Page 90 of The Smuggler’s Escape

Perhaps Lady Darsington’s interference was a godsend.

Or, Richard realized, a tactic of Sir Frederick’s to force the traitor or spy to move quickly. The old man wasn’t above using his daughter in espionage, so why not his wife as well? That wily old fox! He’d probably asked her to judge whether Richard’s infatuation with Noelle was impeding his judgment, and she’d jumped upon it as an opportunity to foist her daughter onto him. If he’d been paying more attention, he would have realized it from what Sir Frederick had said that very day.

He rose. “My dear Lady Ariadne, do not trouble yourself. My footman can fetch the pattern.”

“No, no, I must fetch it myself,” she said. “I must—I must speak to him.”

“I’ll have him called in.” Richard nodded to the footman to carry this out.

“No, no!” Lady Ariadne cried. “I must go myself.” Her hands fluttered agitatedly. “I’m so frightfully hot. I’ll meet him outdoors. Is he at the stables?”

“Escort her ladyship to Jackson,” Richard told the footman. He was tempted to follow and listen, but that was too risky. If all had gone as planned, Hale was here now, having shadowed the groom. If he were discovered eavesdropping, they would assume he was after smugglers, not spies.

~ ~ ~

Noelle set down her cards. After Richard had gone, she had renegotiated the stakes to something reasonable, citing fatigue. Considering her complete lack of concentration, she wasn’t doing too badly, but only because the cards had fallen in her favor. But she’d had enough of Lady Darsington’s sneers and snide comments, nor did she care what the old bat thought of her.

“I have a headache,” she said. “Thank you for the game, but I’m going up to bed.”

“Sleep well, Miss de Vallon. It may be your last comfortable night. You may have fooled Richard Boltwood, but you can’t fool me.”

Noelle drew herself up. “I beg your pardon?”

Lady Darsington’s sneer waxed fiendish. “You’re about to be found out. Arrested. Thrown into prison. And hanged.”

“I am not a spy.” Noelle stalked away, then turned. “You might want to check on your daughter. She seems quite taken with Lord Harry Walsh.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Darsingon trumpeted. Noelle kept going.

Should she warn Richard now that they must leave tonight? No, it was too soon. He was probably still playing piquet with Lady Ariadne. Besides, he was the host. He couldn’t leave so early . . . and it was hours till the tide would allow them to sail.

Upstairs, she began hurriedly to choose a small but practical assortment of clothes, when a slam outside her window alerted her. Someone had opened and shut the door to the terrace.

A stranger? The agent from the Home Office?

She blew out the candle and opened the casement. There, just below her window, stood Dorothea with Lord Harry. What a relief.

“Come now,” Lord Harry was saying. “Flirting is fun.”

“It is not.” Miss Darsington hugged her shawl about herself, perhaps from the chilly breeze, but just as likely in fear of Lord Harry’s advances.

“I’m far more dangerous than either Daniel Davison or that gypsy,” Lord Harry said. “Matchmaking mothers flee at the sight of me, dragging their daughters away by their corset strings.” He appropriated the girl’s hand and tucked it at his elbow. “Let us stroll about a bit. I can see it will take time to get you properly flustered.”

“I could kill Richard,” Miss Darsington said indignantly. “I told him I don’t know how to flirt.”

“Oh, but I do,” Lord Harry said. “You have only to continue to blush so delightfully. I shall take care of the rest.”

“You can’t possibly see whether I’m blushing. It’s far too dark.”

“I don’t need to see you to know you’re all hot and fluttery,” he said, steering her about the terrace. “I have vast experience.”

“I know that,” Miss Darsington retorted, “but my mother isn’t a fool. When she sees how uneasy I am with you, she will know it is merely another ruse. She saw through my feigned interest in Mr. Davison immediately, and she knows I would never run off with Johnny Magee.”

“Then I suggest you become less uneasy. I won’t harm you, but how is your mother to know that?”

Lord Harry stopped and put an arm around Miss Darsington. “Take a deep breath. Pretend I’ve whispered sweet and suggestive nothings into your ear, and you’re all a-shiver.”

“I am shivering, drat you,” she said, but he chuckled at that and she giggled, and they disappeared into the house. The wind slammed the door again.