The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(17)

He’d found her.

ONE OF THE PROBLEMS WITH WOMEN—and there are many—is they think nothing of messing about in a man’s business. Harry Pye remembered Da’s words when he saw Lady Georgina’s carriage the next morning at eight-thirty.

She wasn’t taking any chances, his lady. She’d driven the old gig to the part of Woldsly drive that intersected the cutoff to his cottage. There was no way he could escape the estate without her seeing him. And she was a half hour earlier than their agreed-upon meeting time of nine o’clock. It was almost as if she’d feared he would try to leave without her. And since he’d planned exactly that, her appearance was all the more annoying.

“Good morning.” Lady Georgina waved happily.

She was wearing some sort of red-and-white-patterned frock that should have jarred with her ginger hair but didn’t. On her head was a wide-brimmed hat tilted rakishly down in front and up in back where her hair was massed. Red ribbons on the crown of the hat fluttered in the breeze. She looked dainty and aristocratic, like she was out for a picnic in the country.

“I’ve had Cook pack a luncheon,” she called as he neared, confirming his worst fears.

Harry stopped himself in time from casting his eyes heavenward. God help me. “Good morning, my lady.”

It was another dreary, gray day. No doubt they would be rained on before the morning was out.

“Would you like to drive?” She scooted across the seat to make room for him.

“If you don’t mind, my lady.” He climbed in, making the gig rock on its oversized wheels.

“Oh, no, I don’t mind at all.” He could feel her gaze as he gathered the reins. “I can drive, naturally; it’s how I arrived here this morning, after all. But I find it’s much nicer to watch the scenery without worrying about the horses and the road and all that.”

“Indeed.”

Lady Georgina sat forward, her cheeks flushed with the wind. Her lips were slightly parted like a child looking forward to a treat. He felt a smile form on his own lips.

“Where will we be going today?” she asked.

He brought his eyes back to the road. “I want to visit another of the farmers whose sheep were killed. I need to find out what exactly killed the animals.”

“Wasn’t it a poisonous weed?”

“Yes,” he replied. “But no one I’ve talked to seems to know what kind, and it could be several. Wolfsbane is poisonous, though rare in these parts. Some folk grow belladonna and foxglove in their gardens—both can kill sheep and people as well. And there are common plants, such as tansy, that grow wild in pastures and will kill sheep if they eat enough.”

“I had no idea there are so many poisons growing in the countryside. It quite makes one shiver. What did the Medicis use?”

“The Medicis?”

Lady Georgina wriggled her little rump on the carriage seat. “You know, those deliciously horrible Italians with the poison rings that went about killing anyone who looked at them askance. What d’you suppose they used?”

“I don’t know, my lady.” The way her mind worked.

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “What about arsenic? That’s very poisonous, isn’t it?”

“It’s poisonous, but arsenic isn’t a plant.”

“No? Then what is it?”

He had no idea. “A sort of seashell that is ground into a powder, my lady.”

There was a short pause while she thought that one over.

Harry held his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her squint at him. “You’re making that up.”

“My lady?”

“That bit about arsenic being a sort of seashell.” She lowered her voice on the last words to mimic him.

“I assure you”—Harry kept his tone bland—“it’s a pinkish seashell found only in the Adriatic Sea. The local villagers harvest the shells with long rakes and sieves. There is a yearly festival to celebrate the catch.” He fought to prevent his lips from twitching. “The Annual Adriatic Arsenic Assail.”

Silence—and, he was fairly certain—stunned silence at that. Harry felt a surge of pride. It wasn’t just any man who could make Lady Georgina lose her power of speech.

Not that it lasted long.

“I shall have to watch you, Mr. Pye.”

“My lady?”

“Because you are evil.” But her words shook as if she barely held in the laughter.

He smiled. He hadn’t felt so light in a very, very long time. He slowed the horse as they came to the stream that separated her estate from Granville’s land. He scanned the horizon. Theirs was the only vehicle on the road.

“Surely Lord Granville wouldn’t be so rash as to attack us here.”

He glanced at her, brows raised.

She frowned impatiently. “You’ve been watching the hills since we neared the stream.”

Ah. She’d been aware. He reminded himself not to underestimate her, even when she played the aristocratic ninny. “Granville would be insane to try an attack.” Which didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

Reapers harvested barley to their right. Usually reapers sang as they worked, but these labored in silence.

“Lord Granville has his workers out on a misty day,” Lady Georgina said.