Lady Gone Wicked (Wicked Secrets)(32)

Nick stared at him in disbelief. “You cannot be serious.”

“Do you really think you would be any different if you’d had to wonder every day if I were a murderer?” his father demanded. “Would you not do everything in your power to ensure your own sons were safe?”

Nick had to concede the point…but he did so silently.

“You poisoned Nate’s mind against me,” Nick reminded him. “You made him fear me.”

“Ah, no. I never intended Nate to find out our family’s history, but that became impossible. The boy always read too much. And for this particular secret, he only had to read Debrett’s and make note of the births, deaths, and who became Lord Wintham to understand that something treacherous had occurred many times over.” His father paused. “But yes, I must say that we taught him to be careful, and my sister—who also lived in doubt about our father—was extremely forward about it.”

“I did nothing wrong.” Nick spoke quietly, straining to keep his voice from shaking. “I was innocent.”

His father looked stricken. “Yes. I blundered horribly, I can see that now. But I could not see that then, and that is what I wish you to understand. I did not act with malice or cruelty, only desperation. Forgive me.”

“I cannot.”

“Not today. But perhaps someday you might feel differently. You have my support, regardless.”

Nick stood slowly. “Do what you will. I must take my leave now.”

“Until next time, then.”

Nick felt very sure there would not be a next time. Still, he nodded his agreement. He paused at the doorway, glancing back at his father. Lord Wintham was still seated, gazing at his brandy with a melancholy expression. Suddenly, his father looked very old, as though he had aged a decade during their hour in his office. Perhaps, after all—

No. No, he could not.

Nick stepped from the building into the sunlight. He started walking, unsure of his direction, knowing only that his limbs were desperate for activity. He moved faster and faster, darting between hackneys and ladies.

And then he halted.

He blinked, and blinked again, but no, his eyes did not deceive him. There stood one Miss Adelaide Bursnell, attempting to purchase passage on the mail coach.

With neither chaperone nor protector in sight.

By God, but this woman would be the death of him!





Chapter Twenty-Four


“You are very sure the mail coach arrives in Epsom at ten o’clock this morning, and will return here to London by five this afternoon?” Adelaide asked the driver. She had already queried him twice, but she could not afford a mistake.

“Yes, miss, right that is.” He bobbed his head up and down as he spoke.

“Wonderful. I—”

“Adelaide,” a voice growled in her ear.

Her heart sank to the soles of her new nankeen boots. “Oh, bother.”

“No ticket for the lady,” Nick told the man. With a firm grip on her elbow, he led her away.

She craned her neck to look over her shoulder. To her consternation, he was giving the last seat to an elderly gentleman. Damnation! “He’s sold the last ticket. Now how will I get to Epsom?”

Nick looked at her alertly. “What is so urgent that you must go to Epsom by mail coach rather than in your family coach with your mother?”

“Mother would not approve.” She scuffed a small pebble with the toe of her boot, aware of his probing gaze.

“Where does your mother believe you to be?” he asked.

“Doing good works. Visiting the poorhouse, bringing bread to the sick.” She grimaced. “Yes, I do recognize the irony.”

“And what would you do in Epsom?”

That she could not tell him. “I have a friend there.”

“A friend,” he said doubtfully.

“Yes.”

She risked a peek at him. His mouth was a grim line, and his eyes were full of agitation. Her heartbeat quickened. Would he help her, or would he throw her to the wolves?

“Very well.” His tone was resigned. “I will take you.”

Oh. That was not the sort of help she had in mind. “No, thank you.”

“Adelaide, let me be very clear. I will not allow you to travel to Epsom alone, not by mail coach, nor horse, nor foot, nor any other means of getting from one place to another.”

He could not allow her? Well, that was just too much.

She jutted her chin forward. “This from the man who climbed through my bedroom window at midnight and mauled me in a ballroom? And I am supposed to believe you are concerned for my welfare?”

He merely arched a brow, infuriating her further.

“If you do not wish to travel with me,” he said, “then by all means, tell your mother.”

Impossible man.

She switched tactics. “Traveling with a man is just as dangerous to my reputation as traveling alone. More so.”

“One’s reputation is only damaged by knowledge. Who is to know? My carriage is closed, and you are not here at all, as you are visiting sinners.”

“Then who is to know if I travel by mail coach?” she countered logically.

He crossed his arms and glared. “I would know. Harm to your reputation is one thing. Harm to your person is quite another. Traveling alone as a woman risks both. At least you will be safe with me.”