Jarvis grunted. “You brought Devlin into this?”
“Yes.”
“How much does he know?” he asked, decanter in hand.
“You mean, does he know I was at the Magdalene House when it was attacked? Yes.”
Lord Jarvis poured himself a measure of brandy, then replaced the stopper in the decanter and set it aside without looking at her. She knew he was choosing his words carefully. “Devlin wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you to get at me. You know that, don’t you?”
She chose her words with equal care. “I know he is your enemy. But I do not believe he would hurt me to get at you. He’s not”—she started to say,
She expected him to laugh at her again. Instead, he merely looked thoughtful. He took a slow sip of his drink, his gaze turned now to study her face in a way that made her uncomfortable. He said, “Why Devlin?”
“And did you ask yourself why he agreed to help?”
“I know why he agreed. To get back at you.”
“Yet you say he wouldn’t hurt you.”
“That’s right.”
He went to sit in one of the upholstered chairs near the empty hearth, his glass cradled in his palm. “I set Farley to follow you this afternoon for your own protection. You knew that. Yet you evaded him. Why?”
“I know something of your Colonel’s methods. The last thing I would ever want to do is unwittingly furnish him with a few more hapless victims.”
Lord Jarvis pressed his lips together in a frown. “That’s not the intent here.”
She met his gaze squarely. “It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”
He glared right back at her. “And your exposing yourself to danger is a risk I’m not willing to take.”
“Papa.” She went to lean over the back of his chair, her arms looped around his neck. “I was never in any danger this afternoon and you know it.”
He brought up one of his big hands to cover hers. With anyone else, he would have been overbearing and coldly threatening, but he’d learned long ago that didn’t work with Hero. She was too much like him. He said, “Where did you go this afternoon?”
“To meet a woman I hoped would help me make some sense of what happened at the Magdalene House.”
He took a long swallow of his brandy. “With Devlin?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose it’s better than going on your own.” He shifted his hand to lightly grasp her wrist and tug her around so that he could see her face. “Finding out about this woman is so important to you?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “I don’t understand it.”
“I know.”
He hesitated, and she knew again the fear that he would forbid her to continue her inquiries. But all he said was, “I would ask you to be careful.”
“I will. I promise.”
He nodded. “You are unusually sensible for a woman . . . however ill advised your political ideas are.”
She knew he had said it to provoke her. But she only smiled and refused to rise to the bait.
That night, Hero and her mother were descending the steps of their Berkeley Square house toward the carriage that had been ordered to take them to a fashionable soiree when a malodorous little boy came pelting down the footpath toward them.
“My goodness,” gasped Lady Jarvis, shrinking back in a cloud of pale azure satin as the boy slammed right into Hero.
“You there,” shouted the butler, starting forward, “watch where you’re going.”
But the boy was already off, feet flying, one hand held up to clamp his cap to his head as he disappeared around the corner.
“Brazen guttersnipes,” muttered Grisham, staring after him. “Whatever is the world coming to? I trust you suffered no harm, Miss Jarvis?”
“I’m fine,” said Hero, the folded missive slipped her by the boy carefully tucked out of sight.
Chapter 39
FRIDAY, 8 MAY 1812
