“I need to deal with her. This can’t go on. Apparently her coach went into a ditch a few miles east of here, but some other travelers came across her and took up her baby and nurse.”
Fitz straightened. “The baby’s here?”
“Guarded by an adventuress by the unlikely nameof Miss Smith, who did her best to stick me with it. I was planning to leave, but now I find the great-aunts are here.”
Fitz stared at him. “The Tunbridge Wells great-aunts? What have you been drinking?”
“Unless the whole staff of grooms is lunatic, it’s true.”
A blowsy barmaid sauntered over, prepared to fetch Ash a drink. He shook his head. “I do remember providing the traveling chariot and some servants, but I assumed a short trip. I need to take care of them, and I want to discover what this Miss Smith knows. I’m quite looking forward to that.”
“Poor woman.”
“She’ll deserve everything she gets.”
Fitz drank from his tankard. “What’s Molly up to now? How can abandoning her baby here help her cause? Does she think to touch your tender heart?”
Ash swore at him, but without heat. “I intend to find out. Perhaps she heard about the king’s decree.”
“That you marry a suitable woman before appearing at court again? He didn’t specify whom.”
“Thank Jupiter. It would be like Molly to seize on that, though, with reason. Since she’s the cause for royal disapproval, any other bride will only cause a slight thaw.”
“If the king had wanted you to marry her, he’d have said so.”
“He doesn’t approve of her, but he approves of my supposed callousness less.” Ash muttered something treasonous.
“Never mind,” said Fitz. “Miss Myddleton awaits.”
When Ash swore again, Fitz added, “She’s clever, of tolerable looks, and extremely rich. Other men would snap up such a prize.”
“I don’t like having my hand forced.”
“The Dowager Lady Ashart can be forgiven for pushing you toward an heiress.”
“Desist. Yes, I’ll doubtless marry the chit, but at the moment, I need to sort out Molly. That’s the onlyway to truly vindicate myself. Rothgar has to be behind this. It’s too devious for Molly alone.”
Fitz tilted his chair back against the wall. “If your cousin is behind this peculiar incident, perhaps you should let me take care of it.”
Ash looked at Fitz. He hadn’t told him about a recent development. “I might have something to force Rothgar to reveal the truth.”
Fitz whistled. “Watch your back. What?”
Ash found that he didn’t want to tell even Fitz yet. The incriminating papers felt like a smoldering keg of gunpowder. “Safer for you not to know. I only mentioned it so you would cease fretting. I have the whip hand now.”
Fitz straightened his chair with a thump. “OverRothgar? Ash, this enmity has to end before it wrecks the Trayces and the Mallorens both.”
Ash looked away, scanning the room full of people with simple problems. “Ending it would be pleasant,” he said, then looked back at Fitz. “But when two swordsmen stand with points at each other’s throat, who lowers his blade first?”
“That demands an impartial intermediary.”
Ash laughed. “Whom Rothgar and I would both trust? Enough of this,” he said, returning to practicalities. “Someone must pursue Molly, and I have to escort the great-aunts.”
He saw the sudden tension of resistance. “For Zeus’s sake! It’s as if you fear to let me out of your sight. You’re neither my guardian angel nor my conscience.”
“Perhaps I simply enjoy your company,” Fitz said in his usual light manner. “Life with you is certainly never dull.”
“Life chasing Molly Carew won’t be dull either.” Ash wondered if he’d imagined that expression, but he didn’t think so. That sort of thing had happened before. Perhaps Fitz really did see himself as his guardian against folly and sin.
