She flushed scarlet, confused by the myriad emotions coursing through her veins. She had nothing but contempt for Lord Rotherby, so why did the thought of him picking out such items fascinate her so? Swiftly, she reached for the next box, and then the next until she’d opened every box and discovered nothing but stays, stockings, petticoats and the type of scandalous nightwear that only endorsed Lord Rotherby’s view on ladies’ clothing.
Finally, she paused to stare at the most expensive and impractical pile of clothing she’d ever seen. No wonder Lord Rotherby had attended the exhibition; he was quite the fashion connoisseur already! A wave of fiery determination engulfed her. She would not let such a cad ruin everything. She had to make a plan. Furiously, she cast her eye around the inside of the chaise for anything that could serve as a makeshift weapon. She might not be Phoebe, but she was still a Fairfax!
Seconds later, her eyes alighted upon two sleek leather pockets stitched to the inside of the padded doors. They looked suspiciously like Thomas’s pistol holders, and with a lurch across the seat, Sophie thrust her hand into the first. Triumphantly, she withdrew a small silver pistol which, on closer inspection, turned out to be a deadly Webster flintlock, and pulled back the muzzle. Yet to her intense disappointment, the pistol was completely empty, and the pocket likewise.
Scowling, she pushed the pistol back into its holder and slid over to the second pocket before inserting her hand again. This time, she withdrew a small silver crossbow, inset with a row of gleaming mother of pearl. It was a very pretty little weapon, fashioned with considerable skill.
‘But do you actually work?’ she whispered, noticing the small quiver of darts attached to its slim shaft.
Carefully, she eased a sharp dart from its holding place and turned it over between her fingers, her mind flooding with the times she’d confiscated similar contraptions from her brothers. She might not be willing to jump into a duel with a highwayman, but she could certainly wield such a weapon if needed.
Anxiously, she sat back and pulled a fur throw over her knees, unable to help admiring its quality– Lord Rotherby might be all manner of rogues, but he certainly didn’t compromise on style or comfort. Then her thoughts wandered to Aurelia, and to whether she’d returned home by now, furious her big plan had gone awry. She felt a pang of guilt, despite everything.
‘Yet I’m certain you’ll never thank me,’ she muttered to herself, resting her head back against the seat.
It had to be near one in the morning, which meant she had less than two hours to board a public coach back, if she was to have any chance of returning to her bedchamber before breakfast. It was tight, but he would have to stop at some point, and if there was any difficulty in parting ways, she would simply threaten him with the crossbow.
Convinced she had a plan that would work, Sophie allowed herself to relax a little. His lordship really did drive at breakneck speed, but there was something about the pace that was oddly lulling and, under any other circumstances, she could allow herself to get very comfortable indeed. She yawned and pulled the throw further up, even though there were no draughts at all in his well-sprung chaise and she already felt quite cosy. No matter how well-intentioned, she’d acted impulsively– she could see that now– and thoroughly deserved the scolding she had no doubt was coming when she relayed the whole affair to Phoebe.
But she was also just as capable as her sister of taking care of herself, and shewouldmake it back that same night, if it was the very last thing she did.
ChapterTen
THE ARROW AND DASHER
Several hours later
The first sound she heard was the faint cry of a paddle steamer, echoing the gulls.
Sophie woke with a violent start, conscious the comforting blanket of darkness had been swapped for cold, clingy tendrils of morning, and a complete desertion of the courage she’d felt at midnight.
Tentatively, she blinked– once, twice– denying the changes around her before fresh fear began seeping through her veins. It had to be impossible, and yet stark reality said otherwise. Somehow, she’d swapped the luxurious interior of Lord Rotherby’s chaise for an even more luxurious bedchamber, that also appeared to be moving!
Furiously, Sophie patted her person and clothing, all of which appeared to be intact, before scrambling off the comfortable bed and lurching to a small, oddly circular window. For a second, she stared in numb denial at the busy harbour walkway, and then a nauseous twist reached up from the pit of her stomach. Somehow, she’d not only fallen asleep, she’d slept right through a transfer to a tethered yacht too! A vague dream of whinnying horses, banging doors and muffled shouts began to seep into her thoughts. Back at Knightswood, she was famous for sleeping through everything, including thunderstorms, but even she couldn’t have slept though her only chance of saving her own neck, could she?And how had they not discovered her identity?
She swallowed, staring at the early harbour workers through the grey mist, and trying to force her dazed brain to work. She’d assumed Lord Rotherby would be travelling by eitherThe ArroworThe Dasher, the new cross-Channel wooden paddle steamers Phoebe and the viscount used to start their honeymoon, but of course he would have the comfort of his own yacht. He’d never travel in anything, but the lap of luxury.
Panic-stricken, she spun from the window and rushed to the cabin door, determined to get off while she still could. She had no idea how to catch the public stage all the way from Dover, or if she could arrive at her aunt’s lodgings with anything like a plausible story, and yet the alternative was too awful to contemplate. If the truth became known in the polite world, she would’ve as good as absconded with Lord Rotherby, thus tarnishing her reputation forever. She would be no better than Aurelia, if not a whole sight worse.
Yet, even as she reached for the door handle, there were footsteps outside and a brusque knock at the door. Horrified, she shrank back and pulled her cloak hood as far forward as possible, before fumbling for her pocket. By some miracle, the miniature crossbow still appeared to be secreted within her skirts and she felt a moment’s reassurance. Whatever his reaction, she still stood a chance of getting away before the rest of Dover witnessed her shame.
‘Guv’nor sends his best compliments,’ came a gruff, unknown voice, ‘and asks if you have any special requests for refreshment?’
Sophie blinked as her disbelief evaporated. Lord Rotherby had dared carry her aboard his boat, and now he didn’t even have the decency to face her?
‘He has already requested coffee and a selection of?—’
But whatever his lordship had requested was lost entirely as Sophie yanked the door open to find his tiger standing there, looking much more like a recalcitrant child than a respectful groom.
Momentarily she glowered, wondering whether to scream or try to run, but then she noted his querulous face and felt a flicker of hope. He didn’t seem at all concerned by the absence of Mrs Haxby, and looked every inch a cross wildling, entirely different to the pan-faced grooms she was used to seeing around town. Perhaps he could be persuaded to help.
She pulled her cloak tighter, suddenly conscious of how much she needed to use a water closet.
‘Thank you,’ she said, nodding abruptly.
‘Who placed me in this cabin please… sorry, I don’t know your name?'
‘Me, and it’s Horace, Miss’ he replied tersely. ‘Guvnor needed to brief the crew and didn’t want no one else doing it. I was very careful,’ he added swiftly. ‘Just left you sleeping, like the guvnor said.’
