Page 11 of Give Him a Chance

Interesting.

“And then?”

“Well, I suppose you are my problem for now,” she said, and there was a flicker of awkwardness in her posture that did not ring true.

Or at least, ring right. He was not her problem; she had helped him escape the courtroom, clearly as Hovell had instructed her…so why on earth would he be under her control now?

Unless…

“No,” Bernard said firmly. “No. I won’t do it.”

“Do what?” With her head tilted, the woman looked astonished, which did not make sense.

Had Hovell told her that he was happy to do one more mission? Was that why she was taking him to the safe house, so that they could plan it?

No. Bernard had been clear enough with Hovell from the start. A few years of service and then he would be getting out. He would leave the spying business to others. He had a life to lead, or at least he hoped he did, and no amount of beautiful women—

“Here we are,” said Lucy quietly, tension only growing in her brow as the carriage came to a stop. “You must tell them—tell them you are a friend of mine, from the Prison Reform Society. Yes, I shall have to call you ‘Mr. Dixon’ around them.”

“‘Prison Reform Society’?” Bernard repeated, utterly at sea.

What on earth was the woman going on about?

“Please—Please, they mustn’t know,” Lucy said hastily, her voice lowering to a whisper as her words quickened in speed. “None of them must know! I wasn’t supposed to be there.” She swallowed. “I only hope no reporter catches wind of it…”

“Home, sweet home, Lady Lucy,” came the voice of the driver as he opened the carriage door. “Let me help you down.”

Giving him a beseeching look which made absolutely no sense, Lucy exited the carriage.

Bernard stared after her. ‘Wasn’t supposed to be there’? What the blazes was she talking about? And who was ‘them’? How many other spies were staying in this safe house?

“Dixon?” Her voice was light, almost breathless, and when he followed her out of the carriage it was to see—

“Oh, my goodness,” Bernard murmured.

‘Home’? It was a home, all right: the sort of home one expected an earl or a duke to be living in. The townhouse was gorgeous, elegant stone and flowers in window boxes, at least three stories high and double-fronted. There was a footman at the door and through the doorway, Bernard could see another stepping forward to help Lucy out of her pelisse…

What the hell was going on?

“Come on, Mr. Dixon, sir,” said the driver with a grin. “Don’t worry. None of ’em bite.”

That didn’t bode well.

“‘Bite’?” repeated Bernard.

But it was too late. His feet had somehow stepped forward and he had entered the townhouse, and Lucy was introducing him to what appeared to be servants as ‘her friend, Mr. Dixon, from the Prison Reform Society, who is staying in Brighton for a time,’ and the house was splendid, all marble and fancy paintings and—was that a suit of armor in the corner?

As the other servants dispersed, Lucy stopped in front of one servant in particular, a woman of stocky build who had several decades on her, who had hustled down the stairs and hissed something about,“Leaving me in the park!”

“Say you were with me,” Lucy whispered back, “and you rode home with me and my guest. Yes?”

“I can’t! Your family knows I came back without you. And I suppose you were at one of your meetings or a courthouse and picked up some…” The servant turned to glare at Bernard—and then her face softened. “O-Oh.” She curtseyed, and Bernard was sure to give her his brightest smile. “Mr….?”

Lucy repeated her strange ‘Prison Reform Society’ story. The servant hissed, “You werealonewith him? In the carriage?”

Lucy had no answer for that, simply turning on her heel. Bernard was about to ask what that was all about, but Lucy spoke first.

“Come into the drawing room and meet the family,” she said in a tight voice.