“Well?” Leo asked, brow raised archly. “What is the problem?”
“Well...” Alicia sighed again. “There aren't actually any pies in Mummy's list.”
“Oh.” Leo swore. Alicia blinked. She had never heard that word before.
“It's German,” Leo explained, casual. “It means... oh, never you mind what it means, I can't tell you.”
Alicia blinked again. She had been interested, but decided it was better not to know.
“How much time do we have this afternoon before I have to hide?” Leo asked, suddenly changing the subject. He fixed her with those disconcerting eyes, and Alicia felt her stomach tense. These strange sensations seemed to fill her when Leo was there, making thinking hard. She closed her eyes and paused, trying to concentrate. She opened them again.
“Well,” she said brightly, “we should have all day! Henriette said they planned to ride to Lansdale, and it is quite far.”
“Well, then,” Leo said, already twisting his long legs round before him and standing up with surprising elegance, “we have time to go somewhere.”
“Go somewhere?” Alicia asked, looking at him round-eyed.
“To get something to eat,” Leo explained, shrugging. “You have taverns in England, surely?”
“We do,” Alicia said faintly. She felt her head swim.
No lady of quality went into a tavern. Not now. Not ever.
“I can't...” she began, then stopped. She looked at Leo. His tall height. His golden hair and eyes. His lithe figure. She swallowed hard, feeling something race through her. Some feeling she could not explain. It was like excitement, like the night before a birthday or the day before a special ball, but...
“What?” Leo asked, brow raised above those golden eyes.
“Nothing,” Alicia said firmly. “Do you want to leave soon?”
“Well,” Leo grinned, letting his breath out in a sigh of relief, “now would be perfect. The sooner the better. Then we have time to track down some good pies!”
Alicia felt a bubble of excitement lift in her stomach, bursting into laughter.
“I think that sounds marvelous!” she exclaimed.
“You do?”
“Yes,” Alicia said firmly. “I do. Let's go and get dressed!” Alicia seemed excited, then stopped. “What will you wear?”
“This?” Leo asked, shrugging as he indicated his faded, sea-stained trousers and blue velvet coat.
“Well.” Alicia bit her lip. “We could always find something that would fit you.”
Leo looked skeptical, but held his peace. “If you insist,” he said, lightly.
Alicia swallowed. “Yes!” she said, feeling the excitement return. She tiptoed briskly from the room and across the hallway, keeping an eye out for her maid Annette, who might appear at any time.
Ten minutes later, they were walking through the side door to the stables.
“I really don't know about this,” Leo said gingerly.
Wearing a blue velvet riding jacket a size too big for him, a pair of riding breeches that had stiffened with lack of use, and a flamboyant tricornered hat, Leo cut a dashing figure despite the look of vague discomfort on his face.
“Oh, I don't know about that! I think it will be lovely!” Alicia enthused.
“I didn't mean... oh, never mind,” Leo sighed.
Together they walked along the path, feet crunching on the gravel, breath misting in the cold autumnal air.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE WOODS OF WILDING
THE WOODS OF WILDING
The sound of horses’ hooves, muffled by the dampness of the leaf-mold, made soft beats through the chilled, mist-quiet air.
Leo and Alicia were riding through the forest together.
“You are sure this is where the road is?” Leo rode beside her, on a borrowed horse, wearing an unlikely combination of silk trousers and a deep indigo velvet jacket that had belonged to Ernst and was too big for him. He still looked mildly uncomfortable.
“Yes, I'm sure,” Alicia called back, brightly. “I have been in these woods all my life, you know, and it's not like they are very big, after all.”
That was certainly true. On the wind-blasted moorland, very little could be persuaded to grow. Trees with a hundred years of persistence and stamina reached the height of a few men, but grew bent and gnarled and twisted with the persistent, prevailing wind. In this small valley, the trees were dense along the roadway, one of the few places on the road where that was true.
