The Gentleman's Quest

by Deborah Simmons

  Kit shook his head. “You’re assuming that Featherstone took delivery of the lots, which more than likely went directly to the purchaser, meaning your uncle.”

  Hero almost snapped at him not to refer to Raven as any relative of hers, but she caught herself. Instead, she said, “There’s only one way to find out.”

  This time Kit did not groan, and Hero held her breath, for the ties that bound them were tenuous, at best. He had no good reason to continue to help her, and yet…

  Finally, he halted again, turning to look at her directly. “You can’t give it up, can you?” he asked.

  Hero couldn’t tell if his expression held dismay or pity, but she shook her head. “No,” she answered.

  There was too much at stake.

  By the time they had returned to the London Institution, Poynter had gone, so they were left with little to do the rest of the day. And Kit refused to return to the inn, which might be for the best, considering what had last happened there. The thought of this man massaging her feet or any other part of her made Hero’s face heat and her heart pound.

  As long as they didn’t draw attention to themselves, she was willing to go along as he dragged her to Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum and Week’s Mechanical Museum. Steering clear of stationers, booksellers and circulating libraries, they wandered through a variety of shops, looking at toys and prints and elegant silks. They visited a clockmaker’s and a perfumery. And they enjoyed delicate pastries purchased in a bake shop, as well as gingerbread from a street vendor.

  For Hero, it was like a dream. After a lifetime of cold duty and a week of masquerading as a young man, the afternoon spent as Miss Marchant, about in London with her attentive brother, was a holiday. But Kit was not her sibling, and though he conducted himself as such, sometimes Hero caught glimpses of a dark glint in his gaze, a sign that his feelings for her were not brotherly. And she felt an answering shift inside, a hot surge of yearning that threatened to rob her of breath, before it faded into the less dangerous manner of easy companionship.

  But when they finally approached the inn, the sparkle of the day began to fade into twilight, and Hero’s buoyant mood with it. Recalled to reality, she was reminded that she was not Kit’s sister. Nor could she ever be anything else to this man whose time with her was rapidly coming to an end.

  To add to her distress, Hero was forced to wait in a shadowed corner of the hall while Kit got her greatcoat, bundling her up so she would be unrecognizable before hurrying to her room. The reason for the ruse remained unspoken: she did not want to be taken for a prostitute or sent to jail because of some such misunderstanding.

  Once inside the darkened room, Hero shivered while Kit lit a lamp. Her boots were damp, but before they called for a fire, she needed to change. Reaching for her pack, Hero put a hand inside for her shirt, only to realize that it was not on top of the clothing she had placed there, folded and ready for rapid donning.

  Drawing in a sharp breath, Hero turned to survey the room. There were few enough of their own belongings about, but her boy’s boots were not where she had left them. Although in the same general area, their position was subtly altered, a discovery that made her heart hammer.

  “Someone’s been in here,” Hero said softly.

  “What?”

  “Someone has searched our room.”

  Kit looked around at the spare, neat space and sent her a startled glance. “Perhaps the chambermaid…”

  Hero shook her head. “She might have moved my boots, but she would not have been inside my pack.”

  “Unless she’s a thief,” Kit muttered.

  “Try to remember exactly where you put everything and see if it is not slightly changed,” Hero said.

  Kit must have seen that she hadn’t the energy to argue with him, for he turned to look through his own things, then swung round with a grim expression.

  “She’s not a thief, for I left some money hidden in an old sock. It is still there, but has been shoved farther down into the toe.” He paused to shake his head. “Who would go through them only to put them back?”

  “Someone looking for the Mallory,” Hero said, and, for once, Kit did not argue.

  They discussed what to do, then called for the maid to light the fire, conducting themselves as usual. Whoever had been in their room had gone to great lengths to avoid notice, and for now, they would play along. But Kit slept in a chair in front of the door, and Hero tossed and turned in the bed.

