you’ve only made things worse.”
“Worse? Pray tell, princess, how much worse do you believe this situation can be? Our friends Tully and Hector are no pleasant picnic at Kew.”
“You’ve been to Kew?” Perhaps she could turn the subject.
He hesitated, the pause of a man deciding whether to lie, and a frisson of apprehension crawled up her spine.
“I’m a gardener. Of course I’ve been to Kew.” He said the words with authority, perhaps too much so.
“But . . . ”
“I think it would be in our best interest to remain here for the night.” He crossed to the window where the heavy clouds had brought an early end to the long summer day. “We can leave in the morning, when the servants go about their business. It shouldn’t be difficult to blend in.” He looked toward her. “Unless, of course, you can think of a better hiding place.”
“I shouldn’t stay here.” Lucy shivered, not from her wet clothes but from the danger she knew remaining in this man’s presence would bring. Yet she had nowhere else to go in her rain-soaked dress. Her sense of self-preservation, though, was strong enough to realize that each moment spent in this man’s company tempted her to forget her hard-won independence. “My step . . . that is, my employer will be searching for me,” she hedged. Perhaps dodging Sidmouth’s thugs would be preferable after all to spending a night with a man she was tempted to depend upon.
He cast aside her concerns with a dismissive wave. “Your employer will have to wait until we rid ourselves of those ruffians. They won’t have much difficulty tracing our steps to this house. In the morning, we can slip past them without them being any the wiser.” He cautiously lifted the draperies a mere inch. “Ah, it is as I thought. We have uninvited guests.”
Wellington snuffled against Lucy’s neck, but it was the thought of Sidmouth’s spies outside that caused icy tendrils to snake through her. She bent down and placed the sleeping pug on one of the large cushions. Wellington twitched and then began snoring in earnest. “Can you see them?” She moved to join the gardener by the window, but he waved her away.
“Let’s not confirm their suspicions. Our new friend Tully is wedged between two houses across the street. I wonder if he’s considered that a red cap is not the most inconspicuous choice.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t see the other one. No doubt he’s in back, watching the stables.”
Lucy wiped her damp palms against her even damper skirt. Thank heavens she had given Mr. Selkirk the list of reformers’ names. “They found us rather quickly.”
“It seems they have incentive.” He strode to the middle of the room and, stepping onto the dais, pulled back the bedclothes. Lucy eyed him warily. The best course might be to pretend to go along with his plan. Once he was asleep, she could quit the house under the cover of darkness. Perhaps she could steal his clothes and contrive somehow to disguise herself. But then where would she go? She could not return home now that Sidmouth’s men knew where she lived, and she refused to endanger any of the other reformers by seeking shelter with them.
He waved toward the painted screen in the corner. “No doubt Madame keeps night-rails and such back there. Make yourself as comfortable as you like.”
“I will do no such thing.” Lucy bristled. Perhaps he had not contrived their current circumstances, but his suggestion revealed he was just a man, after all. She would leave, and immediately. In one quick motion, she scooped Wellington from the pillow where he was happily twitching in his sleep and started for the door. “Your rescue, sir, is at an end. Good evening.”
He reached the door before she did, blocking her way. “Are you daft? Mr. Whippet is still in the house, and those imbeciles outside are eager to work their best villainy.”
“I will not share that bed with you.” No point in beating around
“Worse? Pray tell, princess, how much worse do you believe this situation can be? Our friends Tully and Hector are no pleasant picnic at Kew.”
“You’ve been to Kew?” Perhaps she could turn the subject.
He hesitated, the pause of a man deciding whether to lie, and a frisson of apprehension crawled up her spine.
“I’m a gardener. Of course I’ve been to Kew.” He said the words with authority, perhaps too much so.
“But . . . ”
“I think it would be in our best interest to remain here for the night.” He crossed to the window where the heavy clouds had brought an early end to the long summer day. “We can leave in the morning, when the servants go about their business. It shouldn’t be difficult to blend in.” He looked toward her. “Unless, of course, you can think of a better hiding place.”
“I shouldn’t stay here.” Lucy shivered, not from her wet clothes but from the danger she knew remaining in this man’s presence would bring. Yet she had nowhere else to go in her rain-soaked dress. Her sense of self-preservation, though, was strong enough to realize that each moment spent in this man’s company tempted her to forget her hard-won independence. “My step . . . that is, my employer will be searching for me,” she hedged. Perhaps dodging Sidmouth’s thugs would be preferable after all to spending a night with a man she was tempted to depend upon.
He cast aside her concerns with a dismissive wave. “Your employer will have to wait until we rid ourselves of those ruffians. They won’t have much difficulty tracing our steps to this house. In the morning, we can slip past them without them being any the wiser.” He cautiously lifted the draperies a mere inch. “Ah, it is as I thought. We have uninvited guests.”
Wellington snuffled against Lucy’s neck, but it was the thought of Sidmouth’s spies outside that caused icy tendrils to snake through her. She bent down and placed the sleeping pug on one of the large cushions. Wellington twitched and then began snoring in earnest. “Can you see them?” She moved to join the gardener by the window, but he waved her away.
“Let’s not confirm their suspicions. Our new friend Tully is wedged between two houses across the street. I wonder if he’s considered that a red cap is not the most inconspicuous choice.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t see the other one. No doubt he’s in back, watching the stables.”
Lucy wiped her damp palms against her even damper skirt. Thank heavens she had given Mr. Selkirk the list of reformers’ names. “They found us rather quickly.”
“It seems they have incentive.” He strode to the middle of the room and, stepping onto the dais, pulled back the bedclothes. Lucy eyed him warily. The best course might be to pretend to go along with his plan. Once he was asleep, she could quit the house under the cover of darkness. Perhaps she could steal his clothes and contrive somehow to disguise herself. But then where would she go? She could not return home now that Sidmouth’s men knew where she lived, and she refused to endanger any of the other reformers by seeking shelter with them.
He waved toward the painted screen in the corner. “No doubt Madame keeps night-rails and such back there. Make yourself as comfortable as you like.”
“I will do no such thing.” Lucy bristled. Perhaps he had not contrived their current circumstances, but his suggestion revealed he was just a man, after all. She would leave, and immediately. In one quick motion, she scooped Wellington from the pillow where he was happily twitching in his sleep and started for the door. “Your rescue, sir, is at an end. Good evening.”
He reached the door before she did, blocking her way. “Are you daft? Mr. Whippet is still in the house, and those imbeciles outside are eager to work their best villainy.”
“I will not share that bed with you.” No point in beating around
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