by Gaelen Foley
“I’ll see to the coachman.”
“He’ll be in the back,” she replied, as he pivoted and marched slowly toward the door, still stung with chagrin at his own outburst back in Hyde Park and still burning with thwarted desire for her, and her alone.
“Jordan?”
He cast her a wary glance over his shoulder as he reached the door. “Yes?”
“I didn’t know you could fight like that,” she said.
He cast her a cool half smile. “Darling, you have no idea what I can do,” he murmured wryly. “Lock this behind me,” he added. Then he stepped outside and pulled the door shut behind him.
Pausing on her doorstep, he took a deep breath and strove to clear his head. Shaking off his agitation as best he could, he surveyed the genteel street in both directions for signs of trouble. Nothing struck him as out of place.
The yielding arc of the grand, terraced crescent gave him an excellent view of the surrounding area. Fashionable folk coming and going. Handsome equipages passing to and fro. Across the street, the windows of the flat-fronted buildings reflected the tranquil, cloud-studded sky. Young trees lined the lane but offered no cover to any lurking villain who might have followed them from the park. Not even a bird could have hidden in their leafless branches.
Satisfied, he strode around the building and down the narrow, cobbled mews. The rhythmic ring of his bootheels rebounded off the brick and stone surfaces boxing him in; the familiar scents of horse and hay grew stronger.
When he reached the stable, Jordan found her driver more humiliated than wounded. The coachman’s tricorn hat, lost in the fray, had protected him somewhat from the rock thrown at him. The cut that the missile had left on his forehead would not require stitches. It had stopped bleeding, and Jordan did not see any signs that the driver had suffered a concussion.
He announced to the anxious stable staff that Coachman Jack was going to be all right. The grooms gave him back his hat, then thanked him profusely for saving Her Ladyship and the child.
Jordan smiled and checked his horse to make sure the animal had not been injured in the melee. After determining that the white gelding was unscathed, he asked if one of the stable hands might carry a note to Sergeant Parker for him. This was quickly done. He jotted a few lines to Parker to come at once to Mara’s address—armed—with however many men he had at hand. Then the young groom who had volunteered to act as his courier mounted one of the ponies and rushed off to deliver his summons posthaste.
Jordan figured they’d be here in less than half an hour. They were very efficient, and trained to be ready at a moment’s notice. In the meanwhile, he sat down with the bruised and chastened coachman to get his version of how that startling row in Hyde Park had unfolded.
Jack’s account comported with Jordan’s own experience. “It’s my fault, sir,” the weathered fellow said in a heavy tone. “When I saw the crowd ahead, I should have known to go the other way.”
“You had no cause to think they would turn violent,” Jordan offered. “Besides, it’s no mean trick to turn a coach-and-four around on that section of the Ring.”
“Aye, sir,” the man said gratefully. “But with His little Lordship in the coach! I would never forgive myself if he’d taken so much as a scratch.”
“The boy’s all right, and so are Lady Pierson and Mrs. Busby, too. They’re shaken up a bit, but you’re the one who got the worst of it,” he said, nodding at Jack’s forehead.
He pursed his lips grimly. “Nevertheless, I must go now and offer Her Ladyship my resignation. If you’ll pardon, sir.”
“I’m sure she won’t accept it, but do as you see fit,” Jordan answered, and Jack took leave of him with a slight bow. Clearly, the man felt terrible, but Jordan doubted that Mara would let him resign. She’d be a fool to cast aside such an obviously loyal servant.
Jordan remained in the stable so Jack could speak to his employer in private. But by the time he came out again wearing a look of relief that confirmed he had kept his position, Sergeant Parker was just arriving with three of his men.
The stableboy who had delivered the summons led the soldiers into the mews. Jordan walked out to meet them in the stable yard. He was pleased to see that Parker had brought Findlay, Mercer, and Wilkins with him, all good men.