“I am sure we will reach it soon,” Alicia said. The misted air took her words and twisted them into uncertainty. She shivered, and it was not just the cold. She pulled her riding habit – a long cloak of white velvet – around her, hoping to keep out the sense of foreboding along with the icy wind.
“If you say so,” Leo said, mildly.
Alicia shivered again. As they rode further into the trees, she felt increasingly unsettled. It was not just Leo’s closeness that made her heart race. Quiet and thick and waiting, these woods seemed to be full of eyes, watching her. She shifted uncomfortably in her new riding-saddle and turned to Leo.
“What are the roads like in Germany?” she asked quietly, trying to distract them both. Even innocent conversation seemed to be hushed here, as if the forest waited for a false word, to pounce on the unwary traveler. She shivered again and was glad for Leo's blithe confidence beside her.
“Oh, like this.” He shrugged expansively. “Only not as wet and cold – at least not all year, that is – and much bigger. And quieter. And they have bears, of course.”
Alicia swallowed and sat very quietly for a while. “We don't have bears here.”
“No.” Leo shrugged lightly. “We don't. We do have wolves, though.”
“Wolves,” Alicia said in a small voice. She was sitting very still, hands clasped on the reins.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Leo said expansively. “But don't worry, these woods are quite safe.”
They were both silent for a moment or two, the only sound the horses' hooves, a gentle thudding on the wet leaves below.
Suddenly, Leo leaped forward, nudging his horse to a canter.
“What was that?” Leo shouted in alarm.
Alicia stared at Leo, who bit his lip.
A gunshot. They had both heard it. Loud and clear, it had exploded just behind Leo, the lead shot rattling through the trees. Inches above his head.
“What the deuce?” Leo shouted again, voice hoarse. His gold-flecked eyes were wide, but he looked angered or affronted, rather than afraid, and it reassured her.
“Whew,” she breathed out, feeling tension drain from her.
“Hands up, if you don't want another one like that,” a voice drawled from the trees behind them. “Next one will take your head.”
“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Leo sighed. He sounded, if anything, slightly bored. “It must be highwaymen. Better put your hands up. Though they're threatening me, I think.”
“Quite,” the voice confirmed.
The clearing before them was suddenly occupied with three motley figures, melting out of the trees. All of them were on horseback, dressed in rags. She could not see their faces, for they were covered with kerchiefs, but from what Alicia could see of their bodies, they were hungry, cold and desperate. She shuddered, and her heart stirred with compassion. Her ears told her there must be at least one man behind them, making five, if she allowed for lookouts she could not see. Five starving men.
Suddenly, her compassion overcame her fear.
“If you need succor, you should come with us,” she said, voice loud, but trembling.
“What?” Leo hissed. “You're quite mad!”
Alicia ignored him pointedly as she slipped her body forward in the saddle. “If you want a meal and warmth, come home with us to Wilding. We will do you no harm. I promise.” She stood on the stirrup under her feet, for extra height, and raised her hands above her head in a gesture of complete supplication. That way, no one would fear he
r or doubt her sincerity.
The pale sunlight lanced through the leaves, haloing her bowed head. She dropped her riding-crop in surrender and it landed, dully, in the leaves far below.
No one moved. The woods were silent.
“Lady Alicia?” a voice called from the side. Riding side-saddle, she faced its source.
“Yes?” Alicia asked, surprised. “I am she.”
“My lady,” the man said, and pulled off his hat. He made to lower the kerchief, but his companion reached out to stop him. He ignored him and pulled it down. “Forgive me. Forgive us all.”
“Silas?” Alicia asked, amazed.
“Aye,” the man said, and beamed. A man a little older than Leo, his face was already lined with care and winter cold. He looked up at her from brown eyes, yellowed from days around an open fire. Despite the weather-damage on his face, Alicia recognized him.
“You are Annette's husband?” she asked. Annette was her half-French maidservant.
“Aye,” he said again, and Alicia noticed he had tears in his eyes. “My lady, you recognized me!”
