Page 25 of Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
“They’re keepin’ an eye on who comes and goes. Here”—he pointed to the muddle of multiple hoofprints—“there were three. Over there is only one set coming and going.”
“And?” Fear weighted her chest. Lord Belten was indeed dicked in the nob if he would send men after her here. But how had he discovered her identity?
“Not to scare ye, ma’am, but I’d wager the gang came first. The second set of single tracks is a sentry. I imagine there might be another tonight.” His serious brown eyes held her gaze. “I don’t know if they mean you any harm, but I’m not willin’ to take a chance.”
They began walking again, even Chipper subdued by Jack’s seriousness. This was her own fault, playing courtesan instead of behaving like a baroness. She’d learned her lesson too late. What did that man have in mind?
CHAPTER 12
“Do you think he’d kidnap me?” she asked abruptly.
Jack understood. “If he’s sent thugs here, then he knows who you are. He’d have to be mad as a March hare to try it, though.”
“Lady Wyndam believes he is. That’s why we didn’t stay any longer in Town.” The wisdom of hindsight. “What will we do?”
“See you safely home. I’ll be sure the staff is on alert for any strangers, then go into the village. Mayhap I can find some new faces and dissuade them before any attempt is made against you.” His big shoulders were set; his chin jutted out.
Meg knew how “persuasive” he could be. She sent up a silent prayer, worried her past wouldn’t put those working for her in peril. Dear Lord, get us through this, and I’ll never flirt with danger again.
Jack stayed behind at the stable, looking about the building for signs of any intruders. She and Chipper went into the house through the kitchen. “It smells divine,” Meg said to Cook as she snatched a slice of freshly baked bread. “I’m going to the library. Could you send my meal there?”
“Of course, ma’am,” replied the plump cook, wiping her hands on a long white apron. She frowned at the dog. “No scraps for you until after supper.”
Chipper hung his head and let out a whine. Meg grinned and slipped him a bite of bread. She reached the entryway and removed her walking clothes. Just as she hung her spencer on a hook, the butler approached. “My lady, a gentleman is here, asking for you. Lord Hayward. I put him in the study.”
Meg clutched at her chest, her heart pounding. “Thank you, Mr. Farrell. I’ll be there shortly.”
Picking up her skirts, she ran up the stairs to her bedchamber, Chipper close behind. She didn’t have time to change, but her hair could be tamed before she saw him. How had he found her?
She shook her head. If Belten could find her, Simon could just as easily. Be calm. Meg closed her eyes and counted to fifty as fast as she could. When her pulse didn’t slow, she counted again more slowly. He probably spoke to Lady Wyndam. And there was probably a logical, undramatic explanation for the prints near the woods. No need for hysterics.
She smoothed her bronze-green skirts and checked the black cinch just below her bustline. Her hair was pulled up loosely, but the strays were now tamed back into place. She added a short black spencer and took a deep breath.
What a day so far!
Simon stood before the hearth, warming his backside. He had opted to ride horseback rather than take a carriage. It was quicker, and he hated being contained for a long spell. He heard her and a yappy dog before he saw her dash past the doorway and up the stairs.
She was a vision. The greenish-gold of her gown highlighted her flaxen hair, giving her an angelic look. He almost snorted at that thought. Instead, he held out his hands and met her across the room.
“I came to apologize and beg you to listen,” he said, pulling her closer but keeping their hands between them. “I was furious when I read The Morning Post.”
“So Lady Wyndam was correct? You are not betrothed?” Her voice was cool, and she stared at their joined hands rather than his face.
The countess had been right. He would have to work at this. “Let’s sit down, and I can tell you my story.”
She nodded and sat in one of the chairs by the hearth. He settled next to her, taking in her beauty and seeing the doubt—and hope—in her eyes. One furry paw hit his knee, and Simon chuckled at the little terrier staring up at him, his tail wagging back and forth in a blur.
“Chipper, down!” Meg said, and the pup removed his paw and curled at his mistress’s feet. “Good boy. Now, you were going to tell me a story?”
Simon explained his parents’ insinuation that he would marry the marquess’s daughter, the urgency of both families to do so quickly, the argument the morning after the ball, and his several visits to determine where she lived.
“So Lady Wyndam told you of Drake House?” Meg asked, her voice warm again, her green eyes inviting. “Did she tell you anything else?”
He nodded. “Yes, I understand Lord Belten may be a problem. I do have someone working on that.”
Her surprised look made him smile. “I’m having a friend do some investigating. We’ll find something he doesn’t want his peers to know. Use it to make sure he leaves you alone.”
“Then your friend will need to be quick about it. Mr. Jackson found tracks behind the stable and believes someone is watching the estate.” She paused before peeking up at him. “I admit it has me a bit on edge.”
