The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(38)
Ross straightened. “Perhaps you suffer from an impediment and did not hear me the first time.”
“Enough of this,” Estelle said with some frustration. “Do not speak about me as if I were not here.” Considering the sodden state of their clothes, the inclement weather and the late hour there seemed to be only one solution. “Lord Trevane has his carriage and will see us all safely home.”
A smile touched Ross’ lips accompanied by a look that suggested he had expected her to come to that conclusion. “After suffering at the hands of that scoundrel, we should adhere to Miss Brown’s wishes.”
Mr Hungerford sighed. How could he refuse? “Very well. Lead the way.”
When they exited the alley into Castle Street, Wickett was loitering on the pavement, the collars of his coat raised to shield him from the rain. He opened the carriage door and waited for them to climb inside. “Where to, my lord?”
“We will take Hungerford home first.” Ross settled into the seat opposite Estelle as Mr Hungerford had already claimed the seat beside her. Ross stared at the gentleman in question. “What is your direction?”
“Perhaps we should take Miss Brown home. She is cold and still shaken after her ordeal. I can walk from there.”
“I am perfectly fine, sir. I assure you I have a robust constitution.” Heavens, she had lost count how many times the smugglers had fought each other with knives. She’d lost count the number of times she had to run and hide from the revenue men knowing they would string her up if they got their hands on her.
Ross clenched his jaw. “My conscience demands I see you to your front door. You chased the attacker, and I would know you arrived home safely.”
Estelle considered Ross with some suspicion. He didn’t give a damn about Mr Hungerford, which meant he had an interest in discovering where he lived.
Intrigued by Ross’ sudden interest, and despite it being somewhat rude, she answered for the gentleman. “Take us to James Street. Mr Hungerford lives at number twenty-eight.”
Chapter Eleven
The carriage rattled along Castle Street on its way to take Mr Hungerford home. Vane sat back in the dark confines of his conveyance and let the immense feeling of satisfaction wash over him.
First, he had followed Estelle without her noticing him. A skill he’d acquired while navigating the backstreets of St Giles looking for a fight.
Even more satisfying was the fact he knew of Hungerford’s game. Vane would wager everything he owned that Hungerford was acquainted with the Frenchman who had set upon them in the alley. Indeed, the man was as craven as Lord Cornell, and yet he’d chased the scoundrel through the fog-drenched streets without a second thought.
To add to Vane’s bounty, he now knew Hungerford’s address and in a matter of minutes would boot the coward out onto the pavement and leave the rest to the runner, Mr Joseph. The true prize of the night was having Estelle to himself on the journey back to the apothecary shop.
Vane glanced at the lady in question. With her gaze fixed firmly on the window, she watched the rain trickle down the pane.
Mr Hungerford sat sulking. Anger brimmed beneath his affable facade but he wouldn’t know what to do if he ever found the strength to unleash the devil.
They turned into James Street and the vehicle jerked to a halt beside a row of townhouses. Mr Hungerford’s abode was of modest proportion, three floors high although too narrow by Mayfair’s standards. Vane could not imagine Estelle living here. She loved riding across open countryside, loved painting in a natural habitat, loved picnics in the orchard and strolling through buttercup fields.
“Should you change your mind about visiting Bow Street, Hungerford, do let me know.” Vane couldn’t resist ruffling the man’s feathers.
“As I said, I see little point in wasting their time,” Hungerford replied. “The blackguard will be long gone by now.” He turned to Estelle. “Perhaps we could take a picnic to the park tomorrow, Miss Brown.”
“What, in the rain?” Vane mocked.
“If the weather is fine,” Hungerford added. “If not, then we could return to the coffeehouse.” The man was persistent. Vane would give him that. “Perhaps you might be inclined to discuss my proposal.”
Estelle cast Vane a furtive glance before considering the fop seated next to her. “Call into the shop tomorrow, and I shall let you know then.” One would have to be blind to miss the reluctance in her eyes, and the rigid reservation in her bearing.
“I’ll see you safely inside, Hungerford.” Vane threw open the carriage door and stepped down to the pavement. Rain lashed his face and bounced off his boots.
Hungerford muttered something incoherent. “I am quite capable of walking, my lord, quite capable of fending off an attack.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Vane followed the dandy as he hurried under cover of his portico and waited while he retrieved his key from his coat pocket. “But now we’re alone is there not something you wish to ask me?”
Hungerford turned to look at him, but his green eyes flitted back and forth nervously in their sockets. “There … there is a matter I would discuss, but your position demands I keep my lips tightly buttoned.” His cheeks flushed as red as the ridiculous claret coat he’d worn.