The Hired Hero (21 page)

It shook him to the very marrow.

His eyes pressed tightly closed. Here he had vowed to stay free of emotional entanglements and devote his energies to his estate and what had happened, weak fool that he was? She was not a raving beauty. Neither was she a pattern card for demure behavior or fragile femininity. She was, in short, all that a lady should not be.

The chit was vocal with her opinions, she rode astride, she used decidedly unladylike language, she didn’t swoon at the first hint of unpleasantness. And to make matters worse, she was long and willowy when he usually preferred tiny and rounded.

So what was it? The earl nearly gave a bark of ironic laughter, at the same time repressing an urge to tug his hair out by the roots. What was it? he repeated to himself. Very simple—she was vocal with her opinions, she rode astride, she used decidedly unladylike language, she didn’t swoon at the first hint of unpleasantness. And furthermore, she didn’t blink at his curses and only grinned at his irritable set downs.

She tolerated his fits of ill temper and had risked her own life to save his skin. Had he left anything out, he demanded as his teeth gritted together? Oh, and she never used tears to twist a man to her own desires.

 She was brave. She was loyal. She had pluck to the bone, and a sense of humor. She—who the devil was she?

 If he had felt rather queasy before, the thought of that question made him positively ill. He was not a total gudgeon. Highly sensitive dispatches, couriers to a private estate —it took little imagination to figure out her father was a very important man.

But why the devil wouldn’t she tell him who?

There were any number of possible explanations but one sprung foremost to mind. She wanted to walk away from him at the end of this hoping that what had passed between them would remain as unknown as her real identity. The import of her silence was as clear as any words she might have uttered. She wanted nothing to do with the Earl of Davenport, especially now that he had shown his true character, one not so very different from that of his infamous twin.

No doubt that accounted for the fact that she could barely force herself to look at him since morning.

 An opportunistic rake. And an ill-mannered, bearish one at that—at least Charles had had a modicum of charm to sweeten the bitter aftertaste of his actions. Is that how she thought of him? Was she frightened? Ashamed? Or merely willing herself to block out the feel of his bare chest, the touch of his fingers as she would the rest of her nightmarish experience? She was strong enough to forget and go with her life as if they had never met.

 But was he?

 Another question arose. He wondered whether she fully realized that her reputation was in his hands. She might be willing to put what had happened out of her mind, but one word from him, dropped discreetly among the ton, would ruin her forever, regardless of who her father was. Or would she consider the thousand pounds a payment for his silence as well? The growl that rumbled in his throat caused the two men seated on either side of him to edge away in apprehension.

And he thought he had problems when only confronted by merciless creditors, a bankrupt estate and a disgraced name.

* * * *

The gentleman crumpled the note and tossed it into the fire, allowing himself a small smile of satisfaction. His coachman had finally redeemed himself somewhat from the botch he had made of things.

So. She was nearly here. It was time to put his plan into action— one that would not fail.

A short while later a hackney pulled up in front of an elegant town house on Grosvenor Square. The occupant was dressed for the occasion in modest attire, as befitted his station. He carefully smoothed his hair and straightened his simply tied cravat before assuming an expression of grave concern and stepping forth from the vehicle. He rapped with a touch of urgency upon the heavy oak door. The butler answered  almost immediately. His craggy features softened somewhat at the sight of a familiar face.

 “Please come in, sir. I shall inform his lordship that you wish to speak to him.” The last was phrased as a question.

 “If you please, Jenkins,” he answered politely. “That matter is rather important, I fear, else I wouldn’t have disturbed him during the hours of his work.”

The butler nodded sagely. “If you will wait in the...”

“Of course. I shall find my own way.”

 Jenkins understood the implied urgency and hurried off.

 A short while later, a tall gentleman, height minimized by shoulders stooped from years of hunching over books, entered the room. His spectacles were pushed up to nest in a thatch of unruly grey locks and his face wore a vague air of consternation at being pulled from his inner sanctum.

“You wished to see me, Mr. Farrington?” he said, his tone implying his opinion of what such a meeting was likely to yield. “Jenkins has said as much, of course,  but I don’t understand...”

