Talk of the Ton (Free Fellows League 5)

Jonathan rubbed his hands together. “All right, then, let’s get him gagged, secured, and covered.”

“Wait!” India scrambled down from the gig as they draped the canvas over Mustafa. “You’ll need these to send to the sultan.” She reached for Mustafa’s right hand and tugged a huge gold ring off one fat finger and a huge emerald off another one and dropped both rings into Jonathan’s hand. “The gold one is his seal of office. The other was a gift from the dey of Algiers.”

“Anything else?” Jonathan asked.

“These.” India reached into the pocket of her caftan and offered him a silk purse filled with the gems she’d taken off Mustafa’s clothing while Jonathan had slept.

Jonathan whistled through his teeth when he opened the pouch.

“I’m not a thief,” she told him. “But I couldn’t take the chance that he might try to purchase his way back.”

“I never thought you were,” Jonathan assured her. “I’m ashamed I didn’t think of it.”

“You would have eventually,” India offered. “But you were too tired to think clearly last night.”

Mr. Copley cleared his throat once again. “We best be on our way, my lord, afore it gets any later.”

“Thank you.” Jonathan shook hands with each of the men.

“Our pleasure, my lord.” They gave him a brief nod and doffed their caps in a sign of respect and appreciation for the job. They’d just earned a month’s wages for a day’s work.

Chapter Nine

India handled the gig until they reached the outskirts of London. Traffic was light, for it was still quite early for everyone except the street vendors to be about, but Jonathan’s prediction was coming true. India was unused to the physical exertion, and Jonathan had taken over the reins when he noticed her arms beginning to tremble from the strain.

But she learned quickly, and her driving had improved considerably with each mile. Before long, she’d be maneuvering her own vehicle for morning jaunts through Hyde Park.

“You’ve spoiled me,” she said, as she handed the reins over to Jonathan.

“How so?”

“I enjoy driving so much, I’ll want a pony gig of my own. And I’m never going to stay indoors again.” She had shoved the hood of her burnoose off her head during the drive from Pymley and removed her ridiculous little hat, enjoying the breeze in her hair. But she reluctantly donned both the hat and the cloak as they reached the gates of the city.

He laughed. “Then you’re going to be a most unbecoming shade of brown, my sweet.”

“Not if I wear a bonnet and carry a parasol.” She gave a wistful sigh. “Oh, how I’ll love wearing a bonnet again! And dresses and a riding habit!”

“If you’re willing to compromise your vow a fraction,” he offered, remembering her vow not to return to London until she could do so as a young lady, “I’m willing to take you to the most fashionable dressmaker in London before I take you to Lord Davies’s house and attempt to persuade her to open her shop.”

“You can do that?”

“I’m a very good customer,” he said. “Or rather, my mother is.” He shrugged. “But I pay the bills. I’m sure Madam Racine will be willing to make an early morning exception for me.”

“What about your breakfast meeting?”

He was surprised she remembered. “I’m already a day late. A bit longer won’t make much difference.”

“So long as you think I look respectable and no one sees what’s under this burnoose except a dressmaker, I’m willing to compromise.”

“You look entirely respectable in your black cloak,” he declared. “Rather like a young lady in mourning. And I feel rather naughty knowing that I’ll be the only man in town who knows what’s beneath it.”

“In that case,” she said, “let’s see if we can persuade a dressmaker to open her shop, because I’ll be thrilled to be rid of these Turkish trousers! So thrilled I vow I’m going to burn them all!”

“Don’t burn all of them,” Jonathan suggested gently as they entered the city of London. He urged the pony into a brisk trot, skillfully negotiating the city streets that were all but deserted by anyone except the street vendors and the gentlemen making their way on horseback for their morning rides on Rotten Row.

“Why not?” she demanded. “I’m heartily sick of them!”

“That’s understandable.” He nodded sympathetically as they made their way around the park to Bond Street in record time. “Although I am certain that you’ll look extraordinarily beautiful in a dress, I must confess that I’ve never seen anyone as lovely as you are in those trousers.”