“Be assured that I will do as you say,” he said softly. “And, Charlotta, you must take care as well. I don’t pretend to understand how you are involved in all this, but it stands to reason that you may be at risk as well.”
“I—”
“Moretti!” A call from the adjoining gallery interrupted their tête-à-tête. “Come, I wish to introduce you to Professor Dixwell, who has journeyed down from Oxford for several days to attend our symposium.”
“I had better go,” he murmured.
Charlotte watched him return to the group of scholars. She hoped her words had done some good. Too many people close to her were in danger . . . and Daggett was still lurking in the shadows, free to strike at will.
Fisting her hands in her skirts, she crossed over to a display of various tree barks used for reducing fever, hoping the ornate marble pedestal would hide her growing agitation.
If only there were a botanical antidote for fear. Her heart was beginning to hit up against her ribs.
Distracted by its thumping, Charlotte didn’t hear Wrexford’s approach. His touch nearly made her jump out of her skin.
“Come with me,” he murmured, placing her hand on his sleeve. The look in his eyes turned her innards to ice.
She let herself be led back through the adjoining galleries and out to the gardens. The earl didn’t pause and took the pathway leading back to the carriage yard. Drawing in several deep gulps of fresh air, Charlotte remained silent, dread warring with impatience.
Lantern light glimmered through the leaves. The guests were starting to arrive for the evening lecture. Gravel crunched under iron-shod wheels as several carriages maneuvered up to the reception area.
Keeping to the shadows, Wrexford skirted around the dark bulk of two parked barouches. His own carriage was up ahead, the horses already turned for the journey back to Town.
“Hell’s bells.” Charlotte couldn’t hold back any longer. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Wrexford. If—”
He quickened his pace. The iron step was already down and the door cracked open. A hand—Tyler’s—reached down and helped her scramble inside. Her wrap slipped from her shoulders, tangling in the earl’s legs as he climbed in right behind her.
A bit breathless, she slid across the seat—and hit up against Hawk. “Oh, thank heaven,” she gasped, gathering him in a fierce hug and burying her face in his tangled curls.
“Oiy, oiy!” came his muffled protest. Charlotte didn’t care. She tightened her hold.
The crack of a whip set the horses in motion, the sudden lurch allowing the boy to wriggle free.
Regaining her equilibrium, she looked around, the silvery moonlight allowing just enough illumination for her to see both Hawk and Tyler were empty-handed.
“Where the devil is the specimen?” she demanded.
It was the boy who chirped an answer.
“It was gone!”
CHAPTER 21
“Gone?”
Wrexford met Charlotte’s incredulous stare with a grim smile. “Yes.Gone.”
“Allow me to explain, milady,” interjected Tyler.
“Please do.” She slumped back against the squabs. “How is it that Daggett keeps finding a way to stay one step ahead of us?”
“He hasn’t,” replied the valet. “We can take a measure of solace in the fact that the specimen isn’t in his hands. Alas, it’s merely a matter of bad luck, not cunning malice, that it slipped through our fingers.”
“The collection of plants bound for the University of St. Andrews was taken to the docklands this morning,” explained Wrexford as he took a seat beside her. “The ship taking it to Scotland sailed on the afternoon tide.”
Charlotte muttered an oath, her look of frustration mirroring his own.
“A special courier, traveling by royal mail coach, will almost certainly arrive in St Andrews before the ship,” he continued. “As soon as we return to my townhouse, I shall write an explanation to Professor Murray, with the request that he entrust both the plant and the documents to the courier in order for them to be returned to the Royal Society.”