No, of course you don’t, you dottering sapskull, thought Farrington to himself, all the while keeping the solicitous smile pasted on his face. But when he spoke, his words echoed the same false emotions as his expression.

“Indeed I do,” he interrupted smoothly. “It is a matter of great importance, sir.” He withdrew a folded paper from his immaculate serge coat and waved it under the older man’s nose. “I have just now received a special dispatch from His Grace.” If the old fool thought to question it, he had no qualms that the handwriting would pass muster, even under the scrutiny of the duke’s own brother. After all, hadn’t he been handling the man’s correspondence for the past four years and more?

 But Sir Henry made no move to inspect the document. At the mention of the duke, his face became troubled. “Has...has something happened to Thomas or Lucien?” he stammered.

“No,” assured Farrington. “It concerns Lady Caroline.”

“But my niece is safe at Rox...”

 “Quite. And the duke wishes her to remain so. It has come to his attention that she may be in grave danger—”

 He paused for effect, letting the other man absorb the full import of what he had just said. The charade was working to perfection—Sir Henry’s expression had changed from one of concern to one of outrage. Just as he made as if to speak, Farrington cut him off and continued his prepared speech.

“He writes that he depends on you, sir, protect her from harm.”

“Of course!” cried Sir Henry. “I may not be as adventurous as Thomas, but the devil take me if I would allow anyone to threaten Caroline!”

Farrington smiled primly. “His Grace has every confidence in you.”

“What does he wish me to do?”

“He wants you to leave at once for Roxbury Manor. With timely warning, and you to oversee the household, disaster may be averted.”

 “Jenkins!” roared Sir Henry.

The butler appeared quickly enough that it seemed likely his ear had been glued to the keyhole.

“Have the traveling carriage brought around immediately!”

Farrington suppressed a smug laugh. “Sir, His Grace also suggests that you take Jenkins with you, as well as your footmen. It cannot hurt to be fully prepared.”

Jenkins thrust out his chest and drew himself up to full height.  “I shall be honored to help the family in any way.”

Sir George chewed on his lower lip. “But that will mean leaving the house without a man to watch over it. What if...”

The critical moment had arrived. With a slight clearing of his throat Farrington spoke up again. “Sir, if I may be so bold, I would be happy to offer my services here in order to be of help to His Grace.”

The other man clapped him on the shoulder. “No wonder Thomas thinks so highly of you, Mr. Farrington.  You are sure you do not mind? It may be...dangerous.”

  “I don’t mind.” Farrington made a little bow in order to hide his smirk of triumph.  “I don’t mind at all.”

 The mail lurched to a stop at the busy posting inn on the outskirts of London. It was nearly dark yet the yard was filled with the stomping of hooves, the creaking of harnesses and the muttered curses of the ostlers as they sought to make the changes as quickly as possible and get the various phaetons, curricles and coaches on their way.

Caroline and the earl dismounted, stiff with travel and unspoken concerns. She hesitated at the entrance of the bustling establishment. Since setting out from her father’s estate, nothing has seemed important save reaching the city with the documents from France. Yet now that she had arrived safe and sound, she was strangely reluctant to acknowledge that the journey—and all that had taken place— was over and done with. Davenport gave her little time to stew about it, however. as usual, he took her arm none too gently and moved her from blocking the doorway.

“Wait here,” he said gruffly. “I’ll see to arranging for you to be taken to—wherever you are going.” A scowl darkened his already stormy countenance as he seemed to chew on the words. “And try to stay out of trouble, for once.”

 Odious man, she thought. As if she meant to cause any of the problems that had befallen them.

He returned in a few minutes. “We are in luck. There are a few hackneys returning to the city after discharging their passengers. One shall come by directly.” He stopped to clear his throat, and when he continued, his voice sounded strangely pinched. “I...Do you wish that I accompany you to your destination?”

Caroline failed to meet his eyes. “I don’t think that is necessary, sir. I believe we are well out of danger now.”

Only the tightening of his jaw betrayed any emotion on his part. “Very well,” he said curtly. “I shall need to ask you for some of the blunt for my own ride.”

