They took their leave of Gunter’s and stepped into the town coach.
Chapter Seventeen
One Curious Spy
A few minutes earlier, in Berkeley Square
Glad for thebrazier warming his town coach, Luke Crosse, the future Earl of Wolvesmead and current escort manager of the Lyon’s Den, kept his attention on the front of Gunter’s Tea Shop.
If Bessie Dove-Lyon had asked him to eavesdrop on the couple he had been following the past two nights, he would have reminded her his absence from the gaming hell would require someone else act in his stead. She hadn’t asked, though, at least not exactly. She had merely mentioned a desire to learn how the two were getting along with one another.
Why she showed such interest in a couple from whom she didn’t stand to make any money from a match had him curious.
What was in it for her should they wed?
He had volunteered to follow Lord Wingfield as a means to satisfy his own curiosity more than anything else. At some point in his future, he, too, would be forced to take a wife. Once he inherited, it would be his duty to sire an heir and hopefully a spare. He was still deciding how he would go about acquiring that wife. Watching those who pursued women in unlikely venues was far more interesting than attending balls andsoirées.
Although he had known better than to attempt to sit close to the earl and Miss Kingston, he had discovered the confectionarytoo crowded and noisy to eavesdrop. That is, until most of the other patrons had left.
The weather had no doubt helped in that regard. He knew from the way his left hand ached that temperatures were dropping. Snow continued to fall from gray clouds that appeared to be lit from behind. Traffic in the streets, wet from melted snow, had begun to thin as people headed for their homes and to their dinners or beds.
Once the couple and he were the only ones left besides the waiters, it was possible for Titan to hear snippets of their conversation.
Apparently, Lord Wingfield was offering his town home in London for some sort of business concern Catherine Kingston was proposing.
What the hell?Below the tabletop, he flexed his hand and fisted it, as much in frustration as a need to keep it exercised.
The couple’s manner with one another didn’t suggest their meeting was the least bit romantic. He knew because he could see their reflections in the front window of the establishment. He watched as Lord Wingfield consumed a sandwich and Miss Kingston took delicate spoonfuls of her ice to her lips. She seemed far more taken with the confection than she did with Matthew.
When the waiter delivered an ice to the earl, Titan was careful to divert his own attention to his dish, the tangy lemon ice providing the perfect evening refreshment. In the next hour, he would be making his way to Westminster and another late night at the Lyon’s Den.
Once he finished the confection, he dared another glance at the couple’s reflection and realized they would soon be taking their leave. They had apparently come to some sort of decision.
Deciding it best he avoid discovery, Titan left the shop first and made his way to his coach. He wasn’t surprised when they followed a few minutes later.
Hewassurprised when they both entered the same town coach.
The Wingfield town coach.
Tapping his cane on the roof of his equipage, he waited until his driver’s face appeared in the trap door opening. “Follow that coach,” he said, motioning to the only other coach that was still parked near Gunter’s.
“Aye, sir. Should I stop when they do?”
Titan grimaced. “Not directly behind them. Mayhap a hundred feet beyond.”
“Aye, sir.” The driver’s face disappeared, and a moment later, the coach lurched into motion.
Chapter Eighteen
One Cold Night, One Decision
Meanwhile…
Stepping up intothe coach after Catherine, Matthew noted how she didn’t sit in the middle of the bench facing the direction of travel, but rather off to one side. “May I join you?” he asked, wincing when he noticed a white cloud form in front of his face. The coach’s interior was freezing.
“Please do. I would appreciate the warmth,” she said, patting the bench next to her.
Matthew settled into the squabs, careful to leave an inch or two between them. About to place his hands on his thighs, he noted how Catherine rubbed her gloved hands together. “Apologies for the cold. I should have had Cummings move the brazier in here,” he said, wondering how much it would cost to buy the coal necessary to keep the coach heated.