  The bright, shiny day that she had spent with Kit in carefree excursions had been tarnished. With the coming of the night, Hero’s thoughts grew dark, and she wondered at what price she had bought those precious hours.

  The next morning Hero was back in her boy’s clothing and so quiet that Kit cursed the circumstances that conspired against him. Yesterday she had been delightful company—warm and witty and beautiful in her feminine guise. A strong and independent woman, Hero also possessed a deep well of tenderness just waiting to be tapped. Their silences were comfortable, while their discussions were far ranging, going beyond books to houses, politics and even agriculture. And Kit knew her passion matched his own.

  In short, she was everything he might want in a partner. A wife. Kit shook his head. He had all but given up hope until yesterday when everything between them was so easy and natural. But it had all gone awry. Hero had turned cold and distant, while they faced unknown threats yet again.

  Now, Kit could spare no thoughts for anything except her protection, and he kept his pistol close as he packed his few belongings. Wary of watchers, they were going to slip away before first light, and they spoke in hurried whispers. Kit suggested they look for a place to lease, where they could disappear into the mass of London residents. But Hero shook her head.

  “Time is running out,” she said in a way that made Kit balk. “Another inn would be better, perhaps a larger one closer to the heart of the city.”

  Although in the past few days Hero had revealed more of herself, there still was too much missing for Kit to solve the puzzle. “People have been chasing us since we left Oakfield, so why is time running out?” he asked.

  Hero hefted her pack. “Because we’re on Raven’s ground, in his neighborhood, and he will grow impatient for his prize.”

  “What? Surely you don’t think your uncle is the one who searched our rooms?”

  “Not Raven himself, but he may well have ordered it,” she said.

  Despite Hero’s earlier revelations about her uncle, Kit was dumbfounded. “Why?”

  Hero opened her mouth, then closed it again. Finally, she drew a deep breath. “I don’t know,” she said. “One never ever knows with Raven.”

  This was madness. It was an insane way to conduct business, and even more lunatic manner in which to live. There was very little that roused Kit to anger, but his rage toward Augustus Raven had been building for some time.

  “Perhaps we should stop haring around town on this fruitless errand and go directly to Raven Hill,” he said, giving Hero a hard stare. “I’d like to have a word with your uncle.”

  Ducking, she shook her head, but Kit was not prepared to let it go. Thus far, he had ceded to Hero’s wishes, to her greater knowledge of the situation, but he could be stubborn, too. And he had no intention of letting her return to her uncle’s control.

  Even if he had misconstrued her interest, even if she would not accept his proposal, he could find somewhere else for her to go. Barto had connections. A post as a companion to a decent gentlewoman had to be preferable. Surely, when Syd met her, she would…

  Suddenly, Kit realized just how long it had been since he had been in contact with his sister. Vaguely, he recalled some mention of a Christmas wedding, and he felt a different sort of alarm. Startling as it might seem, the holiday was not that far away, and he had no idea of what the arrangements might be.

  Somehow, today he was going to have to get a message to his sister, whether Hero approved or not. The thought of whisking her away to Hawthorne Park
was a tantalizing one, but unless he planned to drag her there bodily, Kit was not sure how to accomplish it.

  As if sensing his mood, Hero turned toward him, pack in hand. “Perhaps we should separate.”

  “No.” Kit spoke with such deadly vehemence that Hero did not argue. Still, when she moved into the narrow hall, he did not let her out of his sight.

  They saw no one but sleepy grooms as they made their exit, taking the most winding route from the inn and sticking to the shadows. For the time being, they left their horses behind, fleeing on foot and climbing into a passing cart before debarking to slip through some alleys, until even Kit was confused over their location.

  But in the breaking dawn, Hero pointed out the Maple’s Inn, a busy place that was a far cry from their previous small, out-of-the-way lodgings. Since coaches came through at all hours, their appearance would not be marked, and after eating an enormous breakfast, they settled into a more spacious and neat room boasting two beds and a roaring fire.

