Andrea Kane (37 page)

A terrifying premonition gripped her heart.

God, no,
she thought wildly.
We’re only just discovering each other. If anything should happen to him …

Reflexively, she clutched his forearm. “Ashford, wait. Where exactly are you going?”

He covered her hand with his, gave her an odd, penetrating look. “This part is my responsibility, Noelle. It’s tied to an uglier world, one I don’t want you involved with in any way—not even so much as to know my destination.”

“Until after you’ve returned,” she qualified, her mind racing to find ways to convince him—and her father—to let her go, too.

“No. Not even then.”

Noelle’s thoughts came to a screeching halt as Ashford’s terse refusal dashed over her like a bucket of ice water.

“Not even afterwards?” she repeated, gaping up at him, stunned and unable to believe her ears.

“No,” he replied, his tone and expression rigid.

A current of communication rah between them.

Slowly, Noelle sucked in her breath, recognizing the true meaning of Ashford’s adamant declaration.

He wasn’t talking about shielding her from the seedy side of London, from his chats with fences and unsavory pawnshop owners. He was talking about shutting her out of his secret, that part of his past he was on the verge of putting to rest.

The wretched man never intended to tell her the truth, even after it was resolved.

Well, damn him, that was not the way it was going to be. He was not going to put his life at risk and not share the reasons why with her. Not before, and not after.

“Noelle, Lord Tremlett is right,” her father was saying, aware of the tension permeating the room, though oblivious to its true cause and to the tornado brewing inside his daughter. “There’s no need for you to hear the sordid details. Let the earl carry things out in his own way. He is, as he says, accustomed to doing so.”

“Oh, I know he is.” Noelle struggled to keep her voice serene and to render her expression merely concerned, a bit challenging, but nothing more—so that Ashford, insightful man that he was, wouldn’t suspect anything.

Her will must have been tremendous, because this time she succeeded.

“I have to leave, Noelle,” Ashford murmured, his gaze caressing her as he brought her fingers to his lips. “Go have dinner with your family. I’ll be by tomorrow, as quickly as I can.”

Noelle forced herself to nod, looking suitably disappointed and customarily annoyed at being thwarted in her efforts. “Very well,” she agreed with the right touch of reluctance. “It appears I have no choice. I’m outnumbered.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Ashford vowed, a fierce light in his eyes. “I promise.” Then he turned and took his leave.

Raising her chin, Noelle gazed after him.

You’re wrong, Ashford,
she informed him silently.
We’ll talk tonight.

IT WAS A QUARTER
PAST ELEVEN
.

Everyone had retired to their chambers, family and servants alike. Still, Noelle waited an extra fifteen minutes before commencing her plan. There was too much at stake to fail before she’d begun.

The clock ticked on. Silence prevailed.

Creeping into the hall, she ensured it was empty, then tiptoed through the darkness and slipped into Chloe’s room.

“Chloe,” she hissed, shutting the door behind her. “Are you awake?”

Her sister stirred, then propped herself on one elbow. “I am now.” Tossing waves of hair off her face, she leaned forward to turn up the gas lamp. “Why are you—?”

“Don’t turn on the light.” Noelle rushed over, stayed her with her hand. “I don’t want anyone, especially Papa, to know we’re up and about.”

Chloe complied, her curiosity a tangible entity that filled the room. “What are you planning now?”

“I’m planning to go after Ashford. And I need your help.”

Even in the darkness, Noelle could see Chloe’s shock. “Going after Ashford? How? Where?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know.”

A sharp intake of breath, and Chloe sat upright, patted the bed beside her. “You’d better sit down and explain.”

Noelle perched at the edge of the bed. “I don’t have time. Suffice it to say that he needs my help. Once I’ve given it to him, we can be together. Not before.”

“But Noelle—”

“Please, Chloe.” Noelle seized her sister’s hands. “Don’t ask me any more questions. Not now. Just tell me you’ll help me.”

“You know I will.” Chloe’s agreement was immediate and unconditional. “What can I do?”

“Help me find some extra sheets. We’ll knot them together to form a rope of sorts. Then, after I’m on my way, leave your window ajar. And sleep lightly, listen for my voice.”