 She removed a few coins and handed him the rest of the purse.

 “Where...will you go?”

 Davenport seemed to weigh his options as he stared at the bulging leather bag in his palm. Then, with a slight curl of his lips, he tucked it into his pocket. 

“It is of no matter to you,” he answered harshly. “You know where to deliver the rest. And don’t forget you owe me for the horse as well.” He sucked in his breath. “There’s no charge for the...extra service, though I know of plenty of females who get paid handsomely for such things.”

 Caroline recoiled as if struck. Her face drained of all color.

 The hackney arrived and he turned on his heel and stalked off, not waiting to see her off. She climbed blindly into the musty interior, hoping no one had remarked on the odd sight of a lad with the tears streaming down his face.

Davenport rounded the corner of the inn and quickly slipped into another hackney after barking a set of terse orders at the driver.  A slap of the reins set the vehicle in motion, throwing the earl back up against the worn squabs. Pain shot through his ribs, but it was nothing compared to the mental lashing he was doling out to himself.

What in the name of Hades had possessed him to say such a monstrous thing? She may have cut him to the quick with her obvious desire to have him well out of her life, but it had not been a deliberate cruelty.

His hand raked through his hair. He had meant to hurt her. Yet seeing her face twist in shock had only made him feel even more miserable. Rather than proving that he had regained mastery over his emotions, it mocked the fact that his vaunted self-control had somehow slipped away, leaving him raw, vulnerable.

He felt defenseless, and it frightened him more than he cared to admit.

A bitter smile twitched at his lips. Well, he had learned to protect himself from other slings and arrows in life. Surely he would learn to block this out as well.

 For if he admitted to himself that he cared for her, he was utterly lost.

 The horses slowed and the ruts gave way to smooth cobblestones. Davenport glanced out the grimy window and saw they were approaching the fashionable area of Mayfair, with its well-lit streets and imposing dwellings. Up ahead was the dark shape of another lumbering vehicle. True to his orders, the driver had kept right on the tail of the hackney carrying Caroline. The earl sank back in his seat, satisfied. In light of his recent behavior, she had every reason to think him a cad, but he had made a promise and he meant to keep it. He would see her safely to her destination, regardless of whether she wanted him to or not.

He would damn well earn every farthing of that thousand pounds.

* * * *

Caroline bounded up the polished marble steps and let the knocker fall in a series of impatient raps. It seemed an age before the door cracked open and a pair of dark eyes peered out into the night.

“Be off, urchin.”

Caroline had all but forgotten about the rather disreputable figure she must be presenting.  She hastily shoved her worn boot into the gap to keep the door from being slammed in her face.

“Where is Jenkins?” she demanded. “And who the devil—oh, is it you, Mr. Farrington? Forgive my rather unorthodox appearance, but I shall explain everything shortly.” 

 Her father’s secretary fell back a step or two.  “Lady Caroline?”  he gasped, his hand flying up to his chest in surprise.

 “Sorry to give you such a shock.” She stepped into the entrance hall and tore off her cap. “Where are all the servants? And Uncle Henry?” she asked as she removed the pins and shook out her hair.

“Why, they have left for Roxbury Manor not an hour ago in response to an urgent letter from your father.”

 Caroline’s lips compressed. “They will have a long journey for naught.”

 Farrington’s eyes were still widened in amazement. They now slowly traveled up from her ragged breeches to her streaked face. “Are...are you all right?” he ventured.

 She let out a sigh. “It is a long story, but yes.”

 Now that she was finally here, within the solid walls of her own home, surrounded by the reassuring presence of familiar things, she felt an overwhelming weariness steal over her. For an instant, her knees buckled slightly.

A hand steadied her shoulder and the sound of Farrington’s voice, dripping with concern, oozed through the fogginess clouding her brain.

“Lady Caroline, let me help you to a chair.”

 “No, I’ll be fine.” Her eyes pressed closed. She didn’t dare sit down, not yet. “If you would ring for a maid, I’ll go directly upstairs.” She envisioned a tub, filled to the brim with steaming suds, and a soft bed with clean sheets.