  When Hero made no move to change her costume, Kit looked a question at her. “Are we returning to the London Institution?”

  “Not yet,” Hero said, without meeting his gaze. “I’ve an errand first.”

  “And what might that be?” Kit asked.

  When Hero did not immediately reply, Kit planted himself in front of the door with no intention of moving until he got some answers. If time was running out, so was his patience. At one time, he might have returned to his old life without taking action, but those days were gone. Now, he was determined to fight for what he wanted.

  Although she had planned to come alone, Hero was grateful for Kit’s solid presence as she stepped into Laytham’s. She had not admitted as much, but the search of their room had unnerved her. Despite their various escapes, their pursuers had never seemed that close. And somehow, the thought of someone handling her belongings was worse than being threatened with a weapon.

  It was more personal. More invasive. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more Hero began to think the secretive manner of the examination was one of Raven’s touches. Surely, the kind of men who attacked the carriage or cornered Kit and Hob would engage in haphazard rummaging, not the eerily discreet violation that Hero had discovered.

  Did Raven think she already had the Mallory, or was this one of his tricks to make sure she was alert and wary? Hero shook her head, for she knew there was no use trying to determine his motives. But perhaps, she would never have to puzzle over them again…

  Heart pounding, Hero approached the counter at Laytham’s, knowing full well what was at stake. Yet she managed to keep her face expressionless as she asked to see the owner.

  “Mr Laytham is not here,” the man said, eyeing her less-than-elegant attire with disdain.

  Hero sucked in a breath. She had not anticipated this, but now she saw that Laytham’s easy capitulation could have been a ruse. He might be on the Continent by now or, worse, explaining to some magistrate why she should be arrested.

  “Did he leave anything to be picked up?” Kit asked, while Hero faltered.

  “Your name?” the disdainful fellow inquired.

  “Marchant,” Kit said, taking control with his usual ease, and Hero could only be thankful for his quick command.

  “Ah, yes,” the man at the counter said. “Just a moment, please.” He turned away, opening the door that led to Laytham’s office, and Hero waited, her breath caught in her throat.

  She wasn’t certain what she expected, perhaps authorities swarming from the private area to arrest her or the salesman himself, returning to brandish a weapon. But both outcomes seemed unlikely when there were other customers about. This was a busy shop, a respectable business, in spite of the commission Laytham had agreed to undertake.

  When the man returned with a thickly wrapped object, tied with string, Hero simply stared at it for a long moment. For surely none in her long history of acquisitions had carried the importance of this, the least costly.

  “Thank you,” Hero said, barely restraining herself from snatching up the parcel. Instead, she took it carefully, holding it against her chest as they made their exit. But once outside, she slipped it within her heavy greatcoat, where a large interior pocket was designed to hold all but the largest of volumes.

  Now it could not be knocked from her grip or dropped into a puddle. And Hero looked no more than a young man bundled up against the cold, without anyone the wiser as to the prize in her possession. Still, she did not dawdle, and they hurried to the relative safety of Maple’s Inn, so that she might take a look at what she had just received.

  The walk was long enough for Hero’s euphoria to ebb as she considered the contents of her pocket. Despite Kit’s influence, hers was a suspicious nature, and she wondered whether she even held a book. The heavily wrapped item could be anything. A piece of wood. A title of no consequence or worth, given to get rid of her, while Laytham covered his tracks, refusing to meet with her ever again.

  That fear gnawed at her until panic eroded her good sense, making her careless. And it wasn’t until Kit had her halt at their door, in order to check the room, that she became aware of her inattention.

  Suddenly nervous, she saw a man down the hall whose stance seemed vaguely familiar, but he stopped in front of another door, and Hero turned back to her own. Still, she was not as wary as usual, and when Kit waved her inside, Hero paid the price as she felt the barrel of a pistol pressed into her back.

  “Quietly, now, let’s go into your room. I’m sure you don’t want any trouble.” Hero recognized the voice as one of the two men who had attacked the carriage and threatened Hob, and if that wasn’t enough, a poke of the weapon urged her to do as he said.

