The girl snatched it from his hand, and it disappeared almost instantly into her stained dress. “Name’s Markham,” she said, flashing him a coquettish smile. “Comes here a lot, likes his ale and his cards. Good to us girls, too, so long as we’re prompt with the drinks.”
Markham. Louisa stored the name inside her.
“Thank you,” she said to the maid, glancing one last time into the corner where Markham was presently occupied. Fun as it might be to watch Henry’s discomfort, it would not be wise to linger for long. She turned, pressing a hand against Henry’s chest, urging him back. “I think we should leave,” she said, smiling despite herself at the flush still on his cheeks.
“Thank heavens,” he muttered, taking her hand and leading her from the tavern.
Chapter Eleven
Henry insisted on accompanying Louisa back to her carriage. Although she evidently thought she could handle herself, he knew the danger that lurked on the streets at night. A lady of quality, no matter how she dressed, would be a target for thieves and beggars. No doubt she had money on her.
If not, she was beautiful, and often that was enough.
He had seen terrible things while at war. Most of them involved death and the dying, but not all.
As they approached her carriage, she let out a sound of relief. “There. Now we may part ways, Lord Eynsham.”
“Let me check the interior first.”
“My coachman has a pistol.”
“He may not have been the only one,” Henry replied flatly. She had nothing to say to this, and they continued in silence until she hailed the coachman, who greeted her with relief. It transpired Henry was not the only one to have doubts about the wisdom of allowing her to roam the streets alone.
Inside the carriage, there was nothing but a lamp burnt low and two threadbare seats. No assailant lurked in wait for the rich lady who had hired this vehicle.
“Out of interest,” he said as he removed his head from the doorway, “what was your plan?”
“I had a man on the inside who said he would leave the door unlocked.”
“So you were going to enter his house and—what?”
“He has evidence.Domestic Blissamong them. I was going to take it.”
Domestic Bliss. He remembered when it had been displayed in the Royal Academy. The first time he had truly come face to face with her talent, the sheer force of her ability. Before then, she had talked to him of her dreams and he had listened, but he hadn’t appreciated how possible it was for them to come true.
That was, until Bolton.
He was doing his best not to think about the other paintings she’d confessed to. Every instinct rebelled against it. He detested that she had been forced into it, and could he have called Bolton out from beyond the grave, he would.
Underneath it all, however, was a darker feeling. One grounded in something he refused to acknowledge.
“And what if you were discovered?” he demanded. “In Knight’s house, stealing his possessions? They would have you arrested.”
“I doubt—”
“If you think for a second that he would balk at sending for constables to lock you up, you are mistaken in the matter.” He gritted his teeth. If she could not comprehend the danger that lay behind her actions, he could. “At best, you would have to wait for someone to pay your bail. At worst, you would be found guilty at trial.”
Her eyelids flickered. “I am a countess. Forgive me, Henry, but I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. Knight is no match for me.”
“No? Then how were you unable to enter his home?”
“I will find out. Now, will you leave me, or do you wish to argue more in the street?”
Her words recalled him to his sense of propriety, and he stepped back. No doubt the jarvey had been listening to their conversation with avid interest. “Be safe,” he said curtly.
Instead of returning to her carriage, she looked up at him through the folds of darkness between them. “I won’t marry you, you know.”
“Pardon?”
