A grim smile tugged at Guy’s mouth. “I’m sure that’s so,mon ami.” He remembered the footpad’s words,he’s the one. It was him they were after. Who would want him dead here in England?
“Where are my manners?” His rescuer held out his hand. “John Haldane, Earl of Strathairn.”
Guy shook his hand. “Guy Truesdale.”
The earl’s brows met in a perplexed frown. “I know that name. Truesdale? Why, that means you’re a…”
Guy nodded. “Fortescue,oui.”
“A relative of the baron?”
“I am Baron Fortescue.”
“Why this is grand news! Your father and mine were close friends.” John frowned. “But it also means that your father is dead. I’m sorry. Not by the guillotine one would hope.”
“No, not directly.” They crossed the road. Beneath the halo cast by an oil lamp, Guy’s gaze sought the earl’s. “Thank you for what you did tonight. I hope to repay you should we meet again.”
The earl slapped him on the back. “Nonsense, Fortescue. Where do you stay?”
When Guy told him, Strathairn said, “Not one of our best hostelries. You must come home with me.”
“I couldn’t presume…”
“Not another word. Father, if he still lived, would have been justifiably angry if I failed to offer you hospitality. We reside in Berkley Square and have plenty of room. I’ll send a servant around for your luggage. Feel free to stay as long as you wish.”
“Bon, but I’m riding into the country tomorrow.”
“Your seat is to the north, Hertfordshire, I believe.”
“My estate borders Sherradspark Wood in Digswell.”
A hackney appeared around the corner, and Strathairn stepped into the road to hail it. As the jarvie pulled the horse to a stop, the earl gave directions and whipped open the door.
Guy settled on the squab beside him. “I am most grateful.”
Strathairn dismissed the sentiment with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense, Baron. It’s been my pleasure. But once my sisters get a look at you, I may change my mind.”
“I’m not sure of your meaning.” He’d been proud of his English heritage, but since he arrived in England, he’d felt terribly French.
“My dear fellow. If you aren’t used to ladies fighting over you, you soon will be.”
Guy shook his head with a grin.
*
Malforth Manor, Digswell
With the thrillof expectation, Hetty Cavendish removed the clothes she kept hidden in the back of her clothespress. The maids’ work done, they’d gone downstairs, so she would not be disturbed. She’d discovered these men’s clothes in a cupboard after they moved into the house. Although she’d intended to give them to the church, she’d tried them on instead.
The buckskin breeches slipped over her thighs and hugged her hips like a second skin. Men were fortunate. Breeches offered so much freedom of movement. But then, men had much more freedom than women to enjoy. She pulled the cotton shirt over her head and shrugged into the gray wool coat. The loose cut disguised her breasts without the need of binding. A black ribbon secured her chestnut hair in a queue while the knitted green scarf concealed her throat.
Hetty settled the shabby, square-cut, wide-brimmed black hat, rifled from the back of her father’s armoire, over her hair and pulled the brim low to shadow her face. Glad for once that she’d inherited a tall boyish figure, she sat to pull on the boots.
She stood and considered her reflection in the mirror, narrowing her brown eyes and lowering her eyebrows as a man might.
Confident she could be taken for a man, an exhilarating sense of independence stole over her, a rebellious, guilty pleasure. No longer did Miss Horatia Cavendish, spinster daughter of Colonel Rupert Cavendish, appear before her in the glass. She’d been replaced by a young man, able to go anywhere unaccompanied. But she must still be careful, for they lived a mere few miles from the village, and a stranger in these parts stood out like a cuckoo in a dovecote.
Her father planned to spend the night with Aunt Emily in Mayfair. Since he’d retired from the army, he’d developed an intense interest in his finances and visited his solicitor every week. She hated to deceive him, but every time he was away from home, she felt compelled to ride his stallion, The General. It was after Papa refused her Aunt Emily’s invitation to chaperone her for a London season, that it became necessary for Hetty to have a secret life of her own.
