“Which is why we won’t,” Forney said. He took Guy’s arm and pulled him into the light. “Baron, I want you to take charge of this mission. I place our future success in your hands.”
“I would be honored,” Guy said. With growing dread, he stepped up to the table where detailed diagrams of a possible assassination plot were spread out over the surface. These men were not so amateurish after all. Details of the route taken by a carriage down Pall Mall, with times and access routes marked. Who would be where and what role they would take, was carefully detailed. Was it to be the Regent? And might it be a credible plan? He rose from studying them and caught sight of Delany staring at him with a puzzled expression. “Who is our target then, Forney?”
“Princess Charlotte,” the count said.
“The princess?” Guy suppressed a shudder. They were fanatical, and very dangerous because they did not care what risks they took.
“As she recently announced she is with child, we need to act now. Her death removes the only heir to the throne before she gives birth. The public see her as a sign of hope, a contrast to her unpopular father and her mad grandfather. Her death will further destabilize the Regent. The princess is popular. Her death will throw England into deep mourning. The best time to strike is when she goes to church.”
Guy struggled to keep his horror from registering on his face. He leaned over the detailed plan, then shook his head. “I don’t like it.”
Forney’s eyebrows shot up. “Why not, Baron?”
“Because Napoleon wouldn’t. You must know that he counts on Princess Charlotte to help secure his release. She is sympathetic about his exile because of her distress for her mother, so badly treated by the English. Such an act would put the authorities on the alert, which won’t help our cause to free the general. We can do better than this. Let’s not rush in where angels fear to tread. Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll come up with a better plan.”
“But that is the genius of it,” Forney said. “Bonaparte is mistaken to look to the princess for help. He won’t get it. If we act on this, the English aren’t so likely to suspect Napoleonic sympathizers when searching for the culprit.”
Guy’s fingers itched to pummel the man to the ground. “You would condemn Napoleon to exile by removing his last shred of hope. He would be very angry indeed. I’d hate to be the one to tell him.”
“Yes, there’s that to consider,” said Jackman, a tall thin Englishman. The rest murmured their agreement. “There’s no saying the princess will survive childbirth. A better choice would be the Regent.”
“That was recently attempted. The Regent’s carriage windows were broken.” The other Englishman called Simmons, pushed himself forward. “It could have been a gunshot, although no further evidence was found. But now Lord Liverpool’s government has reacted with force. The Habeas Corpus Act has been suspended, and anybody under the merest suspicion of conspiracy can be thrown into Newgate and kept there.”
The majority in the room voted against the murder of the princess or the regent. Relieved, Guy released a breath, only to stiffen when Forney spoke again. “I have also considered Lord Bathurst, Secretary for War, and the Colonies. He would be a cruel loss to the government.”
“Mm. An excellent idea. Give me those twenty-four hours. I’ll come up with a fail-proof plan,” Guy repeated.
“Every hour we delay makes it more dangerous,” Diprose said, stalking up and down. “Whitehall will get wind of it.”
“Still, we can’t go off half-cocked.” Forney folded his arms. “Baron, you have your twenty-four hours. Once the new plan is formulated, we will act.”
As they moved toward the door, it opened. A burly man entered with a young lad struggling in his arms. “See what I found lurking outside.”
Forney glared. “A stable boy, Smith?”
Smith eyed the boy’s chest. “This boy has a fine pair of cat’s heads!” He whipped the lad’s hat off, and red locks fell to cover her shoulders.
Forney’s mouth dropped open. “Qui est-elle?”
Guy groaned inwardly as he met Hetty’s frightened gaze.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Smith’s hands cutpainfully into Hetty’s arms. She opened her mouth to speak but snapped it shut when Guy’s warning gaze locked with hers. An overdressed Frenchman stalked before her, his arms behind his back. “Dressed as a stable boy? What game are you playing, mademoiselle?”
Hetty raised her chin, praying it didn’t wobble and struggled to shake herself loose from Smith’s grip. “I followed my betrothed here. I believe he planned to betray me with another woman.”
“Your betrothed?” The Frenchman’s heavy brow cleared. “You are the baron’sfiancée?”
“I am. Even if he does not wish to admit it.” She cast Guy an indignant glance.
Guy stepped forward. “The lady is correct, Forney. I am rendered almost silent with rage, Miss Cavendish. To follow me!Mon dieu!And dressed like that. Go home immediately!”
Whatever was occurring here, Hetty’s presence would not help Guy. Strathairn was the man to assist him. She was quite happy to leave if only Smith’s ham-like hands would release her. She gazed down at her filthy stockinged feet, numb with damp and cold. Where were her shoes? That ruffian had pulled her right out of them. From the first she hadn’t wanted to take part in this escapade. And now, if she and Guy escaped with their lives, she doubted he would ever speak to her again.
But first, they must find some way out of this dire situation.
“Please fetch my shoes, my good man,” she said, determined they didn’t see how afraid she was. “As Lord Fortescue merely attends to a matter of business, and not a lady, I’ll be on my way.”
