“Who is leading the investigation?” Aaran asked, knowing Thompson would want to know of this new turn of events. Young Betts was father to the boy Thompson would raise as his nephew.
“Hartley,” Blackstone supplied.
“Good,” Aaran murmured, knowing Hartley was to attend Thompson’s wedding and could catch them up on the investigation. Such must satisfy all of them at this time.
A bit over a half hour later, Aaran entered the rear of his London home to climb the stairs to his quarters where Mr. Simmons awaited him.
“The water is not as hot as you prefer, my lord,” Simmons said as he tugged Aaran’s stinking clothes from his body. Aaran had worn the same ragged clothes for nearly a sennight. He knew Simmons would burn the shirt, knickers, jacket, and socks and purchase more from a secondhand shop. Simmons’s dignity would not permit the valet to act otherwise.
“It must do, Simmons,” Aaran instructed. “The young lady in question is likely leaving her home as we speak. I must bein a position to assist her. Have Mr. Jamison bring my carriage around.”
“Yes, my lord.” Simmons carried the clothes from the jail before him at arm’s length. “I will return in a matter of minutes, my lord, to assist you.”
Aaran stepped cautiously into the tub set up in his dressing room. As his valet had warned, the water was cooler than he liked. His injured leg would feel better if the water were steaming, but he was truly concerned for Lady Freya Cunningham. “Demme, annoying female,” he groused as he lowered himself into the water, but, instead of shaking his head in dismay, he found himself smiling. “I enjoy ‘annoying,’” he admitted aloud as he sank below the water to wet his hair in order to wash it. As he came up for air, he was chuckling. “Likely will give me a heart spasm before I am thirty,” he said as he soaped his body. “Yet, what a delightful way for a man to meet his Maker.”
“Traveling alone, miss?”a man asked. Freya had placed herself along the wall of the inn, close to one of the outside lanterns so she could view anyone who approached; yet, the stranger had come forward from the back of the inn where the privies were located.
“No. Someone is to meet me here,” she said, attempting to infuse a bit of courage into her tone.
“I see,” he said, taking a stance near her, but not so close that she could complain. From his dress, the man appeared to be a gentleman or at least a man who owned his own business. “You must be careful when traveling, especially so late in the evening.” He paused to look out upon their potential travel mates. “No female with whom to attach yourself. All types ofthe lowest of the low travel on public coaches. If you require someone to assist you, I would be willing to stand in for your father or brother. We could sit together, if necessary.”
Freya was studying all the men impatiently waiting for the horses to be properly attached and settled. There were enough possible passengers that some would be asked to ride on top of the carriage.
She purposely did not turn her head, when she heard another coach rolling into the busy inn yard, for Freya did not completely trust the man, who was standing closer than he had been only a moment earlier.
It happened before she knew it had begun. The older man used his shoulder to knock her back against the roughly hewed wood of the side of the inn near the stables. Something sharp nicked her skin as the man cut the strings of her reticule from her wrist.
Aaran had beenwatching out the coach’s small window looking for Lady Freya. They had paused only briefly at an inn still in London proper, but the lady was nowhere to be found, so he had continued on. Now, he was beginning to wonder if the information for which he had paid dearly had been in error.
Even so, Aaran unlatched the door and stepped down. His leg could use a good stretch while Mr. Jamison tended to the horses.
He had just turned when a screech caught his attention. Lady Freya was chasing after a man who had caused Her Ladyship some form of distress. He called, “Mr. Jamison!” before Aaran pulled a short sword from his walking stick and stepped into the man’s path, blade in the hand of his outstretched arm. “Going somewhere?” he asked in snide tones as the man skidded to a stop only inches away from the sword’s tip.
“Just… just hurrying… hurrying to fetch… fetch my things,” the man stammered his excuse. The fellow flinched when Jamison aimed a gun at him and cocked the trigger.
“Your purse has a floral pattern,” Aaran said in tones lacking in amusement, just as Lady Freya stopped behind the man and snatched the reticule from the fellow’s hand.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said with a smile before she elbowed the thief hard in his side.
“I apologize for my tardiness, my dear,” Aaran replied because what else might a man do with a woman of Lady Freya’s nature. Chastising her would only make her madder.
“What do you wish to do with this fellow, Lord Graham?” Mr. Jamison asked as he climbed down to stand behind their thief.
“Tie him to the roof of my coach,” Aaran said with a grin. “We will leave him with the nearest authority. Then, please tend to the horses. I will be inside. I have not had a meal since early today, and it was not one any cook could claim as tasty. Would you care to join me, Lady Freya?”
“I should join the others on the departing coach,” she said with a wistful look to his carriage.
“The lady protests too much,” Aaran told Mr. Jamison. “I suppose I must eat alone. Should I set your bags on the public coach, my lady?” he asked with a purposeful shrug of his shoulders.
“You are the most irritating man ever to walk this earth!” Lady Freya declared, as she threw her hands up in frustration. “Why can you not respond like a normal gentleman? Why can you not simply ask me if I would join you for a meal and then insist on providing me transportation to my aunt’s house?”
“Why should I ask? You well know I am not permitting you to travel on a public coach nor am I dining without you, Lady Freya. Let us not argue. We are to be regular tablemates over the next fortnight, are we not? Such is what each of us desire.”
Her Ladyship tentatively placed her hand on his proffered arm, and they walked away together. “Thank you, my lord,” she said with what others might think were dutiful tones, but Aaran knew better. This was only a skirmish in what might prove to be a lifelong battle of wills. “It is very kind of you to extend your protection.”
He paused their steps a few feet before the door. “Are we to dine in private, Lady Freya? Or would you prefer the main room?”
“I do not understand, my lord,” she said in equal quietness.