“You intend to climb in and out of here?”

“It’s the best location for doing so. Your room faces the back of the house. Mama and Papa’s faces the front. They can’t know I’ve gone, Chloe. They’ll worry themselves sick.” She paused, taking into account her sister’s tender, honest heart. “I’m not asking you to lie to them. If I’m discovered, tell them the truth. But if I’m not—say nothing. I’ve stuffed my bed with enough pillows to make it look as if I’m sleeping in it. And Tempest is in her usual spot. So if Mama should look in on me, she’ll feel reassured that all is well.”

“Which it won’t be,” Chloe countered anxiously.

“Yes it will.” Noelle leaned forward, her tone pleading. “Chloe, I know you’re too young to understand. But I love him. I have to be with him. And tonight, I have to tell him that, show him that.”

A small smile touched Chloe’s lips. “I’m not
that
young. I see the way you two look at each other. And I see how mussed your hair is every time Lord Tremlett leaves. I think what’s blossoming between you two is wonderful and incredibly romantic. I just want you to be happy. And safe.”

“I’ll be both. I promise. That’s what tonight is all about.” Chloe sprang to her feet. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s find those sheets.”

Noelle was breathless by the time she reached the address she’d subtly acquired from her father during dinner this evening.

Ashford’s Town house.

Frowning, she circled the grounds, trying to determine the best point of entry. The house looked discouragingly dark, and Noelle found herself praying that she wasn’t too late, that he hadn’t already gone.

She was maneuvering her way through some shrubbery when her prayers were answered.

The front door opened, and Ashford stepped outside. Or at least she assumed it was Ashford, based upon his height and build. The night was dark, lit only by a pale crescent moon, and the man who eased his way down the front steps was clad totally in black.

Odd.

Noelle hunched down behind the line of shrubs, waiting until he walked past her, glancing about him before heading around back to the carriage house.

It was Ashford all right. There was no mistaking that arrogant, commanding presence, that uncompromising jaw and predatory stance.

Swiftly, Noelle evaluated her best course of action. Should she follow him to the carriage house, hope she could somehow slip past him and enter his carriage firsts—hiding Lord knew where-—or wait here, think of another way to accomplish her goal—one that had a better chance of succeeding without the risk of discovery?

Instinct cautioned her to attempt the latter.

She studied the drive, recalled the gates she’d slid through when she entered. They hadn’t been guarded of locked, but they had been shut—a condition she’d been sure to restore before sprinting across the grounds to the manor. If Ashford intended to leave his estate, which clearly he did, he’d have to take the necessary time to alight from his carriage and open the gates to make way for his vehicle to pass.

That would be her cue.

Swiftly, she emerged, gathered up the folds of her dark, fur-lined mantle and darted across the grounds, retracing her steps until she’d reached the iron gate.

There, she hid in the shadows.

Minutes later, a phaeton eased its way around the drive, moving quietly toward the gate. Surprisingly, and to Noelle’s stark relief, it had a rumble seat in the back—although why Ashford had selected a vehicle that accommodated a groom when he was its sole passenger, she had no idea. Nor did she care. She had no intentions of looking a gift horse in the mouth.

She readied herself—and waited.

The phaeton came to a halt.

Ashford stepped down and moved toward the gate to open it.

The instant his back was to her, Noelle left her hiding spot, scooted over to the phaeton and climbed silently into the rumble seat. In the dim light, she squinted, searching for anything to help keep her hidden.

Again, luck was on her side. A saddle blanket lay on the floor at her feet. Dropping down beside it, she snatched it up, curled into a tight ball on the carriage floor and dragged the blanket over herself.

Mission accomplished.

A moment later, Ashford returned, swung himself into the driver’s seat, and urged his horse forward.

The phaeton passed through the gates and stopped. Ashford jumped down lightly, and there was a grating sound as the gates swung shut. In a flash, he was back, taking up the reins and veering the phaeton into the dark streets of London.

Noelle felt the rocking motion beneath her and smiled triumphantly.

