Page 89 of An Extraordinary Lord

When she broke beneath him, the shattering of body and soul was more than she could bear. A sob tore from her, and she buried her face against his neck to hide all evidence of her tears.

Twenty-three

A knock rapped sharply at the town house’s front door.

“It’s about time,” Horatio Liggett grumbled as he strode toward the entry hall from the study where he’d been making last-minute additions to the correspondence he was sending to Parliament to inform them that he had the riots under control. It would all be over by dawn. By afternoon, Westminster would proclaim him to be England’s most recent hero, and by nightfall, everyone across London would be making comparisons between a man of strength like him and that cowardly buffoon Prinny.

He snatched up his hat and sword from the waiting footman and put them on, then gestured for the man to open the door.

“General.” A tiger in a plain uniform greeted him with a small bow. “Your carriage is here, sir.”

“Carriage?” he boomed out in surprise. “I didn’t ask for a bloody carriage! I asked for a guarded escort.”

He shoved the tiger aside and looked out at the street where a plain black carriage waited beside the footpath. Around it stood three horse guards, their uniforms bright red against the dark night.

“General Liggett.” The lead officer called out to him with a salute but didn’t dismount from his horse. “Captain Nathaniel Reed with His Majesty’s Horse Guards. We’re here to escort you behind the barricades. It’s an honor to guard you, sir.”

Well, that was more like it. And exactly the deference he deserved.

Everything was coming together, just as planned. Once he’d left Carlton House earlier this evening, he’d spent the night overseeing the building of the barricades at the eastern edge of Westminster, where his soldiers would hold their position to keep the rioters from penetrating into St James’s and Whitehall. But the mob had been paid well to ignore the soldiers and push through, and the only thing stopping them would be him and a volley of musket fire.

But a carriage? His jaw tightened. “I should be going on horseback, like one of the guards.”Like a general.Wellington would never have arrived for battle in a carriage, for God’s sake!

“The Home Office insisted, sir,” Captain Reed answered. “We don’t know how many rioters might already be in the streets. It’s for your own protection.”

“I am a general!” Liggett seethed. “I don’t need to be shielded like some green lad.”

“The Home Office insisted,” the captain repeated. Then he added in a low voice, breaking his officer’s demeanor to sound his own personal opinion, “You know how Whitehall is, run by a bunch of spineless men who have never set foot on a battlefield.” Reed glanced at the other guards and the men waiting at the carriage and confided, “The guards and I will escort you through the City, per our orders, but we can stop the carriage a few streets from the barricades so you can approach on foot if you’d rather.”

“I’d look more commanding arriving on horseback,” Liggett grumbled. But walking was the best he’d have tonight apparently. Damn the Home Office! That would be the first thing he’d change under the new regime—put the militia back where it belonged, under the hands of the War Department.

With an aggravated wave of his hand to signal that he was ready, he walked down to the carriage. The tiger held open the door and put down the step as if he were some debutante who needed help stepping into a coach.Thatadded insult to injury. But he would find out who in Whitehall had decided to put him in a carriage, and heads would roll.

He sat on the bench and ordered, “Drive.”

The tiger shut the door. A few seconds later, the carriage started forward.

Suddenly, the door was flung open, and a man swung inside the compartment. He landed on the bench across from Liggett with a light bounce and slammed the door shut after himself.

He pulled a pistol from beneath his greatcoat and pointed it at Liggett’s chest.

“Good evening, General.” The man smiled pleasantly. “We’ve not yet formally met. I’m Clayton Elliott.”

Confused rage boiled inside Liggett. “What is the meaning of—”

“Former major with the Grenadier Guards, First Regiment of Foot. Now Home Office undersecretary.” The man’s smile faded, its disappearance punctuating the easing down of the pistol’s hammer. “And the man responsible for ensuring minimal loss of property and life from tonight’s riot.” He laid the pistol down across his knee but kept his hand on it. “Which means I’m putting an end to your plans.”

“What the hell is going on?” Liggett glanced out the window. The carriage was heading in the wrong direction. “Stop this nonsense and take me to the barricades!”

He pounded his fist against the roof to signal to the driver to stop, but the coachman only flipped the ribbons and urged the team into a faster pace.

Liggett leaned out the window and yelled, “Stop this carriage immediately!”

“Apologies, General,” the Home Office undersecretary said calmly. “But the men are under my command and have orders to ignore you.”

“I am a general. I have the authority to command the Horse Guards.” Liggett leaned out the window again and noted that two of the guards had left, leaving only Captain Reed following behind on his horse in a slow canter. “Stop this carriage, Captain. I order you!”

But Reed ignored Liggett’s command and rode on.