A Gentleman's Honor (Bastion Club 2) - Page 139

In her heart, and now very clearly in her mind, she knew what she wanted. The question facing her was how to get it; leaving matters as they were was, she now accepted, no longer an option.

Drawing in a breath, she lifted her head and looked unseeing at some distant trees. She’d taken serious risks to secure Adriana’s and her brothers’ futures, boldly gambled and won. It was time to act in pursuit of her own future—to realize the dreams she’d never allowed herself to dream but which Tony had brought alive.

She would speak with him. She felt her chin set. Just as soon as A. C. was in custody, she would talk to Tony, explain how she felt about them, about their future. How he would react was the risk, the unknown, yet… she had his declaration of love to lean on, and, indeed, more. Their connection itself; through it she sensed how he felt, his need, even if he didn’t consciously acknowledge it. In time, he would recognize the truth as she had, and reassess as she had, and adjust.

Grimacing, she looked down. She would be gambling that their love truly was as she saw it—a huge risk, yet one she felt compelled to take.

The thud of footsteps approaching over the grass reached her. Looking up, she saw a footman in plain black livery striding purposefully her way.

Glancing to the left, she saw Maggs, leaning against the tree trunk, come alert, but as the footman halted and bowed, Maggs relaxed and resumed his unobtrusive watch.

“For you, ma’am.”

The footman proffered a note. She took it, opened it, read it, and inwardly cursed. Chickens were coming home to roost thick and fast. Sir Freddie Caudel most formally and politely requested an interview.

She looked across the lawn to the black carriage drawn up on the gravel drive. With a sigh, she tucked the note into her reticule. “Very well.”

The footman bowed and escorted her to the carriage. Maggs, closer to the carriage than she, remained where he was, half-obscured by the tree.

Reaching the carriage, the footman opened the door and stood back, clearly expecting her to enter. Puzzled, she looked in, and saw Sir Freddie, dapper and u

rbanely elegant as usual, sitting inside.

Smiling easily, he half rose and bowed. “My dear, I hope you’ll forgive this unusual approach, but for reasons that will become clear as we talk, I wished to speak with you in the strictest privacy. If you will do me the honor of sharing my carriage, I thought we might roll around the Avenue—it’s quite peaceful at the moment—and conduct our discussion in relative comfort, out of sight of prying eyes.” He smiled, his pale gaze somewhat rueful, gently humorous, and held out his hand. “If you would, my dear?”

Inwardly sighing, she gave him her hand; gathering her skirts, she climbed into the carriage. Sir Freddie released her and she sat opposite him, facing forward. Sir Freddie nodded to his footman. The man shut the door; an instant later, the carriage started slowly rolling.

“Now.” Sir Freddie fixed her with a calmly superior smile. “You must let me apologize for this little charade. I’m sure you understand that, given the nature of my interest and thus the reason behind my request for an interview, there would be nothing more unappealing to me than in any way whatever giving the gossipmongers reason to wag their tongues.”

Alicia inclined her head; from her experience, now extensive, of Sir Freddie’s circumlocutory periods, she knew it was pointless to try to rush him. He would get to his peroration in his own good time. Nevertheless…“Now we are here, you perceive me all ears, sir.”

“Indeed.” Sir Freddie returned her nod. “I should also explain that I did not think it appropriate, in the circumstances, to call at Torrington House.” He held up a hand as if to stem a protest she hadn’t made. “I’m quite sure I would be treated with all due consideration, indeed graciousness, however, I am aware that Manningham is an old and valued friend of Torrington’s.” Sir Freddie paused, as if weighing that fact anew. Eventually, he said,

“Suffice to say I deemed it impolitic to call on you there.”

Again, she inclined her head and wondered how long he would take to come to the point. Given that point—his offer for Adriana’s hand—she turned her mind to finding the words with which to refuse him.

Sir Freddie rambled on and on; his voice, polished, light, his accents refined, was easy on the ear. Smoothly, he described his current position, his reasons for looking for a wife, then moved on to Adriana’s manifold charms.

The carriage suddenly rocked, the wheel dipping in a pothole; mildly surprised that such a thing existed on the fashionable carriageway, Alicia refocused on Sir Freddie’s eloquence, and discovered he was still describing, in phrases both flowery and convoluted, just what it was about her sister that had attracted his notice.

Counseling patience, she folded her hands in her lap, and waited. Her mind slid away… she imagined Maggs, under his tree, watching the carriage go around and around the park…

Instinct flickered. The carriage blinds had been drawn from the first, she’d assumed to prevent the interested seeing Sir Freddie speaking with her. The carriage rocked again; the blinds swayed—and she caught a glimpse of what lay outside.

It wasn’t the park.

She looked at Sir Freddie as the sounds outside registered. They were traveling down some major road, not one lined with trees, not even with shops, but with houses—a road that led not into the city, but out of it.

Her shock, her realization, showed in her face.

Something changed in Sir Freddie’s expression, as if a thin, obscuring veil was drawn aside; abruptly she realized that he was watching her closely, a coldly calculating look in his eyes.

He smiled. Before the gesture had been urbanely charming; now it chilled.

“Ah—I did wonder how long it would take.” His voice, too, had subtly changed, all pleasantness leaching from it.

“However, before you think of making any heroic attempt to escape, I suggest you listen to what I have to say.”

Tags: Stephanie Laurens Bastion Club Historical
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