“All right. I’m awake. What is this about Lady Darkford that has you bursting into my room?”
“Something has happened.”
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Hand me my banyan,” he said, waving toward a chair behind Gwinnie.
She turned around to grab it. “Remember the street sweeper who was approached by that man who followed Lady Darkford home from the park?” she asked hurriedly as she handed the garment to him.
“Yes,” he said irritably as he shrugged on his banyan.
“That man came up to him early this morning, soon after he’d come to her street.”
“This early?”
“Probably an hour ago, now. The boys get to their favored streets early to stake their claim for the day if it is typically a profitable street for them,” she explained.
“All right, all right. So this man approached the street sweeper,” he said, tying the banyan shut. He pushed past her to ring for his valet.
“He gave the boy a note to take to Lady Darkford. Told him to take it around back where the servants were sure to be up and answer his knock.”
“What was in the note?”
“I don’t know, and neither did the boy. He said it was sealed with a wax wafer.”
“You suspect something threatening for Lady Darkford?”
“Yes. We need to go see her. Who knows what that man wrote that had to be delivered so early, but it can’t be good.”
“Davy said as how the man insisted it be done immediately,” Rose said from her position by the door.
Lakehurst looked up at her, his brow furrowing.
The door from his dressing room opened. “You rang, my lord?” said his valet.
He turned toward his man. “Yes, can you get me a pot of coffee? Strong coffee?” he asked.
“Immediately.”
Lakehurst looked at his sister. “What are you doing still standing here? I’m up. I need to get dressed.” He looked her over. “You should, too. We’ll go to Darkford House together.”
She nodded, and left his room with her maid.
Lakehurst went into his dressing room. He typically rose before seven so there was already fresh water in the wash basin, though it had grown cold. He removed his banyan and nightshirt and scooped up a handful to splash his face, then used a wet cloth to wipe down his neck, chest, and arms. He lathered his face and leaned close to the mirror to shave. He preferred to shave himself. Something about another man with a blade near his throat had always disturbed him, even if the man doing the shaving had been a longtime retainer.
Satisfied with his results, he wiped the lather from his face and picked up a comb. He ran the comb through his hair. In the mirror, he saw a big, tall man with large hands. Across his broad chest spread a sprinkling of red hair darker than the hair on his head. He finished combing his hair, set the comb down, then stared at the palms of his hands.
In his youth at boarding school, he grew big and tall much sooner than his schoolmates. By the time he was twelve, they called himFarmer Nowltondue to his large size and large hands. At that age, he was also clumsy and became the butt of jokes. He kept much to himself preferring to read rather than learning any of the gentlemanly sports such as boxing or fencing since no one wanted to spar with him due to his size and long reach.
University had been somewhat better, as many had at least grown to his height if not to his build. But by then, he’d formed his habit of reading and began writing to while away his time. He wrote stories that made him smile, if no one else. He had a few friends, other men who were not of the Corinthian set, but they were now all married, tending to their new families. They’d tried to see him married as well, but none of their introductions worked. As his friend Jasper Hendrick admitted to him, his wife said women feared a man of his size.
Lakehurst had taken to talking quietly and moving slower so as not to startle women when he came upon them. He had not realized until he overheard Mary Sudbury and her friends that the women feared his size in more ways than his height. That had been an embarrassing revelation. He’d felt the heat rise in his face, so he bid a hasty goodbye to his host and hostess and fled the ball. He’d walked aimlessly that night, consumed by what he’d heard. He’d had a mistress or two since he’d been on the town, and they never complained, but a virgin? Would he hurt them too badly?
Perhaps Gwinnie was correct. He should set his sights on a widow.
A widow like Lady Darkford.
The thought of her roused him. He inhaled deeply, at first surprised, and then not. He liked the woman and felt drawn to protect her.
—If she’d let him.
