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She was half-tempted to go and find out for herself, but even she wasn't that reckless. Thieves, smugglers, and worse inhabited this section of Town, and any one of a dozen unimaginable things could happen to her before she even reached the alley, much less before Ashford finally realized she was here.
Curbing her curiosity, she sank back down in the rumble seat, crouching low and clutching the blanket for immediate concealment—when it was needed.
It was needed a few minutes later.
Ashford's footsteps resumed, and Noelle found herself relieved to hear them. Regardless of what he was involved in, she was grateful to no longer be alone in this godforsaken place.
There was a quiet thud as something landed in the front seat of the phaeton. A case of money, Noelle was willing to bet.
Ashford was in the process of climbing in beside it when the clomp, clomp of hoofbeats pierced the night.
Noelle could actually feel Ashford freeze—as she did, listening intently to hear who was approaching. She felt around for a weapon of any kind but found none. Oh God, Ashford, please have a pistol, she prayed fervently. Have two, so I can help save our lives.
Alongside the carriage, Ashford swore softly under his breath, the groping sounds she heard an indication that he was indeed extracting a weapon.
Whatever he saw made him put it away, grunt as he wrenched an article of clothing off his body—his mask?—and wait.
The hoofbeats drew nearer—and stopped.
"Hello, constable," Ashford greeted.
Constable? Noelle felt a flash of relief—relief that was short-lived. A police officer. Now that presented a whole new set of problems. How was Ashford going to explain what he was doing in this unsavory section of London—and why there was a case of money and a discarded mask in his phaeton?
"Sir." The constable sounded puzzled, and Noelle could hear him dismount. An instant later, a shaft of
light from his lantern illuminated their phaeton. "Isn't this an odd place for a gentleman like you to be out driving?"
Ashford cleared his throat. "I didn't intend to find myself in this section of Town. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I took a wrong turn and am now quite lost."
"So you stopped here in the hopes that you'd be rescued?" the constable inquired, obviously skeptical. "More likely, you'd be robbed and killed."
"I had no choice but to stop," Ashford returned in the irritated tone of a nobleman who was being unduly interrogated. "My horse has a stone in his shoe. I plan to remove it and be on my way."
"Then perhaps I can help." The officer was walking toward the carriage.
Ashford's plan wasn't going to work.
In a flash of motion, Noelle threw off the blanket and rose. "Oh, thank goodness," she gasped, gazing at the flabby-cheeked constable with immeasurable gratitude, simultaneously climbing down from the rumble seat. "A police official."
The instant her feet touched the ground, she shook out her mantle, and shot an angry look at Ashford, who was gaping at her as if she were a ghost. "Why didn't you tell me it was a constable? Here I was, hiding like a common criminal, crushing the fur of my new mantle while praying not to have my throat slit, and all the time it was a constable you heard approaching us?"
She didn't wait for a reply, but hurried forward, gripped the stunned constable's sleeve. "Oh, sir, you have no idea how relieved I am to see you. This fool I'm unfortunate enough to be married to, who can't so much as find his way around our sitting room, refused to summon our driver to escort us through Town. Oh, no. He had to drive himself. And, as if that isn't bad enough, he insisted on trying a new route from our dear friends' town house to Grosvenor Square."
Noelle gave a hideous shudder. "So where do we end up? In this hellish place, amid thieves and murderers. I begged him—not once, but thrice—to ask directions, but you know how men are about that. They'd rather die than reveal that particular weakness to anyone. So he insisted upon driving around and around until we were hopelessly lost. And now our poor horse has a stone lodged in his shoe…"
Noelle flung another caustic glance at Ashford, who had now recovered himself and was bending over the horse's hoof. "Have you removed it yet, you dolt?" she barked.
"Yes, my dear." Ashford sounded strained—a condition Noelle suspected he didn't have to feign. "I have it." He stood, tossing the imaginary stone to the roadside. "He's as good as new."
"Well, it's about time." With a piqued sniff, Noelle turned back to the constable, whose suspicious expression had transformed to one of consummate pity—not for Noelle, but for Ashford. "If you would please provide my witless husband with directions, I'd be entirely in your debt, and we can finally be on our way—the right way."
"Yes, ma'am." The constable tipped his hat, gazing at her with visible distaste. "I'd be glad to."
"Thank you." Swishing about, Noelle marched over to the phaeton, waiting pointedly for Ashford to assist her in alighting. Once he complied—his biting grip an indication of his true state of mind—she crowded into the far corner of the front seat. Using her heel, she wedged between her feet the mask and what turned out to be a bag, not a case, of money. Then she folded her hands primly in her lap and stared straight ahead.
"I wouldn't blame you if you left her here, sir," she heard the constable whisper.
"I'm glad you understand," Ashford responded flatly.
