Wallace flushed. “Sorry, sir. Served under you. Old habits die hard.”
“You are now engaged in undercover work,” Reade said, relenting. “Make it a habit not to go blathering a man’s name about. There’s a good fellow.”
When the man hurried away, Reade called for a coffee.
As he drank, his thoughts returned to Miss Dalrymple. Was it possible she could be in danger? What might the Virdens want with her father? Was he an innocent man caught in their web? It chilled Reade to think it. While he wasn’t ready to question Dalrymple, he’d make it his business to find out more about him.
He finished his drink, rose, and tossed coins onto the table. He had an appointment to keep.
Chapter Seven
On Friday, Joand Sally went to view the Prince Regent’s return to Carlton House from parliament after reading the king’s speech. While the sky was overcast, there’d been no sign of rain. Hopeful for fine weather, they positioned themselves on the pavement near Saint James’s gardens, crushed in among a rowdy crowd. Jo tried to ignore the unpleasant smell of unwashed bodies. Someone elbowed her hard in the side, but it failed to diminish her excitement.
A ripple of noise rose from the crowd as the Regent’s royal coach and his entourage advanced down St. James’s Street, the horse guards splendid in their uniforms and the shiny coats of their mounts gleaming.
Sally chatted as the coach came closer. The mutterings and murmurs around them became loud abuse. Men shook their fists, and a few pushed forward toward the coach.
Nervous, Jo glanced around. “Stay close to me, Sally.” The shouting and raised voices drowned out Jo’s words.
Drawn by six peerless white horses, the glossy, black royal coach, elaborately decorated in gold with red wheels, drew level to where they stood. Jo barely had a moment to admire it when a handful of gravel splattered against the coach door, tossed by someone in the crowd to the right of her. The horses sidled nervously as the horse-guards broke ranks and rode toward the people, seeking the assailant.
Fearing they’d be trampled, Jo pulled Sally back, but like a surging sea, the crowd spread in all directions.
Jo kept a grip on Sally’s arm, her stomach in knots. “We must leave.”
They came up against a wall of people. They had only moved a few paces through the seething mob, when a loud bang, followed closely by another, rent the air. A far side window of the royal coach shattered, glass shards flying over the road. As screaming rent the air, His Royal Highness stared out, seemingly unharmed. For a moment, there was silence, and then a rumble of panic-stricken people.
“Oh, miss, was that a pistol shot?” Sally cried as they struggled to move on. “Is it a revolution? We must get away!”
The horse guards rode into the crowd, their mounts pushing the panicked people back. Barely able to escape a horse’s hooves, Jo lost hold of Sally’s hand, and the surge of people carried the maid away with them.
Jo tried to follow, but was caught up and dragged in the opposite direction. Finally, free, she was pressed against a brick wall near the entrance to a narrow alley.
Jo searched for Sally amongst the dispersing crowd but didn’t see her. Winded, she leaned against the brick wall and tried to keep out of the way of those rushing past. A man tripped and cannoned into her, pushing her backward. Her head banged against the bricks, and she sank dizzily down. Once her head cleared, she struggled to her feet to stare into the shadowy laneway. Was it a way out? It looked forbidding, and she had no idea where it led. But she just couldn’t stay here. She stepped inside.
A man watched her from the shadows. Her heart beating, Jo backed away and returned to the fray. Where was Sally? Was she hurt? With gritty determination, despite another bout of dizziness and a stinging forehead, she pushed her way into the surging mass of frightened people, who still ran in all directions.
Jo realized she was in trouble when she’d only taken a few steps. The crowd was too strong for her, and they pulled her off her feet.
An arm looped around her waist and scooped her up, robbing her of breath. Fear rushed through her, her protest muffled against a hard chest. “Put me down.”
“You can’t stay here.”
Jo tried to see who it was but could only see the hard edge of the man’s jaw. She squirmed in his arms with panicked breaths as she inhaled his clean scent. A hand clutching his steely shoulder, her palm pressed against the gold buttons on his silk waistcoat, feeling the unresistant hard muscle and bone beneath. Well, he was a gentleman at least and not one of those hollow-chested, pale men she met at balls. Growing desperate, she shoved again, harder, and looked up into his face.
“Lord Reade!” His eyes dark, his mouth pressed in a firm line. “This is hardly necessary. I can walk!” Jo shouted, trying to make herself heard above the clamor swirling around them.
“Don’t be foolish.” His deep voice rumbled against her ear as he dove through a gap in the eddying mob. People seemed to scatter in his wake.
“I amnotfoolish,” she cried. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”
“So, it would appear. Your forehead is bleeding. What the devil are you doing here?”
What else would she be doing here? “I came to see the Prince of Wales and the royal procession.”
He didn’t slow his determined stride. “Someone fired on the Regent.”
“Well, it wasn’t me.”
