Page 38 of The Lady’s No Angel

“No one knows that,” Milly chided. “And your papa’s a gentleman, ain’t he?”

Angel shrugged, sluicing the soap from her body with the bathwater. “Yes. For what that’s worth. Oh, I don’t know. There’s no point in even discussing it. Mr Cleaver is just looking for a good time, a pretty girl to warm his bed before he goes on his merry way, that’s all.”

Yet she remembered the look in his eyes. I’m not that sort of fellow.

Ah, well. What would be, would be.

“We can’t keep him around, Milly. Not once we get to the heath. It’s too dangerous.”

Milly nodded, but Angel could see the idea troubled her. It troubled Angel too, but there was no help for it. The treasure was hers, she’d promised Pops, and she could risk no one taking it from her. Not even the handsome fellow who had become so dear to her over the past days.

Pushing away the strange ache that had settled in her heart, Angel reached for her towel.

“Come on, then. Your turn. Before the water gets cold.”

The George, Wrotham, Kent, 9th April 1816

Hart went down to check on Toby before dinner and found the lad playing dice with his new friends.

“Where have they berthed you?” he asked, uneasy about him sleeping in the stables in case the two ruffians were still on their tail.

Toby got to his feet, brushing straw from his breeches. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at a young man, perhaps a year or two older than he.

“Jerry is groom here, and he said I could stay above the stables with him and the other groomsmen.”

Hart nodded, relieved the lad had company.

“Right you are, but remember what I told you,” he said sternly.

Toby nodded. “I remember, and I’ll keep me eyes peeled. No villains will get past me, Mr Cleaver.”

Hart patted the lad’s shoulder. “Good man. Enjoy your evening, then, but don’t stay up all night playing dice. We’ve a long day ahead of us tomorrow, if I know anything.”

“You reckon we’ll find her? Jenny, I mean,” Toby asked, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“I hope so,” Hart replied, unable to suppress his nagging anxiety. “For your mistress’s sake.”

Hart made his way across the yard, scanning the darkness for trouble that never came.

The inn was a bustling place, and the scent of wood smoke and roast meat was welcome indeed. As he made his way back to the bar, he passed the staircase just as the ladies appeared.

“Ah, excellent timing. Good evening, Miss Baxter, Mrs Pettigrew. I thought you’d be an age yet, but I’m famished. Shall we go through?”

The ladies did not need asking twice, and they were shown to the private parlour Hart had secured and provided with a very decent meal. Thick slices of roast pork with golden crackling, served with a dish of stewed apples, potatoes roasted in dripping, boiled cabbage and carrots, and a thick, rich gravy.

“Oh, I ain’t never ate so fine in all my days,” Mrs Pettigrew said with a sigh of pleasure, pushing away her empty plate as she sat back in her chair. Though she tried her best to stifle it, she could not help but yawn, blushing as she covered her mouth with her hand.

“It was wonderful, and all the more welcome for being well earned,” Miss Baxter said with a smile, before thanking the maid who gathered up her plate and cleared the table.

The door closed as the serving maid took away the last of the dirty dishes and Hart fished in his pocket for the cards he’d brought. It seemed a safe way to pass a couple of hours and to keep his mind off getting Miss Baxter naked… as if such a thing were possible.

Miss Baxter, who had been quiet this evening and, to Hart’s mind, a little out of sorts, perked up at the sight of them.

“Oh, a splendid idea. What are we playing for?”

Hart, who had not expected to play for anything except fun, regarded her with amusement. “What do you wish to lose?”

Oh, that got her lovely eyes flashing, he noted with delight.