  At the sight of their company, Kit started to reach inside his coat, but the man stopped him with a warning.

  “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot her,” he said. “So you just keep your hands were I can see them.”

  Behind her, Hero heard footsteps, followed by the ominous shutting of the door. A second man came into view, his pistol trained on Kit. It was the tall fellow, so the short one must be behind her, Hero reasoned. What she didn’t expect was the appearance of a third man, and she drew in a sharp breath as the vaguely familiar figure from the hallway stepped into her line of sight.

  “Erasmus! What are you doing here?” Hero gaped at her so-called cousin. Had Raven put him up to this?

  “It has taken some doing, I admit,” Erasmus said, his dark eyes birdlike hollows in the whiteness of his face. “You’ve led a fine chase, but one of Raven’s underlings reported you were in town. And luckily for me, he was so startled to see you in that garb that he followed you.”

  Hero gaped. She’d made sure…

  “Or he paid some youth to do some,” Erasmus said. “I don’t know or care. Nor did your disappearance this morning concern me. For, you see, I had spoken with the dependable Mr Ridealgh at Laytham’s, who discovered that you, or rather Mr Marchant as you are now calling yourself,” he added with a sneer, “would be back in a day’s time. So all I had to do was wait.”

  Hero spared a moment to regret that all her precautions and wariness had been for naught. Despite her efforts, she could not control those outside her influence, such as Mr Ridealgh, whether he was Laytham’s assistant or some lowly salesman eager for a bribe.

  “But if you hadn’t secreted the parcel inside your coat, we could have avoided all this,” Erasmus said, shaking his head. “A quick knock against you, and I could have been off with the Mallory.”

  “Why?” Hero asked. “If you plan on stealing from Raven, you’ve sadly misjudged your opponent.”

  “Oh, Raven will have his previous volume all right. When I give it to him. While you, after so much time and money, will return a failure.”

  “And when I tell him what you did to get it?”

  Erasmus sneered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, cousin.”

  “It was you who searched my room, wasn’t it?” Hero said
, and Erasmus’s thin smile told her she was right.

  “And you sent these brutes to kidnap me, waylay me, and delay me. Dangerous doings, Erasmus,” Hero said. “All designed to prevent me from completing my mission, which is not something that Raven will take kindly.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Erasmus repeated, his lips curling in contempt. “I can account for my whereabouts, while you? It seems that you’ve been traipsing across the country on a romantic fling, spending more time on your lover than your mission, hardly the sort of thing of which Raven will approve.”

  Hero sucked in a harsh breath. There was no point in arguing, for they both knew the truth. It would be her word against his when they faced Raven, and Erasmus was well aware that those who came bearing gifts were always rewarded.

  But just what sort of gift was he intending to present? Hero’s knowledge of the parcel was the ace up her sleeve. So instead of the dread she might well have felt, she knew only a cold anger that this inept would-be usurper should ruin her one chance for freedom.

  Hero eyed him coolly. “It will do you no good, Erasmus,” she said. “Raven doesn’t trust you. He knows you’re only out to get what you can.”

  Erasmus’s expression turned black with hatred. “Well, then we are two of a kind. While you? I don’t know what you are. I’ve never understood why you’re the chosen one when I’ve done everything to please him, even changing my name to his. I’ve got his blood. Do you?”

  Hero did not flinch at the taunt. Nor did she dwell upon the fact that Kit was only a few steps away, listening to it all. Instead, she focused on the skills and experience that had served her well, while Erasmus…As usual, his emotions clouded dealings, which was one of the reasons Raven did not favour him.

  She could almost hear Raven in her head. Cleverness and cunning will out every time, my girl, he whispered. No one expects a female to think so cold and clearly. Lately, Hero had discovered he was wrong about her lack of feelings, but she knew well how to hide them, and she did so now, her lack of reaction spurring Erasmus’s rage.