She nodded, resolve settling over her. “You provide me with a list of that clientele, and I will do the rest.”
He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I will send over a list tomorrow.”
Judith closed her fingers around his, squeezing gently, loving the feel of his skin against hers. “Meanwhile, I will plot. And I dearly wish an audience with your mother.”
*
Tuesday, 26 July 1814
Embleton House
Ten in the morning
Mark rested amidsthis nest of pillows, his eyes on the dying fire opposite, his mind on Judith—and his family. The last five days had been a whirlwind.
Against all odds, his brother Matthew had found a bride, a dowager countess who had agreed to a marriage of conveniencethat would benefit them both. He had met her on the previous Saturday and squired her around the park the next day. On Monday, yesterday, Mark and Phyllida had met the lady—one Sarah Ainsworth, Lady Creswell—and today the three Rydells would be escorting her to the park yet again, a show of familial solidarity for the sudden betrothal. And tonight, he and Matthew were to meet with yet another Bow Street Runner, this time about Sarah’s relative, her late husband’s heir, a nefarious man with a cruel and avaricious reputation.
Mark despised him already.
He took a deep breath, contemplating the coming day. His ribs ached and his muscles remained sore and stiff, despite a continued improvement, and sometimes a sudden movement reminded him that his insides had not fully recovered from their pummeling either. He glanced at the bottle of laudanum on his dressing table, the temptation tugging at him. The willow bark tea continued to give him some relief from the pain, but he had not been able to rest as he should. Sleep, even with nightmares, could prove beneficial at this stage.
Yet he dared not. He needed to keep his senses alert. It would not do to be seen stumbling about in the park as if he were a drunkard, much less meet with a runner. And he had far too much to do to laze about abed. Yet here he lay, annoyed. At himself. At his circumstances. At the world in general.
Mark shifted under the covers, trying to stretch his legs. He had achieved a few tasks this morning. After breakfast in his room and using the bed tray for a desk, he had made the list of Atkinson’s clientele for Judith and sent it over by messenger. He had sent for Clara, meeting with her—with Howe standing in the open door as chaperone—about the progress on the Bloomsbury house. He had been impressed with the preciseness of her information, and he sent her on her way with more money andinstructions. He had also sent Howe to the jewelers with the bag from Stella’s room for an appraisal.
So the morning had not been a complete waste.
Mark made circles with his feet under the covers, virtually the only parts of his body that did not ache when moved. His restlessness made him itch to be up and moving, pain be damned. He craved seeing Judith again, and his fingers curled, remembering the way she had squeezed his hand the day before and the strength in her arm when she had grasped his, urging him to stay seated. His mind went over her every expression, including the one of shock when he spoke of the blackmail, followed by the determined resolve that turned her face hard and her eyes narrow. It was as if each minute element of her being had entranced him.
Bloody hell, how he wanted her! His loins tightened as his eyes drifted shut, his mind creating a vision of his hands in her hair, pulling her closer, his lips on hers. Not that his body would cooperate with such a move at the moment...
Which is why Mark looked at the laudanum bottle again. Perhaps a small dose—
A rap on his door brought him back to earth, and he let out a sigh. “Enter.”
Howe opened the door, a rare smile on his ruddy face. He had the bag of jewels tucked under one arm and held out a paper to Mark. “Twice what you expected, my lord. Mr. Kingston was pleased but not surprised to see them.” The smile faded and a lock of ginger-colored hair fell over the man’s forehead. “Apparently, he had heard about Miss Ashley’s unfortunate demise.”
Mark glanced at the offer. “Apparently, the entirety of London has heard about Miss Ashley’s ‘unfortunate demise.’” He handed the paper back. “Good. Tuck it and the bag away somewhere in the dressing room—obviously not out in the open.I’ll take it to the shop in a few days.” He then gestured to the dressing table with one hand. “And take that blasted laudanum away before I drink it in my sleep. Hide it so that I do not have to look at it all the time.” He took a deep breath. “You know Matthew wants me to join him and Mother on this absurd excursion to the park this afternoon?”
Howe pushed back the lock of hair and nodded.
“I wish to write a few letters before you have to drag my ass out of bed for dressing.” He pointed to the bed tray, now sitting on the bench at the end of his bed. “Hand me that, along with quill, ink, and foolscap from the escritoire.”
“Of course, sir.” Howe disappeared into the dressing room a moment, then returned and fetched the items Mark had requested, placing them on tray. Helping Mark into a more upright position, he settled the tray across Mark’s lap, then scooped the laudanum into his palm. “Would you like anything to eat?”
Mark shook his head. “If I continue to lay about like some wounded pigeon I will be as fat and useless as one before long.”
Howe sputtered, glancing down at his own somewhat rounded form. “My-my lord, I do not think—”
Mark chuckled at the suddenly red-faced valet. “It is not the weight, Howe. It happens to most men sooner or later. Even Matthew is beginning to acquire a bit of a belly, and I am sure someday I will be as round as a king. Until then, I am merely cheap. I do not wish to have a whole new wardrobe made.”
“Ah.” Howe pointed at the door. “I-I should go.”
“Please do. Return at two so that I can get dressed for this bloody outing.”
Nodding, Howe left, and Mark began to write his first letter, to his business partner, Sir Rory Campbell. If Judith planned to declare war on some of theton’sgentlemen, Rory needed to beforewarned. Because Mark had little doubt that whatever Judith intended, a lot of their own clients would be impacted as well.
Chapter Thirteen
