The moment of truth had arrived. A nervous bubble sat in his belly, caused partly by his secret wish that the others were indeed waiting for them at the manor. If Leah could not reach her grandfather, then the only road left open to them would be the one which led to Strathmore Castle in Scotland.
James would avoid knocking on the front door of Mopus Manor, and in doing so would keep Sir Geoffrey out of the family squabble. Instead he would return to Mopus Passage, pack up Leah and their things, and make all due haste to the Great North Road and Scotland. Once they were in Scotland, he could turn to the task of wooing Leah and then making her his wife.
Just remember, Radley. You may want to marry her, but she has to accept your marriage suit of her own volition.
He dusted off his coat, checked his pistol, and after making certain that Leah was comfortable and safe, he headed for the door. “Make sure you keep this locked until I return. I won’t be long.”
His hand was on the door when Leah hurried over to him. She rose up on her toes and placed a hurried kiss on his cheek. “Good luck, James. I shall be waiting here for you.”
After stepping through the door and onto the landing, James heard the door close behind him and the key turn in the lock. His hand settled on his cheek, right at the spot where Leah had just kissed him.
“Well that was unexpected,” he muttered.
He made his way down the stairs, the heavy clump of his boots matched by the loud thump in his chest.
What he would give for her to be kissing him every day.
Chapter Thirty-One
James tied the reins of his horse to a clump of bushes and started to climb his way up the side of the rise which led to Mopus Manor. The low coastal shrubbery along the road afforded him little cover, so Leah’s plan for him to sneak around the back of her grandfather’s house was unfortunately not such a sound one. He would have to venture up the hill by foot and hope he could stay low enough to reach the top of the bluff and still remain unseen.
He finally managed to make his way up and around to the side of the manor house without being disturbed. He could see the stables but needed to get closer in order to see what coaches and carriages were inside. He had just decided on how he could best make his way through the low bushes when theclickof a pistol being cocked stopped him in his tracks.
“This area is well known for smuggling, so we do tend to keep an eye out for unwelcome visitors,” said a voice from behind him.
James put his hands up in surrender.
Fuck. I knew I should have kept my pistol in my hand.
“Now turn around slowly. Don’t make any sudden moves, otherwise you might find yourself with a hole in your head.”
He did as he was told. His plans for the day did not include getting shot.
When he finished turning to where the voice had come from, his gaze settled on a tall grey-haired gentleman holding a pair of pistols. Both pistols were cocked and pointed at James.
“You are not very good at this secret agent lark, are you, young man? For a start, the handle of your pistol is showing in your coat pocket. Now, carefully reach intothatpocket and pull it out. Slowly. Then throw it over into those bushes,” said the pistol-wielding gentleman.
James did as he was told, silently praying that he would live to watch his former spy cousins, William, and Bartholomew, fall about laughing when he told them of this embarrassing encounter. He put his right hand back up in the air, alongside his left.
“Now that I have done as you instructed, may I ask you a question?” ventured James.
The gentleman raised an eyebrow. “If you wish to play it that way, please go ahead. But I would not make any sudden moves as you speak; these pistols have hair triggers.”
“Are you from Mopus Manor, and if so, does Sir Geoffrey have guests staying with him?”
A frown greeted his question. “That was two questions. But to hurry things along, I will indulge you. In answer to your first question, yes, I am from Mopus Manor. As to your second question, no, I don’t have visitors. I cannot recall the last time I did.”
James’s shoulders sagged with relief, and he dropped his hands. A pistol shot rang out, and with a panicked cry, he quickly raised his hands again.
“Bloody hell!” he cried.
“The next one won’t miss,” said Sir Geoffrey.
“My name is James Radley. My father is Hugh Radley, the Bishop of London. I have your granddaughter with me,” he replied hastily.
Many times, he had resented hearing people note that his father was the Bishop of London. Yet the first time he found himself in any real danger, he had invoked the name of his father. If he managed to somehow not get shot today, he intended to be angry with himself.
A trickle of nervous sweat slid slowly down his back. His heart was pounding like a drum in his chest. One of the pistols was lowered. Unfortunately, it was the one which Sir Geoffrey had already fired.
