The Hired Hero by Andrea Pickens Page B

with a few slices of cold ham, a chunk of bread and some Stilton cheese. “I have your supper here, my lord, as you asked.” She hadn’t noticed Caroline standing to the side.  She set it down on a sidetable and ran her hands over the front of her apron. “The candlemaker’s son just brought out a package for me and said  someone—a gentleman of Quality by the sounds of it— is inquiring in the village whether any strange young ladies have passed through recently—” She was interrupted by a horrified gasp.
    Caroline had turned deathly pale. Her hand flew to her throat. For a moment, she was mortally afraid that she would have to eat her words concerning a certain habit.
    “Don’t you worry none, Miss,” said Mrs. Collins quickly. “ I know when to keep mum. I seen what he done to you.”
    How had he found her so quickly?
    Davenport regarded her intently. “You are 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.”
    Caroline fought to compose her voice. “If you will excuse me, I’m feeling rather fatigued. I think I shall return to my room.”
    * * * *
    Caroline closed the door to her chamber. 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. 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. She would not—could not—let those papers fall into the wrong hands. That thought helped steady her nerves. What was it Lucien 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? 
     That the only enemy was fear itself.
     She cajoled herself to think. What would Lucien do? Most certainly he would not 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 fell deep in thought. First of all, it appeared 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, if he could be believed, had 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 person seemed safe enough from him, 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 had revealed a household shackled by the strictest economy—the shabby furnishings, the lack of servants, the simple supper taken off a tray. Her brow furrowed. The notion of the earl’s pockets being to let certain jibed with her understanding of his character. No doubt he was rusticating in the country to hide from his most pressing creditors. But the thought of the dissolute earl actually stooping to manual labor was nearly as implausible as her own predicament. Caroline shook her head slightly and decided it was best to put the man out of her thoughts. After all, his predicaments was not her concern, just as hers were obviously of no interest to him. It was solely up to her to come up with a plan.
    The hem of her dress caught on the foot of the bed and she yanked at it impatiently. As her hands smoothed the folds of the borrowed garment she couldn’t help but mutter an unladylike oath. Men had such fewer constraints on them in dress, in behavior, in freedom to move about....
    She stopped dead in her tracks.
    The merino wool was still between her fingers and she played with the cloth as her mind raced. It was not a bad idea at all. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time she had ever tried it. There was the time that Lucien had