughts so easily these days. ‘I will take care of you.’
Of course he would. That was what Inigo did. He’d taken care of Collin, he’d taken care of Eliza Blaxland, and now he would take care of her. If she’d let him. She had to be careful what she allowed or she would find it too hard to leave when the time came. But for now, the thought of being taken care of was too wonderful to fight against and it made her throat tighten and her eyes sting with tears of gratitude. A little gasp escaped her as the magnitude of what she’d done overwhelmed her and her tears began to spill, impossible to be contained any longer. She pressed a hand to her mouth in embarrassment and in a moment of panic. ‘What I have done?’ she whispered as Inigo gathered her into his arms.
‘The only thing you could, my dear,’ he murmured. It occurred to her, as the coach pulled away into the night, that if she could have only one person with her in this mad bid for freedom, she would want it to be Inigo. As long as he was beside her, surely anything was possible. Perhaps something of him was wearing off on her, after all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The scent of her assailed him in soft waves where she had fallen asleep against his shoulder somewhere around midnight, slowly permeating the carriage throughout the night. It was a kind of sensual torture to have her so near: the smell of her in his nostrils; the weight of her head on his shoulder despite its own stiff discomfort from the beating; the knowledge that she was relying on him and yet that reliance that had brought her to him would lead to a permanent parting if she had her way.
She shifted against him in sleep and he adjusted his position to accommodate her. He had four days to change her mind, to show her that there was another way. And that way was with him. With him. The words carried a sense of finality with them. He would keep her safe, not just for a week or a few months, but for all time, in ways that he’d failed to keep Collin safe.
What did that safety look like? The cottage in Devonshire or something more? His conscience would only allow for the cottage, but his heart wanted something more.
Marry her. Reach out and seize all you’ve ever wanted. You’ve waited for this for years and now it’s within your grasp.
But could he ever be happy with the woman he’d secretly coveted when she’d belonged to his best friend?
He stroked back a piece of hair from her face, watching her sleep. She was at peace for the moment. It had been easy to justify helping her escape. Collin would want him to help her and it was the honourable thing to do. But now those motives forked. How could he marry her and not feel guilty about it for the rest of his life? Such guilt would blight their happiness, poison them. Perhaps it would be best to let her go, to convince them both the cottage in Devonshire was the best either of them could hope for.
She stirred again, waking as dawn approached, embarrassed at having fallen asleep against him. ‘Have you been awake the entire time? You should have woken me, or at least moved me so you could have slept.’
‘I have all day to nap if needed and I wanted to keep watch.’ In case the men at the town house awoke, in case they discovered her missing before this morning. But there’d been no chase. They were safe for now.
Audevere pulled aside a curtain and looked out at the bleak landscape, nothing more than grey shadows in the slowly lightening landscape. ‘The first sunrise of my new life.’ She smiled at him with satisfaction. ‘It feels good. I am never going back, Inigo. I will never be his again.’
Of course not. He wouldn’t allow it. This was one thing on which they could both agree and for now it was enough.
They stopped at a small posting inn to break their fast and water the horses at around eight. The day was proving to be cold and grey, the miles stretching out endlessly before them. ‘We’ll stop at a proper inn tonight and have a decent meal and comfortable beds,’ Inigo assured her as they set off again.
‘But until then, how shall we pass the time?’ Audevere asked, a coy look in her eye that suggested she had an idea. She reached into the pocket of her travelling skirt and pulled out a deck of cards. ‘Shall we play? I am passably good at piquet.’
Inigo laughed. ‘You might be the only person I know who would run away with a deck of cards. Luckily for you, I am also passably good at piquet.’ He’d seen her play whist at the Thurstons’. He’d bet his purse she was more than passable at any card game.
* * *
He’d have made a good return on that wager, Inigo thought a few hours later. As it turned out, they were both more than adequate at the game and were both more than exceedingly competitive. They played away the morning and past lunch. They might have played on into the afternoon if the horses hadn’t needed to be rested and the driver spelled. They chose a spot by a river and got out to stretch their legs. The clouds overhead had not cleared, but hung low and heavy in the sky, promising rain. Inigo grimaced. The rain would slow them down.
‘You play well. How did you learn?’ Inigo complimented her as they walked alongside the river.
‘My mother taught me when I was very young. We didn’t have many entertainments beyond our own company, so we spent a lot of time together, playing.’ There was fondness in her voice, as there had been the night she’d handed him the jewels. Whoever Lady Brenley had been, she’d held her daughter’s heart.
Back inside the carriage, Inigo laid out a modest picnic of sorts. ‘There’s bread and meat and cheese. I had everything sliced ahead of time. I didn’t trust myself to do the job in a moving carriage, not with roads like these.’
‘You really do think of everything, don’t you? I think that’s the key to your thoughtfulness, all this att
ention to detail.’ Audevere flashed him a grateful smile that warmed him more thoroughly than any lap robe or brick could do.
‘And gratefulness is the key to yours.’ Inigo returned the smile. ‘You needn’t thank me for everything. I am happy to do it, happy to provide whatever you need, Aud.’ He held her gaze, steady in the bouncing vehicle. ‘It is a privilege to help you.’ The carriage confines seemed to grow closer, the air igniting with the flame that managed too often to crackle to life between them. He wanted to touch her, wanted to kiss her, wanted to tell her that she need not worry about anything ever again. But those were the promises of a schoolboy. They were not promises he could keep when so much was uncertain. Meanwhile, want and desire were likely to kill him. How far they’d come from sparring on the Bradfords’ veranda, vying for one another’s trust. Now that they had it, what would they do with it?
Perhaps Audevere felt the tension, too. ‘I am grateful to you, Inigo.’ She laughed, a breathy little sound. ‘Besides, my mother raised me to be polite, to say please and thank you.’ There was a little coy sassiness behind the remark and it did the trick, pushing the tension to the back burner once more.
Inigo helped himself to another slice of bread and cheese. ‘You’ve spoken well of your mother on two occasions now. Tell me about her, this paragon of motherhood who taught her daughter manners and card playing.’ He smiled and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles, trying not to look avaricious. But he was greedy for any piece of Audevere he could get. He wanted to know her, wanted her stories, all of them. Even the bad ones. Perhaps in those stories he’d find the clue to her resistance, the reason why she wouldn’t consider living under his protection in the Devonshire cottage.
