Page 46 of The Hired Hero
“Good heavens, Julian never loses control of himself,” murmured Lady Helen. “Since when has he developed such a temper?”
“Since he met me,” answered Caroline with a sigh.
The widowed countess choked back what sounded like laughter. “How wonderful,” she managed to say.
Caroline’s brows drew together in puzzlement.
“One is indifferent only if one doesn’t care.” Seeing that the import of her words still hadn’t dawned on Caroline, Helen merely smiled.
Jeremy looked thoughtful, then shrugged and changed the subject. “What are you planning on doing?”
“I need to think about it—but not on an empty stomach,” replied Caroline. “Forgive me if I seem rude, but may I ask for a breakfast tray to be sent up to my room? I need some time by myself to sort things out.”
* * *
It was finallyquiet throughout the house. Jeremy had at last been settled in a bedchamber, with the admonition to get some rest. Meanwhile, Davenport was apparently nursing his wounds—physical and otherwise—with the bottle of brandy within the confines of his own chamber. After delivering the requested tray, Lady Helen had asked whether there was anything else she could do, but Caroline had assured her that all was fine for the moment.
However, a short while later, a small package was delivered to her room by one of the maids. The leather purse inside the wrappings was reassuringly heavy, noted Caroline, loosening the strings and seeing a glint of gold. Giving thanks that at least one of her worries was resolved, she slipped the money into her jacket pocket and then moved to her window and watched Lady Helen walk off with the gardener to inspect the bower of overgrown roses.
A cursory check showed that the hallway outside her room was empty. Caroline wrapped a portion of the remaining food in a large napkin, then debated whether to leave any sort of note for the others. What possible scribble could adequately convey her feelings? Better to leave things unsaid rather than express herself badly. She trusted they would understand. Later, she would make amends for her actions.
If there was a later.
She hesitated only a fraction by the earl’s door before moving resolutely on, down the stairs and out the french doors of the music room. A gravel path bordered by tall privet hedges led through a formal garden and down toward the cove. She had to slow her steps as it changed to a dirt trail through rocks and gnarled roots. But the way was clear enough, and soon, just as Lady Helen had described, she spied a small craft tied up to a narrow wooden jetty.
As she came closer, Caroline surveyed it with mounting satisfaction. It was obviously tended with care. The rigging was taut and showed no signs of wear, the hull looked well caulked and the sail was neatly furled around the varnished spar. She had sailed in a boat similar to this one on numerous occasions with her cousin, though never by herself. Still, she had little doubt as to whether she could handle it on her own?—
“Ah, it’s about time. I had expected you a trifle sooner.”
Mouth agape, she spun around at the sound of the familiar baritone.
Davenport was lounging against a stack of wooden crates. He eyed the bulging napkin tucked under her arm. “Stopped for nuncheon, I see. But you should have inquired as to the tide. There is little time to spare.”
By now, her jaw had assumed its proper place. “What are you doing here?”
“Really now, I’ve come to expect more rational questions from you. I, too, have an engagement in London, if you will recall.”
“You’re foxed!”
He held the bottle up to the light and made a show of gauging its contents. “I must be to contemplate doing what I’m doing. But in all fairness, an extended time spent in your company could drive even a saint to drink.”
“I’mnottaking you with me! I thought I made that clear.”
He rose and shoved the bottle in his pocket. “As for you taking me—well, I suppose we might see who would prevail in a battle for the boat, but I daresay we can’t afford to squabble.” He began casting off the lines. “If you have any nautical sense whatsoever, you will mark those clouds to the east and take my meaning.” Jumping lightly onto the deck, he turned to her.
“Well, are you coming?”
* * *
The gentleman’spatience was nearing an end. The ebony walking stick drummed an agitated tattoo against the leather of his immaculately polished boot. He recrossed his legs, then flicked a speck of dust from the sleeve of his coat. Finally, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching the carriage and drew back the window drapery just enough to peer through one of the panes of glass.
His eyes narrowed. “Have you managed to discover anything useful?”
The coachman touched nervously at his mottled nose as he shook his head. “No, milord. Still no sign of them. But they can’t have disappeared into thin air. Someone will spot them soon.” He cleared his throat. “The only thing out of the ordinary is a gig has been reported as missing, but I have word that it was seen heading southwest, in the direction of New Milton or Lymington. Do you wish…”
The point of the walking stick pushed the man back a step. “Drive on to the next inn, you fool,” snarled the gentleman.
As the coach sprang forward, he sank back against the squabs and considered what to do. Even with the considerable raise in reward, none of his informants had been able to ferret out the whereabouts of the damnable chit. A visit to the rooms of Mr. Leighton had turned up signs that she had been there but provided no hint of where she might have gone.
