Page 38 of The Duke's Impetuous Darling
"But if you know about my informing them, you must be party to the smugglers or one among the Custom House officers."
"It doesn't matter. Let's go." He indicated her door.
"Where?"
He sneered. "Out for a Christmas ride in the country."
"I doubt we'll get far. You see...the house stirs."Had Hallerton any idea of what was afoot in the hall?"The staff. The earl."
"Plus you and your mad duke? Huh! We'll leave, you and I, you will walk before me and we will go to the stables. You're having a rendezvous with me."
"Am I?"
"You have many, it seems."
"I enjoy early morning rides."
"That's what got you in trouble in the first place."
So he knew quite a bit about her sighting of the smuggling gang. She pointed to her riding habit atop the bed. "May I change first?"
He curled a fleshy lip. "I doubt—”
She swept a hand down to indicate her wrinkled day dress. "You wish to attract attention, then? Have a servant see and rush out to bring me my coat? The stable hand would wonder."
He squinted at her. "Wily bitch. Very well. Quickly then. No...not behind your screen. Here. In front of me. You won't show me anything I haven't seen before. So, no need to smile at me, you are not unique, little bird."
"Unlace me."
He cursed.
Giving him her back, she considered running for the door. But she could tell by his tugs that he undid her with one hand, the other on that pistol.
That pistol that looked so similar to her own. Old. So old that it might have the same capabilities—or lack thereof—that typified her own relic. It had no fore site nor a rear one. To hit a target required practice holding and patience aiming. Not speed. Worse—or better for her—a shooter must stand only three meters away to hit anything finite and even then, he must have a steady hand.
Could she rattle Hallerton more than he was already?
Free of the bodice laces, she stripped off her gown and left it to the floor. Her shoes she cast askew. Her petticoat she wiggled out of and dashed against the foot of the tallboy. Assiduously neat all her life, she knew this might alert Mary of her trouble. Tugging at her riding skirt, she ignored a shirt and donned her jacket, buttoning it high and tight against her throat. "I'm ready."
"We leave by the servants stairs. No sound from you."
She taunted him with a disbelieving lift of her brows. "Or you'll shoot me here?"
"Go." He waved the thing about.
Heavy for you?She took heart.
The hall was gray with dawn and as they made for the servants back stairs, she noted no sounds of maids or footmen, Simms or Griff or Aunt Gertrude. She gulped back fear and searched for a solution.
How good a horseman was Hallerton? Might she escape him? What of the horses the stable boys would give the two of them? Could she influence them to saddle the older, weaker animals? She'd suggest it. Look distressed. Sam and John Pickens had always taken good care of her and they'd notice her distress. Or Hallerton's gun on her if he were so foolish as to display it. She'd find a way to escape him. Must.
She trod across the frost-covered yard toward the stable block. Did anyone look out their bedroom window this morning? Did any wonder why she went to the stables with Hallerton whom she'd not liked? Leaving to go riding, not in her riding boots, but in her dancing slippers.
* * *
"Bring her down!" Carlson demanded of Griff and his step-mother.
Alastair bristled, called to accompany Griff into the parlor for this confrontation between the local Customs official, Sir Henry Torrens and the man he accused of commandeering a smuggling ring along the Brighton coast. At Griff's urgent plea, Alastair had dressed quickly in a shirt, waistcoat, buff breeches and simple black wool frock coat.