“The Highlander’s been looking for you this morning, sir,” the sergeant informed him at once as he jumped down from his horse. “Seems your ruse at Christie’s last week has already brought in a nibble from the big fish.”
“Has it? Excellent news!” he murmured. Virgil must have received some sort of message from Falkirk.
“Master Virgil is waiting to give you the details in person,” Parker added.
“Then I’d best get to Dante House without delay.”
Jordan quickly explained what had happened in the park. “Understandably, Lady Pierson is quite shaken up by her ordeal. I sent for you lads to keep on eye on things here for a day or two in case those unruly bastards come looking to cause any further trouble.”
“Right,” Parker said tersely. The other men nodded, scowling at the barbarity of a mob attacking a lady and her child.
Jordan led her temporary bodyguards around to the front of the crescent, making a few suggestions for their patrol. “Don’t forget to put the staff and stableboys to use, as well,” he added. Every friendly pair of eyes and ears at their disposal would be helpful. They were experienced men, however, so he did not waste his breath belaboring them with his advice. Rohan himself had finished their training; they knew what they were doing.
For his part, knowing they were on duty, Jordan could now put Mara out of his mind—at least in theory—and get on with the Order’s business. He was very keen to find out what news Virgil had for him. With any luck, they’d have Drake back in the Order’s care by morning.
“Right, any questions?” he prompted.
The men shook their heads.
“Then come inside, and I’ll present you to the viscountess. Once she meets you and sees that you’re here, she will hopefully begin to feel a bit more secure. Then I can get over to Dante House and see what Virgil wants.”
“Aye, sir.”
Mara’s butler let them in the front door. Jordan escorted them into the parlor, where he introduced Lady Pierson to his associates.
Seated in a yellow brocade armchair in the same front parlor where he had left her, she set aside the brandy snifter from which she had just taken a sip, no doubt to steady her nerves. Studying the new arrivals with caution, she was plainly still on guard after her ordeal, but he tried to put her mind at ease with a few references to the past loyal service of these brave men and so forth.
They bowed to her, in turn, and offered their regrets about the unpleasant events that had made their presence necessary. “We will try our best not to get in your way, milady. You won’t even know we are here.”
Parker turned to Jordan with a question in his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’ll want to check the first floor for possible entry points, sir, make sure everything’s locked up properly. Also, I’ll need to count the household staff and know in advance who’ll be coming in or going out, at about what time.”
Mara seemed to like what she heard. At the note of expertise in Parker’s gruff voice, the tension in her face relaxed a bit. “My butler can assist you with all that, Sergeant.” She gestured to the servant, who was standing attentively nearby. “Reese, show these able fellows around the house as they require. Gentlemen, I am grateful for your help.”
The soldiers bowed to her, and after seeing the dark-eyed beauty they had been assigned to protect, they leaped to their task with all the more determination, Jordan wryly observed.
When the men had marched out after Reese to begin making sure her home was secure, Mara turned to him with a guarded look. “You’re sure they’re all right?”
“First-rate. Capital fellows. Why?”
She shrugged. “Giving four arme
d men the liberty of one’s house is a tad disconcerting.”
“If it’s any consolation, their last assignment involved keeping watch over a duchess.”
“Really? Anyone I’d know?” she asked in surprise.
He smiled. If Rohan had trusted them to mind Kate, he could certainly trust them with Mara. “I am not at liberty to say,” he replied. “But I’m happy to report that Her Grace is in perfect health today, thanks in part to their vigilance.”
“How exactly do you know these men?” Curiosity glimmered in her dark eyes. “Foreign Office fellows?”
“More or less. You know, we always need trained bodyguards to help look after visiting dignitaries and such. Important personages.”
Still looking rather shaken, she cast him a wan smile. “I’m hardly that.”
“You are to me.” The utterance slipped out before he could stop it.
She lifted her eyebrows.
