“So that’s set.” Hillbrook rose and offered his hand too. In a daze, Leath accepted it. He hardly knew this man. For most of Jonas Merrick’s life, his supposed bastardy had excluded him from society. “We’re off to Berkshire to crush an adder.”
Harmsworth rose to shake Leath’s hand too. He smiled with the easy charm that Leath had formerly dismissed as weakness. “Welcome to the gang. We’ll do the blood brother ceremony before lunch.”
“We’ll be on our way to Berkshire before then,” Sedgemoor said.
Leath found himself laughing. “I’m embarrassingly eager to shout, ‘All for one and one for all.’ ”
“Now to tell our wives that we’re adventuring without them,” Hillbrook said wryly. “I’d rather face Greengrass.”
Sedgemoor smiled. “Pen will welcome some company.”
“I’m sure Sidonie will stay—once I’ve convinced her that I can survive without her pistol guarding my back.”
“Genevieve is giving a lecture to the Royal Society next week. She’ll want to return to London.” Harmsworth had married a famous bluestocking. The thought of such a mismatch had given Leath many a nasty laugh in the last year. Now he wondered if the Harmsworth marriage was the disaster he’d predicted.
“She can travel with us,” Sedgemoor said.
“We’ll get all the way to Mayfair before we convince her that we can succeed without her pistol too,” Harmsworth said with a mocking melancholy that didn’t hide his fondness for his wife.
“She has her own score to settle with the devil,” Hillbrook said on a sober note. “You can’t blame her for wanting to see the end.”
“I can’t blame her,” Harmsworth said. “But I’ll be damned before I let her get within ten feet of that rabid cur.”
“Sedgemoor, would I push this new amity if I asked you to shelter Miss Trim until everything’s cleared up?” Once, the idea of asking a favor from the arrogant duke would have stuck in Leath’s craw.
“Of course. Pen will like that.”
“Thank you.” Eleanor wouldn’t appreciate being left behind. If he knew his Miss Trim, she’d want to be in at this drama’s climax.
Chapter Thirty-One
Nell dug her heels into the newly named Ginger’s sides as she caught sight of the horsemen and coach from the top of the hill. The gallant mare, who had given so much on the way to Fentonwyck, broke into a run.
Whatever else Nell thought of James right now—and a few choice adjectives had crossed her mind since she’d read the note that he’d left her as a good-bye—she admired his taste in horseflesh. Ginger was a marvel.
Lord Hillbrook rode a huge black horse at the rear of the cavalcade. At Nell’s approach, he drew the snorting beast to a halt. James was ahead with Sedgemoor. She assumed Sir Richard was inside the coach with his wife, and that the handsome gray hack tied to the vehicle was his.
“Miss Trim,” his lordship said, sweeping his hat off and bowing from his superior height.
“My lord,” she said grimly. She felt nervous around Jonas Merrick with his scarred face and watchful eyes.
“You must have ridden like the devil.”
His expression livid, James cantered back past the coach. “What in Hades are you doing here, Eleanor?”
He was so angry he forgot to call her Miss Trim. She didn’t care. She was angry herself. “This is my quest.”
“No longer.”
“That’s not your decision.”
She watched his jaw work as he controlled his temper. She knew he wanted to insist that it was his decision. If she’d agreed to marry him, he might have a point. Right now, he didn’t. He knew it. And he didn’t like it.
“You don’t ride well enough to keep up,” he said.
“Is that the best you can do?” she asked coldly. With a faint smile, Sedgemoor observed them from a distance.
James’s lips flattened in impatience. “Go back, Eleanor. This is no place for you.”