Scandalously Yours (Hellions of High Street 1)

“I need to go to London.” Prescott waved the letter under her nose. “Look, she’s given me a time and a place to meet if I am in Town. And she says if I ever need advice I may always feel free to contact her by sending a note to this address.”

His friend took a moment to read it. “So you mean to show up for this meeting?”

He nodded.

“Then what?”

“Well…” He folded the slip of paper and tucked it back in his pocket. “I thought I would invite her to visit Wrexham Manor. I am sure if Father meets her, he will like her very much.”

“That’s your plan?” The waggle of her brows mimicked the note of skepticism.

It was Prescott’s turn to remain silent.

“Ha! It has more holes than a sieve.” Sliding down from the bale of hay, Lucy started to pace in circles. “You’ll be sunk before you even get out of the stableyard.”

“Not if you’ll help.” His lip quivered ever so slightly. “There may be a few leaks, but it’s not as if I have to make it to Cathay…just the Painted Pony in St. Albans Street.”

“Stowing away on the mail coach isn’t the problem. In the boot, there is a small space where they keep extra spokes. If we work quickly while they are changing the team, and I retie the canvas…”

“You are a real brick, Lucy.”

“Hold your horses. I haven’t said yes yet.” She fixed him with a searching look. “What if she is not at home, or you lose your way, or something else goes wrong? It’s one thing to sneak into Squire Dimworthy’s apple orchard, but quite another to venture into London all by yourself.”

She blew out her cheeks. “You may be a real goose at times, but…but I should never forgive myself if you ended up roasted.”

“It’s not so very dangerous.” Prescott moved quickly to counter her concerns. “You see, I won’t be on my own. My Aunt Cecilia lives in Mayfair, and she is always inviting me to visit her. The point is, I have to move fast. I heard Father telling Withers that he is changing his plans and returning to London several days early. Once he leaves, it will be too late. I’ll be doomed.”

“Hmmm…”

“You are right. Maybe it is better if you don’t get involved. I’ll find another way. I’ll go—”

“You’ll go to the Devil,” she muttered. “The only way you have a prayer of this working is if I lend a hand.” She cracked her knuckles. “Have you any money for emergencies?”

Prescott checked his pockets. “Two shillings, tuppence.”

A low snort expressed her opinion of the piddling amount. “Take this.” She slapped a guinea into his palm. “And you’ll need a packet of food for the journey. Maybe a blanket as well.”

“Lucy, you are a—”

“I am an idiot.” She grinned. “But I am also your friend. Come on, we haven’t much time.”

The galloping thud of the hooves matched the pounding of John’s own racing heart.

Dear God, if anything were to happen to Scottie…

It was only by an act of providence that Withers had stopped by the inn for a pint of ale. When he had casually asked about Prescott’s whereabouts Lucy had looked a little guilty. Further questioning had elicited the truth, and his former batman had come pelting back to the manor with the news.

Hurry, hurry. Horrible things could happen to a lone child in London. There were dastards who hung around the coaching inns, snatching young girls and boys for thieving rings and brothels…

Wrenching back on the reins, John slowed his speeding curricle as it swung into the turn, managing by a hair’s breadth to keep the wheels from skidding out of control. The near miss forced his attention back to the road. He had been enough of a ham-fisted clutch of late, without compounding his clumsiness by driving into a ditch.

Regaining his grip on his careening emotions, John steadied the horses to a more measured pace.

If only his luck would hold. He had made excellent time, despite the darkness and intermittent drizzle. At his last stop, the ostler had said the mail coach was no more than a half hour ahead. Given the weather and his much lighter vehicle, he ought to catch up by the next scheduled stop in Westerly.

An hour, he estimated. Maybe an hour and a half.

But it seemed like an eternity before a glimmer of light up ahead pierced through the fog. With a last, desperate flick of the whip, John urged one more burst of speed from his tired team and turned into the muddy stableyard. Before the wheels had stopped rolling, he was off his perch and sprinting past the startled post boys.