Jordan dropped his gaze to the floor and cleared his throat. “Well, I should be going. The excitement seems to have died down outside. You’ve got Sergeant Parker and his men here now on the off chance there’s trouble. But I have to say, it really seems unlikely. I can ask around about that speaker and his circle, if you like. The Home Office is sure to have information—”
“No, thank you,” she interrupted, shaking her head with a shudder. “I’m just glad it’s over. Given that Jack’s all right, and nobody else was hurt, I’d rather the whole nasty incident was forgotten. It’s already going to be enough of a scandal as it is.” She sighed. “I’m sure it’ll be in all the papers by tomorrow.”
Jordan absorbed this. “Not necessarily.”
She tilted her head in question, but he was not at liberty to speak of the Order’s discreet influence over London’s major newspapers.
“Don’t fret over it, my dear,” he murmured, making a mental note to pay a little visit to the editors. “I’m sure they’ve got more important things to write about.”
He’d make certain of it.
He was not above leaning on the newspaper chiefs to protect a lady’s reputation—even if the crowd’s salacious charge against her happened to be true.
Refusing to dwell anymore on her affair with the Regent, he realized he’d best be moving along, given all he had to do. “I shall bid you farewell, then.” He nodded courteously to her, then headed for the door.
“Jordan—wait.”
He turned around as she rose from her chair and took a step toward him.
“There’s something I have to tell you.” She gazed into his eyes, her own wide and dark. “I’m actually not the Regent’s mistress,” she confessed. She shook her head, holding his gaze. “We are only friends.”
Holding his breath, he searched her face for a long moment. “Is this true?”
She nodded slowly.
“But why didn’t you say so?” He furrowed his brow. “In the park, when I confronted you, you didn’t deny it.”
Her lovely shoulders lifted in a shrug. “What good would it have done? I could see you had already made up your mind about me—and you’re always so sure you’re right. Begging you to believe me seemed, I don’t know. Distasteful.”
Jordan stared at her, uncertain what to think.
“The truth is, the Regent has done me a kindness I can never repay. That is why I have not been very adamant in trying to put down the rumor. I don’t wish to offend someone who has been such a good friend to me. Ever since my husband’s death, you see, His Royal Highness has rather styled himself my chivalrous protector—but not in that sense. I’m sure as a diplomat, you’ve noticed how sensitive royal egos can be,” she said. “Until today, there seemed no real harm in letting the gossips talk.”
Jordan considered her words intently. “May I ask what the Regent’s done to earn such gratitude from you?”
She drifted closer with a nod. “After my husband died, his relatives tried to take Thomas away from me.”
“What?”
“The Piersons felt entitled to take charge of my son, the better to groom him for his future role as the family’s title-holder. They never much cared for me,” she admitted in a lower tone, eyeing him ruefully. “Pierson, well, he was always the man-about-town, and in his youth, he was one of the prince’s boon companions. He died several months before my son was born.” Mara lowered her gaze to the marble floor. “Poor Thomas…he came into this world without a father. I had only my servants and the midwife with me when I gave birth to him at our country house. Not that my husband would’ve been much consolation in my labor, knowing him.”
Jordan stared at her, struck by the thought of her as a young woman alone in her moment of greatest need, going through the agony of childbirth alone. Or at least, without her husband to protect and comfort her.
“At any rate, when Thomas was born, the Prince Regent agreed to stand as my son’s godfather as a tribute to his old friend. That’s why His Royal Highness has taken an interest in Thomas from the start. When Pierson’s relatives began putting pressure on me to try to take the baby, I fought them as long as I could, but I was alone and afraid. At last, I could not think what else to do but to throw myself on the mercy of my child’s royal godfather.”
Jordan reached out and touched her elbow in wordless consolation.
She met his gaze warily, folding her arms across her waist. “The Regent could not have been more of a hero to me as soon as he heard of my plight.”
Was that a trace of rebuke he read in her eyes? Jordan wondered. And why, for heaven’s sake, had he begun feeling guilty as she told him all this?
