Page 33 of Rogue’s Holiday

“That was you?”

“The plan to trap the conspirators was mine but, for the most part, their capture was the handiwork of the Bow Street Runners.”

“And the one who is following you now?”

Robbie shrugged. “I don’t know who he—or they—are but there was that note. Someone knows who I am and has followed me here.”

“The message that turned you white as a ghost in the Pavilion?”

Robbie nodded. “It was nasty and threatening. Even before then, I had the sense I was being followed, but after…well, since that message, I have glimpsed a man, possibly two, trailing me as I did this morning. I don’t want you to be involved in this, Jack.”

“You have no choice. J’insiste, Nephew.” Jack raised his chin. “We will face this together. With your skill at pistols and mine at knives, we are equipped to defeat them.”

Robbie glanced at his uncle and friend, thankful they had grown close. “It comforts me to know we are in this together though I regret the risk you take.”

Jack held up a hand. “A risk I am happy to take. But wait…I thought the conspirators had all been captured.”

“According to the reports, yes. But my relief was short-lived. It seems even the wicked have friends.”

“Indeed they do,” said Jack.

Robbie frowned. “The question is, how many?”

Chastity returned from a delightful tea at The Old Ship Inn with Rose, Aunt Agatha and Mrs. Fitz to find Featherstone, her aunt’s portly ginger-haired butler, holding out a silver tray. “For you, Mistress.”

She handed her bonnet and pelisse to a footman and lifted the note from the tray, noting her name in elegant script. “Thank you.”

As she began to climb the stairs, Rose joined her.

“Be down in time for dinner!” Aunt Agatha cried up at them.

“Who is the message from?” asked Rose.

“Wait until we are alone and I shall tell you.” Chastity carried the sealed note into her chamber and sat on the bed. The long day of shopping had tired her.

She opened the red wax seal and scanned the signature first. “It’s from Sir Robert Powell, The Rogue.”

“I’m certain he did not sign it ‘The Rogue’,” teased Rose.

“No, he need not have done.” Remarkably, the man’s handwriting was clearly that of a gentleman, one taught penmanship from a young age.

Rose drew up a chair next to Chastity. Her friend’s brown eyes sparkled with anticipation. “Well, what does he want?”

Reading the message, Chastity said, “He invites me to go riding tomorrow with some of his friends. He mentions Sir John Lade and his wife, Letty.” She looked up from the paper in her lap. “Oh, Rose, just imagine! The famous Letty Lade. Why, she rides better than most men!”

“And curses up a storm if the newspapers be true. Will you go?”

“Indeed I will. I’m sure Aunt Agatha will not object.”

Rose pulled a face. “But how very wrong of you to have the handsome Sir Robert all to yourself!”

Chastity could not very well tell her friend one of the reasons she would accept Sir Robert’s invitation was to remove his person from Rose’s presence. Her friend was too enamored of him. But there was also her desire to meet Letty Lade. “We will not be alone, Rose. Lady Lade will be accompanied by her husband. I so want to meet her. Why, the woman is famous or, more accurately, infamous. Did you know she was once the mistress of the highwayman ‘Sixteen String Jack’? And later the mistress of the Duke of York?” Thinking of it, she added, “Perhaps I shan’t mention that last bit to Aunt Agatha.”

“Likely, she already knows, Chas. She seems to know everyone.”

Chastity glanced down at the note. “There is a postscript. He says his uncle would like to take you for a drive in Sir Robert’s curricle.” Chastity met her friend’s eager gaze. “I think it’s a good idea, Rose. You’ll have more the measure of the vicomte once you’ve spent time alone with him. And do not forget, he is nobility of the old order and has vineyards and a chateau in France.”

Rose inclined her head, a grin forming on her face. “He does, doesn’t he? A curricle is all the rage and with the handsome vicomte, I shall be much admired.” Rose looked down at her fingers twisting in her lap. “Though Father would never approve of a suitor who lives in France.”