Wherever Ashford was headed, he was no longer going there alone.

The woman he loved was going with him.

The journey ended abruptly—in far too short a time to preserve Noelle’s current peace of mind.

She had scarcely shifted her weight for the second time when the phaeton began to slow and veer to the side of the road. Then, a moment or two later, it halted.

Tension permeated her body. Why was Ashford stopping? Surely they couldn’t yet have reached London’s East End. That would have taken a good half hour. And even without benefit of a timepiece, Noelle assessed their travel time at no more than ten, perhaps fifteen, minutes.

Had he detected her presence? Is that why he was cutting short his trip?

Staunchly, she fought the impulse to squirm out and gaze around, to verify for herself what was transpiring and why. To do so would be utterly stupid. If Ashford had spotted her, she’d know soon enough. And if there were another reason for his actions—such as the off chance that he’d forgotten something and meant to go back—she’d be a fool to undo her efforts by revealing herself.

A rustle of movement from the front seat ensued, followed by the tugging sounds of clothing being donned. An overcoat, perhaps? He’d been wearing none. Maybe he was cold and had taken the time to remedy that. In which case, they’d be on their way in …

The light thud of Ashford’s shoes striking the cobblestone obliterated that notion.

Noelle’s hands knotted into fists, and she waited, half-expecting the blanket to be yanked off her and Ashford to be looming over her, demanding to know what she was doing here.

Neither occurred.

In a muted flurry, Ashford’s footsteps moved away from the phaeton and disappeared.

Silence hung heavy in the air—for taut, prolonged minutes.

At last, Noelle dared take her chances. Shifting the blanket ever so slowly, she paused when the night air struck her face, took a preliminary glance about before emerging fully.

It was eerily dark, the area around her utterly still.

Inhaling sharply, Noelle took the plunge, popping her head out and assessing her surroundings.

The phaeton was nestled against a remote street corner, an overhang of trees nearly concealing it from view. The nearest streetlamp was at least half a block away, throwing the phaeton into complete darkness.

Obviously, Ashford wanted his coming and going to remain undetected.

The question was, coming and going from where?

Growing bolder, Noelle crept to the edge of her seat, staring intently in the direction of the streetlamp.

From what she could make out from the silhouettes cast by the light, there were several houses down the way; large, splendid houses like her father’s or Ashford’s. She was right about one thing: they were definitely still in the West End of Town.

So what in God’s name was Ashford doing here?

She’d better figure it out quickly. He’d already been gone at least a quarter hour, and she had no idea how long this segment of his mission—whatever that might be—would take.

Scarcely had Noelle made that determination when, out of nowhere, a figure in black emerged from the shadows down the street, racing towards the phaeton.

Jolting with shock, Noelle bit back her scream of fear, watching the man draw closer, a burlap sack in his hand, a hood covering his face.

That powerful build, those lithe movements—dear God, it was Ashford.

Acting on pure instinct, Noelle ducked down, slid onto the carriage floor, and yanked the blanket over her head. She was almost certain he hadn’t seen her. Her hair and mantle were black, and it was virtually pitch dark where he’d left the phaeton. The position of the streetlamp had been in her favor, providing enough light for her to see his approach.

His approach … from where?

She had no time to contemplate the ramifications of what had just occurred. Seconds later, Ashford reached the carriage, his shallow breaths evidence that he’d been running. Without delay, he leaned over the rumble seat—mere feet above where Noelle lay—and shoved the burlap sack beneath the blanket covering her. She could feel it press against the top of her head and, in response, she tensed, resisting her natural instinct to ease away from the pressure. She was afraid to make the slightest move, to do anything that would catch Ashford’s eye. All she could do was lie utterly still and pray he wouldn’t notice the additional baggage beneath his concealing blanket.

He was either too confident or in too much of a hurry to search the backseat for intruders. A heartbeat later, he leaped into the driver’s seat, slapped the reins, and sped off.

This time they were definitely headed for the East End.

Noelle drew that conclusion about a quarter of an hour later. She could tell, not only by the length of the drive, but by the change in the road condition—altering from well maintained to broken and rutted.