“He used his influence to stop my kin from pressuring me and helped me to gain a more favorable settlement. Thanks to His Royal Highness, Pierson’s family will not gain more control over Thomas until he is of schooling age. So, you see, this is why I am indebted to him. After what he did for me and my son, I tell you, I’d walk through fire for that man—I don’t care who despises him, or who claims he’s just a buffoon. He’s got a good heart, and for my part, I’ll always be his friend. But I can assure you, I am not sharing his bed.”
“Mara—” he started, chastened, but she cut him off.
“I don’t care what they think of me out there, either,” she added, nodding toward the door. “I cared enough about people’s opinions when I was a girl. I can withstand their disapproval—but I do care what you think, especially after you risked your neck for my son and me back there in the park. I’m not the Regent’s doxy. The truth is, I have no lover. Nor,” she added pointedly, “do I want one.”
He blinked.
“Thomas is all that matters to me now,” she said.
“I see,” Jordan murmured.
Beyond that, he did not know what to say. Taken aback by her preemptive rejection, he dropped his gaze, but he could still feel her watching him.
Well! It seemed he had just been told—politely, of course—but in no uncertain terms, that just in case he was even thinking about it, Mara’s answer was already no.
Was he thinking about it?
If so, she had put that notion to rest.
Of course, when he recalled the harsh words he had said to her in the park, he could hardly blame her. Indeed, for a man who prided himself on his chivalry, he could only cringe at his uncivilized flash of temper back there by the Serpentine before they had parted ways. He had used finer terms, but had more or less called her a lying whore. God. And they thought the Regent was a bumbler?
“I apologize for accusing you unjustly, Lady Pierson,” he forced out in a wooden tone. “I had no right to judge you. I should not have been so quick to believe the talk—”
“It’s all right,” she cut him off with an idle wave of her hand. “Believe me, the whole thing is already forgotten. I cannot possibly hold a grudge against anyone who would help protect my son.”
Her magnanimity further confounded him as this was neither selfish nor vain; yet her clear smile told him she was sincere. As he studied her, it dawned on hi
m that perhaps he had been more wrong about her than he had realized.
The Earl of Falconridge was not at all accustomed to being wrong. “Well, er—I should be going,” he mumbled, eager to retreat and attempt to regroup. “I’ll be back when I can to check on things here.”
“I don’t mean to impose on your time.”
“It’s no trouble.” He gazed at her for a heartbeat longer, wondering if he really knew this woman at all. He had thought he did, but now he wondered if, over time, he had merely begun to believe in his own lies about her—the ones he had told himself so that he could bear having lost her.
“What is it?” she asked, watching him with curious amusement in her sparkly brown eyes. “You look confused.”
“I am,” he said.
“Why?”
“I’m not sure I deserve your forgiveness so easily. I acted badly in the park. Some of the things I said…well, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you had slapped me.”
She flashed a grin. “Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind.”
Jordan couldn’t help smiling back at her, ruefully.
It seemed his Mara was still as unpredictable as ever. Perhaps that was part of why he had always been so endlessly fixed on her. Unlike the enemy codes he was so fond of deciphering, he could never quite figure her out.
He shook his head to himself as he went to the door. “I’ll be back later,” he told her with a smile over his shoulder, already anticipating his return.
“We’ll see,” she replied with an arch smile, folding her arms across her chest.
He frowned at her over his shoulder, then he let himself out the front door. But as he strode back to the stables, suddenly, his heart was light. So, she was not the Regent’s mistress, after all! Thank God. Not that she was interested in him, he reminded himself in amusement. Her Ladyship had made that very clear, indeed. Of course, as a spy, he had a particular talent for persuasion…
Don’t even think about it.
With a nod to the grooms, he swung up into the saddle and rode off, still smiling like a fool.
Time to see what dark work Virgil had for him tonight.
