Page 36 of Tempting the Marquess

“How long f-for?” she choked out, unsure whether to throw herself at him or throw him out. Going away tomorrow and only deigning to tell her now? He must have known for some time—diplomatic missions to other countries didn’t just leap up out of nowhere.

“I’m not sure exactly. Hopefully only a few weeks or so, but you never know with politics. Especially considering the current state of the continent.”

“Where in France will you be? Deep in the countryside?”

“No. Just outside of Paris.”

Icy fright made it hard to breathe. “Paris? Napoleon is in Paris. He doesn’t like Englishmen at all. And there is unrest over there. I saw it in the newspapers!”

William hesitated a fraction too long before nodding and taking her hands in his. “That is true, but we won’t be there for long. Mainly Rouen, then back along the coast to Calais.”

“Oh yes, because even outside of Paris, the French will be delighted to see you,” she said acerbically. “Try not to eat too many cakes at each mayor’s welcome celebration.”

He had the grace to look uncomfortable. “I’ll be traveling with a party of very experienced and skilled men, plus we’ll have soldiers accompanying us wherever we go. We’ll be as safe as we can be, and have sufficient funds in case of any trouble.”

“It still sounds very dangerous. Do you have to be involved?”

“Yes. To ensure the wellbeing of some very important people, I do,” he answered quietly, lifting up each of her hands and brushing a lingering kiss across her knuckles.

Samantha stared up at him in consternation, even as her skin tingled in delight at his touch. There was something altogether wrong here. “William. What aren’t you tellingme?”

“Everything is going to be fine, Samantha. I promise. Aunt Jane, Stephen, and the other Lords will look out for you. Trustthem.”

Then he kissed her hands again, turned, and strode toward the front door and down the steps, not looking backonce.

Numb with shock, Samantha somehow made it back to her bedchamber. William was going to Paris. The current center of French intrigues, where that general held power. Or was he Emperor again? She couldn’t remember. But one thing was true. Napoleon was a very intelligent and efficient man; Papa had said so on many occasions. And now that intelligent and efficient man looked very much like he was preparing for war. But against who? How far could he go? Would other countries join him or fighthim?

After discarding her uncomfortable gown and stays, she sat on her bed in just her chemise for hours, her arms hugged around her knees. Knocks sounded on the door at various times during the evening, but she ignored them all, including an invitation to supper, infinitely preferring to be alone with her worry. Even as the servants retired for the night and the sounds in the house grew less and less, Samantha remained wide awake.

Her thoughts had been getting progressively darker; even though William wasn’t in the army, she’d started imagining him in a uniform, charging across a blood-soaked French field, like those poor men in the Peninsula Wars. Fighting with swords and pistols. Being surrounded and beaten down to the ground until he lay in a pool of blood, his beautiful blue eyes open and staring sightlessly…

“No. Oh no,” she moaned.

They couldn’t part like this. Not with her knowing so little of what William was doing. She needed facts. She needed details.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Samantha flexed her cramped muscles, then walked over to her armoire. Without Trudy to assist, stays would be impossible, so instead she donned a heavy, full length cloak, picked up a pair of slippers, and crept on stockinged feet to peer out the bedchamber door. The hallway was clear, although she could hear the faint sounds of her father’s snoring.

Her heart pounded like a drum. Her mind informed her of all the reasons why this would probably be the most foolish thing she ever did. And yet she still made her way downstairs, careful to avoid the steps with the worst creak. The polished wooden floor of the foyer was unpleasantly cold under her feet, but she made it to the front door which thankfully opened without a sound.

Stepping outside, Samantha paused to put on her slippers and pull the cloak hood over her hair, then walked down the steps and hailed a passing hackney cab. The ride was a little unnerving, the grizzled-looking driver hardly looked left and right as he darted around carts and carriages in the surprisingly busy streets. Soon, too soon for her nerves, they were outside the imposing three-storied Hastings House in Grosvenor Square.

“Want me to stay, luv?” the bald and broad-shouldered older man asked as he helped her down. “For a shilling I can wait a few hours, especially you without a minder andall.”

“Excuse me?” she replied, startled.

“Ah, I thought you might be new. Some cabbies get uppity at driving ladybirds about, but not me. We all gotta make a living as best we can, eh? So if you want, I can stay while you do your private business, then take you home after, like.”

An embarrassed blush rose in her cheeks. The hackney driver thought she was a courtesan, or someone’s mistress. Well, she definitely wasn’t acting like a lady. And the throwing dagger in her reticule was definitely not an item a lady should know about, let alone carry.

“You are very kind, but I will be fine. Thank you,” she replied, and pressed sixpence into hishand.

He blinked at the generosity, tipped his hat, and leaped back onto his hackney. A crack of the whip and he sped off in search of his next fare, leaving Samantha alone on the steps of the townhouse.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she made her way up the stairs and gave the door knocker a sharprap.

This wasit.

Tonight she would discover once and for all the truth about William Hastings.