Page 87 of Let Me Be Your Hero
“Let’s go,” Harrington hissed.
Archibald nodded to Ceci and Elissa, who were to listen beneath the window. Everyone else scurried around to the back of the house.
The back door came into view, and the group paused. “Should we just go barging in?” Lucy asked.
“Yes, precisely,” Lady Griselda said, shouldering her way to the front of the group. “Komm, Inge.”
She yanked open the door and strode through. The rest of the group streamed in after her.
A footman appeared at the top of the servants’ stairs, bearing a bottle of wine on a silver tray. He paused, clearly flummoxed by the sight of two dozen well-dressed strangers and one dog striding in through the servants’ entrance.
“You can’t just barge in here!” the footman cried.
Archibald stepped forward, fists raised with the intention of knocking the man insensible before he could raise the alarm, but Morsley laid his hand upon his shoulder. “Wait, Thorpe.” The earl’s face was earnest as he said, “I should be the one to punch him.”
The footman’s eyes darted from Archibald to Morsley, full of alarm.
“I’m a peer, you see,” Morsley continued. “If it comes down to an assault charge, they would try me in the House of Lords. I’ll have an easy go of it there.”
“You realize discussing this does not make things better!” Mr. Daubney snapped. “It only makes the assault premeditated.”
“Fine,” Archibald grumbled, ignoring the Runner. “I suppose you can be the one to do it.”
Morsley squeezed Archibald’s shoulder, then rounded on the footman, fists raised. Like most footmen, this fellow was around six feet tall and broad of shoulder. Still, he did not seem to relish the idea of being punched by the hulking giant that was Lord Morsley.
“Wait!” he cried. “There’s no need to hit me!”
Morsley loomed over him. “Isn’t there?”
“No, m’lord!” The footman set the tray down on a sideboard so he could hold up both hands. “I’ll just sit over there in the corner. You won’t hear a peep out of me, I promise!”
“All right, then.” Morsley pointed a stern finger at him. “But you’d better not make a sound.”
They left Morsley with six of Archibald’s men to guard the back entrance. Lady Griselda gave Inge another whiff of Izzie’s chemise. “Such,” she whispered.
Inge paused, then headed toward the front of the house. The group tiptoed after her.
As they made their way toward the front stairs, a door opened, and a maid emerged. She gasped, hand flying to her heart.
Archibald froze. He couldn’t let her sound the alarm, but his every instinct revolted at the notion of striking a woman.
He had just resolved that he would clap his hand over her mouth when Lady Thetford rushed over and gave her a conspiratorial wink.
“Shh!” the viscountess whispered. “It’s a surprise!”
“A… a surprise?” the maid whispered back.
“Yes! For Mr. Milner.” The viscountess, who admittedly didn’t much look like a criminal miscreant in her frilly pink dress, hooked her arm through the maid’s elbow. “Come with me. I’ll explain everything.”
Archibald shot her a grateful look, and they hurried on.
They reached the front entrance. Abruptly, Inge put her head down. Whereas she had been meandering about sniffing the air before, now she trotted up the stairs with resolution in her steps.
As he rounded the banister, Archibald could hear the Duke of Trevissick droning on about the Forgery of Foreign Bills Act from the corner parlor. He hurried up the stairs on tiptoes.
Inge led them up two flights and down a corridor. Two men stood flanking the room at the end of the hall.
“What the hell!” one shouted, seeing Lady Griselda and the dog.
