“So we were.” Peter ran through his options. None worth pursuing just now. “I need to head home anyhow.” He raised his eyebrows. “I must pack my valise to call upon my dear friend, the Grand Duke Ferdinand.”
“Now that’s a good boy.” Jackdaw grinned, showing all his teeth.
“And you will forget all about my sister,” Peter added.
“Won’t you?” Leavenworth purred.
Jackdaw coughed. “Just as the cove with the barking irons says. I agree.”
Everyone stayed put.
“How about you be the first one to walk out of here, Jackdaw?” Leavenworth suggested.
Dear God, just imagine if Peter had come here alone. He might be losing the war, but his lieutenant was winning the battle.
“I was just leaving.” Jackdaw sniffed. He half-turned, but changed his mind and walked backwards, eyes darting, touching the trees to keep himself on track.
They waited.
After it seemed like plenty of time for a clumsy man to walk backwards through a small forest, they sauntered in the same direction. Just checking that he was gone.
“That was a long list of threats,” Leavenworth said.
“I don’t think he could get away with touching her,” Peter replied. “My father doesn’t have patience for trespassers.”
They stopped at the edge of the trees, surveying the park’s smooth lawns and flowerbeds.
Peter kicked a pebble. “He’d just scare the soul out of her living body.” It seemed like Elinor’s soul was barely holding on by a thread as it was.
“So you’ll come up with another plan.” Leavenworth slid the pistol back into his pocket, but did not button the flap.
“Cripes!” Peter grabbed Leavenworth’s arm and transformed. Back into Alcott, sauntering over towards the bench below the maples, and the elderly gentleman waving him down like Peter were a ship having trouble locating harbor. “Uncle Derrick!”
“My boy! My dear boy! Beautiful sunshine, isn’t it?”
Peter assisted his uncle in standing and presented Leavenworth to him. The two men bowed and nodded, cheerful and chatty, while Peter paced to the duck pond and checked the trails. Jackdaw had been here. Right by here. He could have seen. He could still be waiting, and Peter would have drawn his gentle uncle into a spider’s web.
“I’ve heard so much about you!” Uncle Derrick patted Leavenworth’s hand. “You both must come to dine one of these nights.”
“We will,” answered Leavenworth, who had frequently told Peter to hold on to what family he had.
Peter found a stick and began swatting shrubbery.
“Hey!” Leavenworth laughed. “There could be some poor birds in there.”
“Did I tell you about the time—” Uncle Derrick began.
Peter didn’t listen. There could be a damn man in the bushes, is what could be in the damn bushes.
Leavenworth was pinned in conversation until another group of Derrick’s friends came around the bend. Devil take it—Peter darted around an oak tree, under a current bush, pressing himself against the knobbly bark. The last thing he needed was his uncle presenting several elderly gentlefolk to him as Peter Alcott.
Wait.
For all that was holy, it would be even worse, because his uncle would do it properly. And in front of Leavenworth.
He sneezed.
Bits of woodland prickles went down his collar and stuck to the sweat on his back.