“Of course, I did!” Alicia exclaimed. Spontaneously, she slid out of her saddle and went to his horse. “Here,” she said, and fumbled in her purse for a handkerchief.
“Oh, for...” Leo sighed. Then he stopped, amazed by what happened next.
“Cease fire, lads!” the leader of the robbers called, feelingly. “Put down your weapons! Lassie here's one of us.”
Alicia blinked. As the daughter of a count and a lady, she had never considered being an honorary highwayman before. It had a nice ring to it.
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled shyly.
They all chuckled, despite themselves. The leader stuffed his pistol into the holster and slid from the saddle, feet loud on the hard earth as he landed.
“Here,” he said, and held his arms braced, inclining his head toward her horse. It was the position a groom, a servant, would take to help her mount up.
Alicia swallowed.
“Oh, no,” she said, faintly. “I can't allow you to do that for me.”
“Allow me, then,” Leo said gruffly. He slid down from the saddle, and with surprising tenderness, lifted her to the leather side-saddle, passing her a rein. The leader, still beside them, held the bridle. Leo’s tawny eyes were soft with a look she had never seen before.
“Thank you,” she whispered, all the breath taken from her by this sudden tenderness.
“A pleasure,” Leo said gruffly. He turned away and walked stiffly to his saddle, not looking back.
“Thank you,” Alicia gently addressed the man who stood at her horse's head, still holding the bridle in both hands.
“The name's Art, milady.” He grinned and swept off his hat. “Art Guthridge. At your service, Ma'am.” He bowed.
Alicia smiled gently. “Thank you, Mr. Guthridge.” He said nothing, but swallowed hard. “I meant what I said,” Alicia said loudly. “You are all welcome in the kitchens. Mr. Perry will not ask who you are, if you tell him I sent you. You can show him this, in token,” she said, and passed her kerchief across. The man took it as if it were a gem, beyond price.
“On your way, then!” she added, gently.
The lead man blinked and nodded.
“Thank you, Ma'am,” he said, and swallowed.
“Thank you, Ma'am,” Silas said gruffly, pulling on his hat as he made ready to turn his horse.
“No need. Send my love to Annette,” Alicia said gently.
“I will, Ma'am. I will.” The man gulped and pulled on his hat. “She loves you, Ma'am, so she does. Said you were the best mistress on this earth. Said she'd do anything for you, Miss. And so would I,” he added. “So would I.”
Alicia smiled, eyes damp with tears, and raised her hand in salutation.
The band turned and rode off, as quietly as they had come. A few minutes later, the clearing was silent.
“Well,” said Leo, after a long moment. “I just saw something amazing.” His voice sounded a little shaky, and he laughed. “Do you think we should return home? I think I can do without that pie after all.”
They laughed together at that, the relief making them light-headed.
Silently, together, they rode back through the mists to home. The air between them was filled with secrets, and a new tenderness. Something had changed in that moment and they both felt it. Alicia, riding into the sun-bright mist, felt her heart soar.
She watched Leo riding beside her, the sun striking the mist and painting a gold line down his fine profile. He caught her looking and turned, smiling shyly.
She looked down, a blush rising in her cheeks.
“Alicia,” he whispered, riding close. He laid his hand beside hers on the pommel and she felt the jolt of their fingers touching as if it were a physical blow. “Thank you,” he murmured.
“Thank me?” Alicia looked at him, green eyes wide with genuine bewilderment.
“Thank you for saving my life,” he explained. He was looking down, eyes not meeting hers, and then suddenly he looked up.
His golden eyes shone with some new light Alicia could not explain. The look in them made her feel warm all over. Her blood pulsed in her wrists. He lifted her hand. As his lips, soft and warm and damp, touched her knuckles, Alicia felt her heart soar. The warmth in her belly spread and grew, flowing up to her neck. She blushed.
“Leo...” she gasped.
“Alicia.”
