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“I will keep that in mind,” he murmured.
She gave a brisk nod before she walked away and Carlos took her place. Entering the carriage, the large man took his seat and banged the roof to send Swann on his way.
“Well?” he demanded with a hint of impatience.
Philippe shrugged. “Not much more than a name. Seurat. And the fact he has not been seen near the docks for the past three weeks.”
“You think it his true name?”
“He was foxed when he uttered it, so yes, I think it probable that is his true name.”
Carlos crossed his arms over his chest. “Then the hunt is on”.
RAINE KEPT TO THE LESS traveled streets as she made her way from London, inwardly cursing her father’s crimson cape and hat that drew far too much attention.
Thankfully it was still too early in the day for any members of society to be about, and the horde of servants, tradesmen and merchants who clogged the streets were far too busy to have time for more than a startled glance before hurrying on their way.
Eventually, she managed to fumble her way through the maze of neighborhoods until she was on the road home. A stroke of fortune, since she had begun to fear she was going to devote the entire day to going in circles.
Her brief spate of good luck, however, turned once she was past Blackheath. Without any buildings to block the biting wind and occasional snowflakes, she soon discovered she was not dressed nearly warmly enough. Even riding low to the saddle she was frozen to the very bone within a few moments.
Her discomfort only intensified over the next two hours as her stomach began to cramp with hunger and a pain began to throb behind her temples. Even worse, she discovered that her night of illicit passion had made her tender in places that a young lady should not be tender.
All in all it was proving to be an unpleasant journey, she decided grimly.
Lowering her head, Raine forced herself to keep going forward. She did not know when Philippe would return to his town house, but she wanted to make sure she was far, far away before he discovered that she had escaped.
As morning passed and a gray afternoon arrived, Raine began to recognize her surroundings. She was still a goodly distance from Knightsbridge, but she was close enough to be recognized.
She turned off the main road and instead took a small cart path that would eventually lead to her father’s cottage. Only a handful of farmers and crofters ever traveled through the remote fields. She should be safe enough.
A reasonable thought, although one that should never have passed through her mind, since the minute it did she could hear the sound of masculine voices just around the bend.
More out of caution than actual fear, Raine slowed her mare and turned off the road into the overgrown garden of a decrepit cottage. She hid her horse behind a fallen outbuilding and returned to peer through an overgrown hedgerow.
What she discovered made her heart lodge in her throat.
The magistrate and another man were standing beside the road as they studied something in a nearby ditch.
For a moment she debated simply hiding in the bush until the men concluded their business and moved along. She certainly could not afford to be caught wearing such condemning attire. But, even as common sense urged her to slip deeper into the hedgerow, her curiosity had her scooting toward a nearby tree and silently climbing the lowest limb so she could more easily overhear the men’s conversation.
Holding her breath, she watched as the magistrate planted his hands on his hips and regarded his companion with a stern expression.
“You are certain this is where Wimbourne said that he would leave the bag?” he demanded.
Raine gripped the tree branch with frozen fingers, her heart beating so loud she was afraid that it might be heard.
“Aye.” The second man took off his hat to scratch his head and Raine recognized him as Alfred Timms, a loud and coarse man who worked for the local blacksmith. “He said that there was a big party up at the squire’s place on Tuesday and that there were certain to be some easy pluckings to be had. Then he told Widow Hamilton to send her lad here to collect the bag so that they wouldn’t be tossed from their cottage.”
“You have disappointed me before, Timms,” the magistrate warned. “I will not be happy if I am stuck waiting for hours for a highwayman who never appears.”
“’T’aint my fault. The man has been real cageylike for the past few weeks.”
“More than cagey.” The magistrate was clearly frustrated. “He has been a damnable magician. He must have someone working with him. No doubt that Foster. He would do anything to help his master avoid the gallows.”
Timms shrugged. “As to that I can’t say. I only know what I overhear.”
The magistrate took a step forward to abruptly grasp hi
