This jolted them from their stupor. Carstares turned to the grooms and said, “Saddle Minerva and Zeus, I will go too.”
Georgiana was rather relieved at the suggestion. “Pistols, Mr. Carstares. Do you have pistols?”
“Jimmy! Fetch my pistols!” Carstares directed.
The stables became a hive of activity. Horses brought out, pistols loaded, horsewhips located. Georgiana chose a horrid looking specimen of a whip, the butt encased in silver, the braid long and thick, and small silver balls tied at the end of the braid. It was not one she would ever use on a horse and she hoped nobody ever had, but it would inflict very much pain on any man who happened to get in its way.
Jimmy handed over the pistols to Carstares while another of the grooms carried a saddle to Minerva.
“For God’s sake, not the sidesaddle!” Georgiana cried.
The boy dropped it and ran back into the tack room.
It was not more than a minute before Minerva was saddled, the horse wild-eyed at this late-night turn of events. Georgiana mounted, and Carstares was already on his own horse. He patted the pocket holding his pistols, Georgiana took up the whip.
“To the Grosvenor Gate,” she said.
They clattered out of the stable as the grooms jumped aside and they turned their horses down the mews toward the park.
Chapter Nineteen
Jasper slipped offhis horse and led him through the gate and into the park. There had been no sign of a guard at the entrance, which was hardly surprising. They were generally either drunk at the gate or drunk at home, having been bribed by those persons who wished to do their nefarious business unobserved.
He did not see Ryland anywhere and hoped the fellow did not have some plan to spring out at him like a footpad to amuse himself. It would be just like Ryland—he was always going on about being prepared and anticipating the enemy and never letting one’s guard down.
He suddenly heard a rustling to his right and placed his hand on his horse’s nose to still him. A man shadowed in darkness emerged from the bushes and Jasper started. He was not nearly tall enough to be Ryland. How stupid that he did not bring his pistol, he might very well be on the verge of being set upon by footpads while Ryland ran late.
The man approached and Jasper could see now that he did so with his pistol raised. His idea of a footpad began to fade as his instincts took over. They told him this was not a happenstance meeting, this was not some thief delighted that he’d turned up unexpectedly. This man had been waiting, this was a trap, and he’d fallen right into it. Worse, it was a trap no doubt laid by the Stuart, for if not, where was Ryland? The Stuart had decided he was getting too close. He’d probably decided it based on whatever Miss Wilcox had fed to him.
That damn girl!
The man approached and the light from a streetlamp softly illuminated him. “Step away from the horse,” he said. “I never shoot a good horse.”
“Asturt?” Jasper said, failing to keep the note of incredulity from his voice.
“Charles Edward Augustus Maximilian Stuart, Baron Korff, Count Roehenstart, last of the Stuarts, and the true King of England,” Asturt said, cocking his pistol.
My God, Asturt was the Stuart?
How could he have been so stupid as to not figure it out? Asturt had placed a valet in his house. Asturt had met Miss Wilcox in the park. Asturt had called on Miss Wilcox persistently. Asturt had even dressed as a king at the masque.
“You must be mad,” Jasper said, carefully glancing around him and looking for some kind of escape route.
The suggestion of madness appeared to shake Asturt, and Jasper saw the gun waver ever so slightly. “Imust be mad? You, who are so well-acquainted with the madness of the Hanoverians, are wondering ifIam mad? I am a Stuart, we do not carry the disease. Move away from your horse.”
Jasper could not see a way out. All he could do was hope Asturt’s aim was not particularly good and that he did not carry a second loaded pistol. Once the first shot was off, if he was lucky enough not to be hit he’d have to move quickly.
The sound of galloping hoofbeats reached his ears and he stared at Asturt, hoping the fellow might become distracted by it.
“I said,” Asturt shouted, “move away from your horse!”
It began to occur to Jasper that Asturt was not so intent on moving him away from his horse for the sake of the horse, but because he was shadowed by the horse. Asturt was wary of approaching closer and he wanted a clearer shot. The man might not be certain if Jasper himself had a pistol in his pocket, which would have been a very sensible thing to have. He patted his pocket as if he did have one.
The galloping hoofbeats that Jasper had been sure would pass by suddenly turned and came through the gate. “There they are!” a lady shouted.
And not just any lady, it was Miss Wilcox.
My God, what was she doing? Coming along to be sure he was dead?
