Chapter Fourteen
As he feared,Guy learned a frustratingly small amount at Bow Street. His attacker, whose name was Leonard Stack, appeared before the sitting magistrate, along with the usual sad array of prostitutes, thieves, and pickpockets. He’d given evidence that he was a victim. A Frenchman had threatened to murder him if he did not carry out his request. But he knew not his name and had not seen him well enough to describe him, for the man had pulled his hat low over his forehead and hidden most of his lower face with a scarf. The magistrate, unmoved by the man’s pleas, bound him over for trial at the Old Bailey.
Was this something to do with Forney? Relying on the sparse details Stack had provided, Guy employed a Bow Street Runner to trace the Frenchman. It was possible that his portmanteau had fallen into the wrong hands. He’d spent hours searching the ground between where he and the horse had parted company and Rosecroft Hall. If he found out who this Frenchman was, he might be able to retrieve the evidence of his birthright. When Genevieve arrived from Paris, she would identify him, but he wasn’t sure when that would be. Familiar with his sister’s love for her children, plus her inability to travel anywhere without a huge retinue in train, he doubted she’d appear in London any time soon.
Guy left Bow Street and walked to the corner of Russell Street, searching for the carriage. The sunny day brought all manner of people out into the streets from nearby Covent Garden. Vendors, errand boys making deliveries, and ladies intent on perusing the shops. A street girl sidled up to him. “Lookin’ for luv, sweeting?”
Guy smelled gin on her breath. She looked painfully thin and very young. He reached into his waistcoat pocket. “Have a drink on me.” He tipped a handful of coins into her waiting palms. “Better still, have something to eat.”
“A real pity, sweeting, I’d be happy to oblige you.”
Guy raised his hat and smiled. When the carriage pulled up nearby, he ran for it.
The carriage stopped in Whitehall, outside Horse Guards where John was kicking his heels in the street. Guy noted his solemn expression as he climbed inside.
Guy told him the little he’d learned. “And you, John?”
“Not much more than I’ve already been told.”
So, it was true. John had known of this all along. Guy wrestled with his anger. “And what is that precisely?” he asked through clenched teeth.
John stared at him fixedly. “That you’re to be watched as you are suspected of being a French spy.”
“Ridiculous!” Guy grabbed the door handle as the carriage swung around a corner. He fought the temptation to leap out and run away. He pulled his hand from the door and leaned back, casting John a cool glance.
“I don’t distrust you, Guy. I found this hard to believe from the first,” John said with a shrug of apology. “But I was instructed to follow you. I saved you from your attackers in that alley because I was ordered to keep you alive and away from harm until you led us to a nest of saboteurs known to be in England.” He leaned over and placed his hand on Guy’s sleeve. “But the more I got to know you, the more convinced I became that you were innocent of such a charge. It’s a puzzling business. But I would bet my life on it.”
Guy pulled off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. “What the bloody hell’s going on, John? I’ve never met Bonaparte, let alone arranged his escape from Elba. And yet, Count Forney has shown me a document from the French foreign office which confirms it.” A moment passed as he searched his friend’s smoky, gray-blue eyes, which revealed little. “You are under orders.” Guy shrugged. “I wonder what you plan to do with me.”
John released a sigh. “You might say I’m keeping you under observation. But that also means I’m watching your back, my friend.”
Guy bowed his head. “Thank you.”
“Until I’m instructed otherwise,” John added, looking grim.
Guy nodded. “I understand.”
Tomorrow he would take Hetty to the park and lose himself for a while in her charming company.
*
“Shall we walkto the lake?” Guy pulled the phaeton over to the side. He tossed the reins to the tiger who had accompanied them today, and after instructing him to walk the horses, helped her down.
With her hand tucked in his arm, they strolled along a path through the trees. Early spring wild flowers added color to the scene while birds fluttered above building nests among the leafy branches.
They entered a copse of silver birch trees where dappled sun sparkled through a filigree of leaves. “Aunt Emily has a visitor this afternoon. The poet, Mr. Wordsworth.”
“William Wordsworth? I met him in Paris.”
“You met the poet?” Another new thing to learn about him.
“He was there to visit his daughter, Caroline. We discussed his interest in exploring the relationship between the human mind and nature and he allowed me to read some of his poetry.Tintern Abbeyis quite remarkable. A deeply thoughtful poem.”
Delighted, Hetty was eager to discuss it. “The lyrical ballad is remarkable. The lines“The still, sad music of humanity…”She gasped. “What are you doing?”
After a quick glance around, Guy had drawn her off the path and deeper into the shadowy copse. He removed her parasol from her hand and put it down, then tugged at her bonnets strings. “I’m going to kiss you,” he murmured, and pulled off her bonnet. The look in his eyes was so intense that her pulse fluttered, and she caught her breath.
Guy lowered his head and covered her mouth with his. The intense pleasure of his closeness wrapped around her, and abandoning her demand for propriety, she looped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. His tongue teased at the seam of her lips, and she opened to him. When he dove inside, she melted and clutched onto his coat. Their breaths quickened as he pressed her against him. Taking in deep breaths of him, his fresh manly smell, she suffered a strong urge to lie down on the grass and pull him with her. She moaned against his mouth.
