“Unless I’m with you.”
He inclined his head. “And if you go walking anywhere, two footmen will accompany you.”
“Anything else?”
“John will take an extra groom when he drives you.”
Francesca waited, then asked, “Nothing more?”
He thought before shaking his head.
“Very well.” She drew his head down and kissed him. “I will bear with your guards, my lord. And now”-she turned and headed for the door-“I’m going upstairs to dismiss any maids hovering in my room.” She glanced back at him. “Will you be long?”
He hesitated, but didn’t look at his desk. “No. I’ll be up shortly.”
Smiling, she opened the door and left him.
As she climbed the stairs, she thought over all he’d said, over all the incidents he might construe as dangerous.
The memory of hands grabbing at her in the crowd last night returned. She was almost sure there’d been more than one set-more than one man. Man? Yes, she was sure of that-the hands had been large and clumsy. And rough-not the smooth hands of a gentleman.
Should she mention it? To what purpose, other than to prod an emotion Gyles clearly didn’t appreciate feeling?
She didn’t believe there was any danger-accidents happened. People in crowds grabbed at each other to steady themselves. No one wished her ill. But she’d seen how deeply the very notion affected Gyles. Real or imagined-he’d admitted it made no odds.
Bearing with guards was a small thing to do; she would do it gladly. It was impossible not to feel touched by his concern, impossible not to feel cherished, no matter the price.
Impossible not to see what drove him, what gave birth to his uncomfortable concern.
Was it too early to celebrate victory?
Pondering that point, she entered her room.
Late the next morning, Francesca paused in the front hall, surveying the two footmen wrapped in their coats, ready to accompany her on her walk.
She turned to Gyles as he came out of the library-to check on her reaction, she had not a doubt. “I’m only going around the corner to Walpole House. I’ll sit with your mother and Henni for a while, then I’ll return.” She smiled at him. “Don’t worry.”
He grunted, threw an unsmiling glance at the footmen, then turned back to the library.
Unconcerned, she swept to the door, waited for Irving to open it, then sallied forth-aware that Gyles had stopped by the library door, aware to the last of his lingering gaze.
“And the rein was tied securely?”
Grimly pacing, Gyles nodded. “Around boles on either side of the track.”
Devil grunted. “Difficult to see how that could be an accident.”
“The other incidents, yes, possibly. But not that.”
They were in a private room at White’s. Gyles had remembered the difficulty Devil had faced soon after his marriage to Honoria. Odd, potentially fatal accidents, just like those happening to him and Francesca. In Devil’s case, the accidents had, with Gyles’s help, been laid at the door of Devil’s then heir. In the present case, however…
“I really cannot see Osbert being in any way involved.” Gyles shook his head. “It’s laughable.”
“I might once have said it was laughable for a Cynster to try to kill another Cynster, too.”
Gyles shook his head again. “I don’t mean because we’re related. I mean because he honestly has never wanted the title because the estate goes with it. He was so grateful to Francesca and he likes her-worships her. Within reason.”
Devil’s lips twitched. “Of course.”