A Simple Case of Seduction

“It’s Daniel … I mean Mr Thorpe. Don’t worry. He’s fine. But he’s been shot.”

“Shot!” Bostock boomed. “Bloody hell!” The man turned to the ladies. “Forgive a fellow for cursing.” Two large steps and Bostock was at Daniel’s side, his frantic gaze searching for evidence of the injury.

“It’s my right arm,” Daniel said gesturing to the tear in his coat. “But it’s nothing serious. Just a graze I suspect, but find Murphy and take me home.”

“Home?” Bostock frowned. “To Rainham Hall?”

“No,” Daniel snapped. If only Bostock would engage his brain before speaking. “Take me to the house on Church Street.”

“There’s no need to leave.” Daphne straightened. “I can tend to the wound here.”

“No.” To feel her warm hands on his bare skin would be the end of him. Besides, there was a chance it needed a stitch or two, and he’d not put her through the agony of doing that. “Bostock will see to it.”

Daphne placed her hands on her hips in defiance. “I have seen a man’s bare chest before if that’s what concerns you. Granted, it may not have been one so large and impressive but—”

“Bostock knows what he’s doing, and I need a change of clothes. If we’re to go to Witham, there are some matters I need to attend to.”

While his explanation appeased her somewhat, the two lines were still prominent between her brows. “But how will I know if everything is all right?”

“Bostock will return within the hour.” After what had o

ccurred in Covent Garden and the alley near the docks, Daniel could not leave her without protection. “And he’ll stay here with you until I return tomorrow.”

Betsy’s beaming smile meant she was either glad to have Bostock for company, or glad to be rid of him.

Daphne sighed. “Very well. We must leave at noon.” She glanced at his arm. “Now go quickly. Heaven knows the extent of the damage beneath that coat.”

“Lock the door behind us and do not open it until Bostock returns.” It crossed his mind to kiss her cheek, to do something to ease the sudden ache in his chest caused by his impending departure. Instead, he reached into the pocket of his greatcoat and handed her the pistol. “An extra precaution. Perhaps use the time to teach Betsy how to wield a weapon.”

Chapter 14

Thorpe was late.

Daphne stared at the busy street below and scanned numerous parked carriages in the hope of spotting a black unmarked vehicle. Panic flared. Had he misled her over the wound to his upper arm? Was he too weak to send a note? Was he lying stretched on a chaise in a pool of blood, the life draining from him drip by drip?

After charging off into the night, Bostock and Murphy had returned without him. Under strict instructions to ensure no one entered Betsy’s premises, and with pistols half-cocked, both men remained at their posts until sunrise. Murphy left at nine o’clock. After visiting Mr Butteridge to cancel the post-chaise, he was to return to Church Street to collect Mr Thorpe. Bostock was to stay with Betsy until Daphne returned from Lord Harwood’s wedding. Grateful for the company and even more grateful to have a man about the house, Betsy had made a list of jobs to keep him busy.

The clock on the mantel struck one, the single chime more like an ominous warning.

Damn the man.

Where the hell had he got to? She’d specifically said they were to leave at twelve. Did he not think she’d be worried?

The journey to Witham took five hours, assuming there were no accidents on the road, and she wanted to reach the coaching inn long before nightfall. The thought of sitting alone with Thorpe for such a length of time proved just as unnerving. Would their petty quarrels turn to passionate kisses? Would she be able to keep her ever-growing need for him at bay?

Another fifteen minutes had passed before she noticed the pair of muscled black stallions pulling an equally intimidating carriage.

Relief surged through her when it stopped outside the shop and the occupant vaulted to the pavement. Daphne pressed her nose to the window, hardly recognising the gentleman in a black billowing coat marching towards the front door. She turned and listened to the thud of booted footsteps mounting the stairs and coming to a halt outside her door.

Thorpe knocked once and opened the door when she called for him to enter.

“Forgive me, I had every intention of arriving on time but had a few errands to run first. It appears Lord Gibson’s estate is near Chelmsford, some sixteen miles from Witham. If we stop at the coaching inn at Great Baddow, we’ll have time to pay Gibson a visit.”

Open-mouthed, Daphne stared at him. The fluttering in her stomach raced up to her throat. “What … what happened to your beard?”

Thorpe stroked his clean, chiselled jaw as the corners of his mouth curled up into a half-smile. “It was time for a change.” He was a handsome man with the beard. Without it, he stole her breath.

He looked younger, not nearly as sombre. The dimple on his chin only heightened his appeal. “It’s a vast improvement. And I see you’ve tied back your hair.” The dark locks that skimmed his shoulders were held back in a queue.