The men laughed.
“Will you, mademoiselle?” Forney asked, his gaze unsettling her.
“Miss Cavendish is a little foolish, gentlemen,” Guy said. “You know how women are. They lack sense.” He laughed. “She won’t be of any bother to us.”
Hetty stamped her foot then grimaced. “Well, really, Lord Fortescue! What a bore you’ve become, to be sure.” She twisted around causing Smith to drop his hands. “Myshoes, if you please.”
“Oui, get the lady’s shoes, Smith,” Forney said. “We don’t want to leave anything to chance.”
Smith nodded and left the room.
“It might be prudent to detain Miss Cavendish until our work is done,” Delany said. “Don’t you agree, Baron?”
“I must insist on a private word with my fiancée. This is a delicate matter; her father is a wealthy man with powerful friends. I should prefer not to annoy him. I’m sure you understand.”
Delany took a step closer to Guy. “While I understand your reason behind this betrothal, Baron, in the circumstances, I cannot keep your secret. You must understand.”
Guy turned to stare at him. “Pardon?”
“Your marriage. Your French bride, the baroness.”
“You have a… wife?” Hetty’s knees went from under her. The burly fellow reappeared with her smelly shoes in his beefy hands. He grabbed her by the elbow and pushed her onto a chair. Was this Vincent’s wife they spoke of? But he was not Baron Fortescue. Surely Guy hadn’t married and failed to tell her? What was he doing here with these bad men? Was he working for Strathairn, or was the earl after him? No! Genevieve would have told her, and she could never believe such a thing of Guy. She just wished she understood. Sagging with exhaustion, she blinked away the tears threatening to blind her. She attempted to put the shoes on, but the stuffing in the toes had gone, and they fell off again.
“Damn you, Delany.” Guy glared at him. “I planned to make a haven for myself in England, where I can operate without fear of discovery.”
“I’m sorry, Baron,” Delany drawled. “You should take better care of your women. Eugène, Baroness Fortescue, would be outraged.” He gave an exaggerated shiver. “You should fear a knife in your back if you ever return to France.”
Guy shrugged. “Encore Je suis embarrassé.”
When Guy refused to look at her, Hetty leapt up from the chair. “I embarrass you? I demand you take me home.” She swallowed a sob. “I wish never to set eyes on you again.”
“If you intend to retain your cover, Baron, I suggest we deal with Miss Cavendish,” Forney said coolly. “We are conveniently placed close to the river. Let the fishes remove the thorn in your side.”
Horrified, Hetty gasped.
“That would be madness, Forney.” Guy stepped closer to her. “You’ll have Bow Street down upon us in a minute. Her father is a friend of the Prince of Wales. The search would be directed at me.”
“Close to the Regent, eh?” Forney studied Hetty and nodded.
“But this girl has come here alone, dressed as the lowest of servants. Her father would have no notion of her direction,” Delany argued.
“If you take such action, you can count me out of any further plans,” Guy said.
“I believe you are fond of the girl,” Delany said, with an unsympathetic grin.
Guy cocked an eyebrow. “Is that a crime, Delany?”
“It is if it weakens you, as I see it has.”
Guy’s hands curled into fists. He took a step toward the man he’d called Delaney. “I should like a chance to show you how weak I am.”
Delany stared. He snatched up a candle from the table and thrust it close to Guy’s face. “Where is your scar, Baron?”
“What scar?” Forney and the other men crowded around.
“The baron had a scar on his cheek. It went from below the eye almost to the chin,” Delany said. “This man is an imposter.”
“Sacré bleu!” Forney cried. “Could this be true?”