His eyes met hers, their tawny depths aflame, and then he gently released her hand and they rode together, silent and newly diffident, back to the house.
CHAPTER EIGHT
BREWING TROUBLE
BREWING TROUBLE
In his flat just outside London, the Duke of Lennox sat and brooded. The high-ceilinged room was dark, the curtains still open to the velvet-darkness of the sky. He had not yet lit the lamps, finding the darkness more suitable to his mood.
He had been in London a few days, and the wound to his face, sustained on the dock in Hamburg, had almost completely healed.
The wound to his pride had not. Damn that upstart Lord Grey!
He slammed his hand down on the table, making the lamp shudder.
The more he thought about it, the angrier he became, and his anger was not solely linked to the insult he had been given by Lord Grey. The duke's chief problem was money. The affront to his pride had been a problem, but it was because it followed a loss of wealth – a few hundred pounds, lost to Leo Grey at cards – that he could not let it rest.
Addicted to cards and gambling, the duke owed money to half of London, and was owed money by the other half – or so it seemed to him, sitting alone in the dark, brooding on the worry. And that upstart has cheated me somehow. I know it.
It could have been his own miscalculation, but he suspected the young man was a master at sleight of hand. Where else had that ace suddenly come from, in the winning hand, that day? I need to catch that man. Need to prove he cheated me.
The duke ground his teeth. Somehow, the fact that Leo had played a trick at cards, or the fact that he was an outstanding swordsman, would not have been a problem on their own. Together, they meant that Leo had become the face of everything that troubled the duke.
He was losing money, fast.
He was also no longer as good a swordsman.
He felt old, and anxious about his wealth and future. Leo Grey, who had cheated him, and who had bested him at the sword, had to go.
“I hate that man,” the duke mumbled.
He sighed, knowing he was overdramatizing. He reached for his lamp and lit it, slowly, letting the pale-gold light flare up and warm the dark, oppressive space. He knew he did not truly hate Lord Grey. He hated what he represented: the up-and-coming younger set, carefree and bumptious, who thought they were better; that they could outsmart anyone.
“He's one of those upstart sort you see at parties, lording it over the old guard.”
The duke mumbled it and stood, reaching for his decanter o
f whiskey, kept on the side-board of this turret-room. He poured, letting the amber liquid gurgle into the glass. He threw some back, eyes watering, and drank a second round.
It was not, he reflected, returning to his seat, that he was particularly old. He was perhaps twenty years older than Lord Grey, no more. It was simply that he himself was set in his ways. Where his generation had been fiercely royalist, Leo's group was more relaxed, more sophisticated. Their views were different, their lifestyle different, and the duke felt the world was slipping away from his grasp, his understanding, because of it.
“This generation has no values!” he said angrily, slamming his fist on the desk.
Leo was the prime example of a social group he hated, and it felt as if all his problems would end, if he could just hunt him down and bring him to justice for his careless, cheating ways. Not court justice, not necessarily... The duke smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.
Having Leo thoroughly maimed by his man – an ex-blacksmith – would be enough for the duke. Then, we shall see. He will be less arrogant with some broken ribs.
That would be enough.
He heard someone shuffle past the door. He opened it.
“Hensley?”
“Yes, milord?”
“Have the fire lit in my study, will you? I need to work on the accounts. And, send Barnett to meet with me tomorrow morning. I have a... task... which will require his expert hand.”
The manservant – a tall, white-haired man with a genteel manner – bowed low.
“Very good, milord.” He paused. “Milord has not had any dinner?”
“Oh.” The duke blinked. He had been so distracted by his worries, and his dark thoughts, he had forgotten about dinner. “Have a tray sent up, would you?”
“Of course, milord.” The man bowed low and withdrew.
Sighing, knowing he brooded too much, the duke stood up to leave. He caught sight of his reflection in the glass of a painting. Tall, stooped, with dark, disheveled hair and a narrow, clever face, the duke would have been handsome but for the wild, desperate look in his weary eyes.
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