Chapter 16
Winthrop, the earl’s valet, walked his horse out from his hiding place in the woods the instant Damien reached the oak tree where they had agreed to meet. “My lord,” he said, “I’ve had a hard time waiting here tonight. My intuition warned me that you were in grave danger. It is a relief to see you—”
He paused, assessing the condition of his master’s disguise.
“What is it, Winthrop?”
“I hope you did not attend the meeting missing a part of your shoulder and a good deal of your torso padding.”
“The padding is in my saddlebag,” Damien said. “And good riddance to it. I can hardly wait to remove the rest of this disguise.”
“Then you were caught out?” Winthrop asked in alarm.
“Not exactly. However, our plans have changed. We’ll have to finish discussing them at the inn. I trust you’ve paid Sir Angus’s bill, expressed his gratitude, and found a room elsewhere for the Earl of Shalcross?”
“Yes, my lord, but I do not understand.”
“I don’t have time to elucidate, Winthrop. I’ll fill you in as best I can as we travel. I need a shave and fresh clothes for the morning.”
Winthrop nodded in complete agreement.
The moment the two men entered the room at the inn, Winthrop brought out a razor case and set the towels warming by the fire, while Damien finished removing his Sir Angus costume.
“You will need to dispose of this disguise as soon as possible.” He thought of Michael’s ingenious method of hiding the tent. “There are quagmires in the area. However, we are amateurs in that matter and I would not want you to go down with the evidence. Leaving our past identities behind does not mean we should literally vanish from the face of the earth.”
The valet smiled. He had nursed Damien back to health many years ago. To this day he seemed to believe this action meant that he was indebted to his master instead of the other way around. Damien depended on Winthrop too much to argue.
“I was about to launch a search for you, my lord,” Winthrop said. “You are three hours later than I expected, even given an emergency. What went amiss at the party?”
Damien frowned at his reflection in the shaving mirror. “Damn me if I ever have cause to wear a mustache this thick again. What did you just ask me? And this red beard. What irony. My hair was red when I met her. Hers was black and is now red.”
“Something went wrong this evening, I assume. I feel as if I am following the moves on a chessboard.”
“‘Wrong’ seems an inadequate word to describe the trap I walked into tonight.”
Damien removed from his vest pocket the letter that Emily had asked him to rescue from the tower. He turned toward the fire. He had no inclination to read her private correspondence. But, then, he was marrying her. He had the right to learn something of her nature.
Dearest Camden,
By now you realize what I have kept hidden for so long. No matter what the outcome of my reckless act tonight, I confess . . .
He crushed the letter in his fist and threw it into the fireplace, frowning as he noticed his valet staring at him in alarm.
Winthrop lowered the stool he had brought to the shaving stand. He lit the two candles in their wrought-iron stand. “You weren’t recognized?”
“Sit down while I explain what happened.”
“Haven’t I stood steadfast at your side during attacks and storms at war? I cannot shave you while sitting down. I have never been prone to hysterics.”
“Well, neither have I. But in a few minutes you and I might challenge our history. I was not caught out by the conspirators. Give me credit for at least doing my job.”
“Then?”
“I fell into the company of a fortune-teller.”
“Good gracious. She was able to divine that you were incognito?”
“She wasn’t able to divine her own name,” Damien said in annoyance. “She tricked me. Whether it was deliberate on her part or mere carelessness on mine, I haven’t reassembled my wits enough to decide.”
Winthrop paused. “But if you represented yourself as Sir Angus, you deceived her, too.”
“It appears that neither one of us meant to deceive the other,” Damien said in disgust. “We were on separate missions. Not that I can use that as an excuse for what occurred.”
Winthrop looked appalled. “You were exposed by another operative?”
“I wasn’t exposed by an operative, Winthrop. I was forced into an engagement with her. And her father. Anyway, she is not an agent unless the Crown has opened a division called the Amorous Office since we’ve been gone.”
“And you proposed to a fortune-teller?” Winthrop could not suppress the note of horror in his voice. It was no secret that he wished Damien would marry and lead a life befitting his rank, but this was evidently not the match he had in mind. “Can they be trusted?”
Damien pulled another wad of padding from his shoulder. His back looked like a damned bridge. “Her life depends on it. After the wedding she will rarely leave my side.”
“Until then?”
“Until then I must contrive to spend as much time in her company as possible. I have to appear to be a man obsessed, unable to tear myself from my betrothed whom, it is to be hoped, won’t reveal that we knew not of the other’s presence until this portentous evening.”
“What about her father?”
“I can only sacrifice myself to marrying one of them.”
“Ha, ha, my lord. What I meant is, can he be trusted with your secrets?”
“As of now he doesn’t have an inkling that I am anything but a besotted fool who fell in love with his daughter over an epistolary love affair that her brother evidently initiated and encouraged during this past year.”
“You are a remarkably driven man, my lord.”
“I should be driven to an asylum for accepting this responsibility.”
“And now you shall have a wife, a countess.” Winthrop looked wistful. “Do you still plan to retire in London when this operation is finished?”
“I have not yet planned how I am to conduct a believable courtship with a woman I’ve known for mere hours and love for reasons I have yet to invent. Do you have any suggestions as to how I should go about this?”
“You have never lacked for lady admirers,” Winthrop said carefully. “I don’t think I could give you advice on doing you know what.”
“Tossing a willing woman over my shoulder and into bed is not the same as wooing a gentlewoman. There is an interlude between that must be correctly staged.”
“I am confused again. Isn’t she elated that she will become the first Countess of Shalcross?”
“She certainly didn’t throw herself at me in gratitude.”
“What did she do?” Winthrop asked, glancing up now as if he’d finally realized that this marriage might not be one made in heaven.
“She threw down her wig.”
“Good God. Is she bald, my lord?”
Damien laughed. “She has a mane of flame-red hair, and from what I’ve seen the spirit to match.”
“She’ll need pluck to live at your side, my lord,” Winthrop said without glancing up. “We shall have to look at the bright side.”
“She’ll need more than pluck to stay alive. She walked into a hornet’s nest tonight.”
“May I ask why you feel compelled to become her guardian? Has her beauty blinded you to common sense? Protecting her cannot be more important than honoring your mission.”
Damien turned from the mirror. “Marrying her and honoring the mission have become one and the same task, I’m afraid. One of us will have to carry a message to Heath Boscastle in London to warn him about the assassination plot. A slight detour to secure a special license is also in the cards. Canterbury isn’t far from here. Show the letter of carte blanche to the clerk in the archbishop’s office.”
“And you plan to make a few additions to your current wardrobe, I hope?”
“I don’t have time for that. Ply your needle if it gives you pleasure. In the meantime let’s give Sir Angus a hasty funeral. I hope that we will never see him again.”