Page 18 of The Hired Hero
Caroline gritted her teeth. How had she let herself be drawn into bantering with such a man? She had come downstairs with a purpose, and she had let herself be distracted.
“I must leave here immediately,” she announced.
Davenport removed his dusty coat and sank into one of the faded armchairs. He wasn’t wearing a cravat, and his shirt was open at the neck, revealing a hint of dark curls beneath the rumpled linen.
“I’m relieved to hear it, Miss Boxer. I have more than enough of my own problems to manage without having to deal with some gothic female. Good luck to you.” A pause. “You appear to need it.”
Caroline sucked in a sharp breath. That wasn’t the response she had expected. Surely, even a gentleman as jaded as the earl would offer her the use of his carriage.
“Sir, what I meant is, I would be obliged if you would have your carriage brought around to take me on to…to my destination as soon as possible.”
His bark of laughter was short and humorless. “Forgive my rudeness, Miss Boxer, but have you had a closer look around? Thereisno carriage. And the only animal in the stables besides my stallion is a rather ordinary hack.”
“P-Perhaps a carriage can be hired?”
He crossed his legs nonchalantly. “Have you any money?”
Caroline shook her head.
“Well, neither have I.” He took a sip of his brandy. “I’m barely scraping by as it is. Perhaps there are relatives to whom you can send word?”
Caroline bit her lip. She was saved from having to reply by the entrance of Mrs. Collins, who was carrying a tray with a few slices of cold ham, a chunk of bread and some Stilton cheese. “I’ve brought your supper here, milord, as you asked.”
She hadn’t noticed Caroline standing in the shadows, and after setting it down on a side table, she hesitated before speaking again. “The candlemaker’s son just delivered a package to the house and mentioned that someone—a gentleman of Quality by the sound of it—is inquiring in the village as to whether any unknown young lady has passed through recently?—”
Caroline’s gasp interrupted the housekeeper. She felt the blood drain from her face, and for a moment, she was mortally afraid that she would have to eat her words swooning.
“Don’t you worry none, miss,” said Mrs. Collins quickly. “I know when to keep mum. I saw what he done to you.”
How had the man found her so quickly?
Davenport regarded her intently. “You’re safe here,” he said quietly. Then he rubbed at his temples and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like an oath. “Perhaps in the morning we can figure a way out of this coil.”
She fought to compose her voice. “I-If you will excuse me, sir, I’m feeling rather fatigued. I think I shall return to my room.”
Seven
Caroline closed the door to her bedchamber. Much too agitated to lie down, she began to pace the narrow confines.
Was her nemesis possessed of preternatural powers?
She had thought herself safe from any pursuit for at least a few more days. But it seemed that was naught but wishful thinking. A shudder passed through her, and she had to fight down a rising wave of panic. Then her eyes fell on the ragged dress draped over the back of the chair, and she drew a deep breath.
She would not—could not—let the papers fall into the wrong hands.
The thought helped steady her nerves. What was it that Lucien had always told her when she was younger and hesitated at following him up to the highest boughs of the tree or setting her horse at a difficult jump?
The only enemy was fear itself.
With that in mind, Caroline cajoled herself to think.What would Lucien do?He certainly wouldn’t cower like a frightened mouse waiting for the snake to strike. He would take action.
And so would she.
Her pacing became less frantic as she began to parse through her options. First of all, it appeared that she could expect no help from the infamous Earl of Davenport. But she supposed she should still count herself fortunate in some respects. Not having a feather to fly with—that is, if he could be believed—appeared to have curbed some of his more flagrant excesses. There was no sign that any wild debauches were going to occur while she was under his roof, so her virtue seemed safe enough.
At least for the time being.
However, his claim to poverty did appear to have the ring of truth. Even the most cursory look around revealed a household shackled by the strictest economy—the shabby furnishings, the lack of servants, the simple supper taken off a tray.
