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 urbanely 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.”
His eyes held hers, and they were colder than a snake’s. Alicia sat transfixed, her thoughts tumbling, churning. “Escape” implied…
“The most important thing you need to bear in mind is that there’s another carriage ahead of us on this road. It contains two rather rough men—I wouldn’t distinguish them with the title of gentleman—in company with your youngest brother. Matthew, as I’m sure you know, has a habit of slipping outside when he grows bored with his lessons. He did so, with a little encouragement I admit, this morning, just after you’d left the house. He’s an enterprising young chap, quite capable of evading all supervision when he chooses.” Sir Freddie smiled. “But I’m sure you know that.”
Alicia’s heart lurched; the blood drained from her face. She did know of Matthew’s occasional excursions— just to the area between the house and the street to watch the world rumble by—but since they’d moved to Torrington House, she’d thought they’d stopped. “What do you want with Matthew?”
Sir Freddie’s brows rose. “Why nothing, my dear— nothing at all. He’s merely a pawn to ensure
He held her gaze. “The instruction I send will depend on you.”
Alicia fought to met his gaze levelly, to keep her expression impassive, to keep her fear, her panic, at bay. Icy chills ran up and down her spine.
She licked her lips, forced her lungs to work. “What do you want me to do?” She frowned. “What
She allowed her confusion and total incomprehension to show in her face.
Sir Freddie laughed.
The sound chilled her to the marrow.
Then he smiled, and she wanted nothing more than to flee. “This, my dear, is about me covering my tracks, an unfortunate necessity brought on by Ruskin. He couldn’t seem to understand that the war was over and the easy pickings with it.”
She stared at him. “
“A. C?” Sir Freddie blinked, then his face cleared. “Ah, yes, I’d almost forgotten.”
He shifted. With a graceful sweep of his arm, he bowed, the gesture full of his customary elegant charm. Face, lips lightly curved, and manner were all one, but as he straightened, his cold, pale eyes met hers. “Sir Alfred Caudel, my dear, at your service.”
Tony returned to Torrington House midmorning. After reviewing their information, the group had agreed that Jack Warnefleet and Christian, neither of whom had been visible thus far in the affair, should visit Ellicot’s offices and extract by whatever means they could some idea of who was behind the company.
There was a limit to how unsubtle they could be; there was no guarantee of a quick and favorable outcome. Restless, impatient, sensing matters were nearing a head but with nothing he could reasonably do, Tony had returned home.
He’d only just settled behind his desk when the study door burst open and panic—carried by David, Harry, Matthew, and Jenkins—rushed in.
Tony caught him as he charged around the desk and flung himself at him. “Yes, of course,” he replied, his gaze locking on the others.
David and Harry had rushed to the desk, gripping the front edge, their expressions as horrified as Matthew’s. Jenkins, close on their heels, was not much better, and out of breath as well.
“My lord,” Jenkins puffed, “Maggs sent us to tell you—Mrs. Carrington was inveigled into a carriage which then took off to the west.”
