Page 45 of West End Earl
Higgins cleared his throat from the doorway. “Milord, the Marquess of Eastly is asking to see you.”
Cal didn’t turn from the window, although her carriage was long gone. He’d been staring into the distance, mooning like a green lad, and hadn’t noticed his father’s coach arrive.
“I’m not at home to my father at the moment. Thank you, Higgins.”
“Very good, milord.”
The door closed, leaving Cal alone once more. Hell and blast. The weight of his father’s expectations squeezed another bit of happiness from him.
With a deliberate exhale, he released the worry and his shoulders relaxed. In the end, it wouldn’t matter. Miss Cuthbert wasn’t going to marry him, and they’d already devised a plan to work around their fathers.
This ridiculous situation with Miss Cuthbert nagged at him, and he knew it bothered Phee. He’d asked her to trust him. Things were well in hand. He would juggle this, like a dozen scandals and irresponsible bets made by his father before. Phee had bigger things to worry about than Eastly’s poor judgment. Like staying alive.
There were still unwanted visitors to deal with later that night, and he’d need help. With Father’s carriage at the front of the house, evasive maneuvers were called for. Cal darted across the hall, used a servants’ passage to get to the rear of the house, then took the narrow staircase down to the kitchen. A friendly wave to Cook, then he slipped out the kitchen to the garden. Cal’s staff had installed a thick iron lock, glistening shiny and solid against the newly scarred wood door. A gate led to the lane between his house and Ethan’s, where another similar gate opened to his friend’s property.
Sure, they could involve Bow Street. But that would mean an official inquiry, interviews with Phee—which he didn’t think she’d want to give—and more time than he had available. Besides, authorities were a bit of an overkill when you had a best friend conveniently built like a bull.
This wouldn’t be the first time he and Amesbury had taken care of things their way.
Slipping into the Amesbury home was essentially the same process as getting out of his, but in reverse. A cheeky wave and blown kiss toward their cook—which earned him an apricot tart straight from the oven—and then a maid told him the couple were in their library. Out in the hall, Cal stomped his boots to echo off the marble tile, pasted on a smile, and called out, “Incoming visitor! Cover your bits!”
Thankfully, the lovebirds appeared to be enjoying a rare moment of leaving their clothes in place. At least, he thought so until he saw the book in Lottie’s hand.
“Your book is upside down, Lottie. Hate to interrupt your wedded bliss, but I have a situation.”
“We’ve missed you at breakfast these last few days,” she said, casually turning the novel in her hands over.
“Sorry, I’ve been eating with Adam.” The name felt wrong on his tongue, but there was no helping it. “There’s been another threat, so he’s gone to Lakeview early. My spy made himself useful today. He says they’ll attack at midnight. Ethan, I need your help.”
Over the next hour they concocted a plan. Direct, to the point. Nelson would let the men in, thus securing the footman’s position in the crew as an inside man. The rest of the staff would have strict orders to stay in their rooms, no matter what they heard. The last thing Cal needed was injured innocent bystanders if things went sideways. Milton’s hired crew would have a clear path to Phee’s room, where Ethan and Cal would be waiting.
From there, it would take weapons, brute strength, surprise, and a prayer that luck would be on their side. Whatever happened, Cal would do anything necessary to secure Phee’s safety.
That night, as Ethan and Cal lay in wait, a tap on the door made them tense. Nelson slipped into the unlit room. “Stand down, milords. They sent a boy with a message. One of the lads watching the house saw Mr. Hardwick’s travel carriage. The crew knows he ain’t here, but they lost his route once he passed Hyde Park.”
Beside Cal, Ethan sagged against the wall. “Damn. No fight tonight, then, aye?”
“No, milord,” Nelson said.
Which meant the threat remained. Cal relaxed his fists and sighed. He hadn’t realized how much he’d looked forward to sending a message to Milton tonight. They could contact the man directly—if they could find him—but that would mean surrendering the element of surprise. Surprise might be their only true advantage, Ethan’s brute size notwithstanding.
“Thank you, Nelson. You’ve done well,” Cal said.
Ethan clapped a hand on his shoulder, then left the room, moving on silent feet through the dark.
Returning to his own room held little appeal, so Cal settled into Phee’s bed. The linens smelled like her. Wrapping himself in her scent was the next best thing to having her there. Sleep would be elusive, but he had to believe the outriders would protect her.
***
The carriage rolled to a stop at the front entrance of Lakeview, a relatively new Georgian house surrounded by rolling lawns ending along the shore of the requisite lake. Lush woodlands encircled the entire estate. The house party would be lovely.
“Hobby, please drive around to the servants’ entrance. Thank you!” she called to the coachman. The stones of the driveway crunched under the wheels as they bypassed the impressive arched front doors and made their way around the side of the house to a less ornate portal.
Cal would have a fit if he knew she made a habit of using the servants’ entrance. But unlike Cal, Phee couldn’t ignore her status as a nobody. Besides, she wasn’t here as a guest. Officially, she’d arrived early to oversee the house-party plans, but the staff wouldn’t take well to her meddling in a situation they had well in hand.
Phee grabbed her small traveling trunk, donned her new hat, and rang the side bell.
A handsome footman opened the door, holding an apple and chewing a giant bite. Wordlessly, he stepped aside and gestured for her to enter with a jerk of his head. Quite the different greeting on this side of the house.
