The Bluestocking and the Rake (Hearts in Hiding 2)

It was only because this supposed rake was Sir Richard’s brother that Jemima wasn’t putting up more opposition to the plan that would see Jemima separated both from Sir Richard and her family; the only people in the world she trusted. “Your brother lives in London?”

“He does, though I received news he is making his way back from the Continent at present, and attempts the crossing from France tomorrow.”

“And will you travel with me to London to introduce me to him?”

Jemima was heartily relieved when Sir Richard agreed that he would.

“And in case Miles is too addlepated to organize an appropriate female to be on hand, I have seen to that, too.” Sir Richard looked at Jemima with affection. “I couldn’t bear to think my attempts to keep you safe had the unforeseen result of damaging your reputation. And yet, the mere fact you’re in a carriage with me alone would do that. I wonder that you don’t fear me, or resent me, for it.”

“I could never resent you,” Jemima breathed, but her follow-up comment, which was to impress upon Sir Richard the extent of her gratitude, was truncated by John’s sharp cry.

They’d been traveling for about twenty minutes over a tolerable road. The weather was cold and crisp, and Jemima had been enjoying her conversation, while watching a gathering of wassailers trudging through the snow on their way toward a country house set back some five hundred yards from the thoroughfare, when John’s head appeared at the window.

“Person what asked after Miss Percy were directed this-away, Sir Richard. The blackguard’s on horseback! He’ll overrun the carriage unless we get the young lady out.”

Jemima drew in a fearful breath as she watched Sir Richard scan their surroundings. There was no beech forest or roadside vegetation to afford any protection. The landscape in these parts stretched wide and barren.

Calmly, Sir Richard leaned toward her and again took her hands. “Jemima, you must leave the carriage and join the ranks of wassailers.” Already he was rapping on the roof as Jemima cried, “I’m not leaving you!” but he’d obviously anticipated her protest for when he turned, his expression, though kind, was grim.

“We must heed John’s warning. Can you imagine my torment to see you caught? No, Jemima; I’m asking you to do this one thing for me. Lose yourself among this rabble of singers and I’ll catch up with you as quickly as I’m able. See, they’re on their way to Winterlea, the manor house just on the hill there. That’s where I shall meet you. I shall continue, alone, and then I shall return, but for now I must maintain the fiction that I have business in Bath, which is where I’m headed—alone.”

Terrified, Jemima was quickly handed out of the carriage by John, while Sir Richard conversed in a hurried whisper with one of the wassailers, a peasant whose enthusiasm to keep watch over Jemima increased when a gold coin crossed his palm.

“I won’t be away from you long, my sweet girl,” he told her in a low, urgent whisper as he gave her a gentle push. “Follow them and…” he looked around, clearly trying to formulate a hurried plan “…I’ll catch up with you among the trees of the park over there. If I’m not there in an hour, seek sanctuary inside, if you can, though I’d prefer you not make yourself known. However, the weather is bitter.” He pointed. The large house toward which the wassailers were trudging through the snow was bordered on the east by a small forest. Large enough to offer sanctuary, but small enough for Jemima to be found.

Before he let her go, he leaned out of the carriage to squeeze her hand. “Don’t lose heart, dearest one,” he murmured.

A jolt of joy and devastation tore through Jemima at the term of affection. She wished he would take her quickly in his arms, but it would be against propriety. And Jemima was as much a stickler for propriety as any well-brought-up young lady who had no wish to see harm come to her good name and future prospects. Her feelings for Sir Richard went deeper than mere gratitude while the yearning in his look gave her hope.

But for the moment, she must leave him and obey his urgent strictures, however much they went against her inclinations. He had taken enormous risks to keep her safe, already.

“Take this!” She’d already turned, but suddenly he was pulling her close and thrusting the clay tablet into her hand. “If I’m overtaken and searched they will find it. As soon as possible, you must hide it so that it’s on neither of our persons until we know it’s safe to return to collect it.”

Nodding, Jemima turned away, brushing away the tear that ran down her cheek as she tucked the tablet once more within her stays. She would not let him see her cry and to think her a coward.

“No, wait!”

Hopefully, she turned again. Would he give her a sign of his regard? But nothing in his gesture replicated the swooning sensation she felt when she looked at his handsome jaw, clenched with thought. “If something happens, Miss Percy, and we are somehow unable to coordinate o

ur meeting in the beech forest, we must have an alternative.”

She admired him for thinking so rationally when she was in a trembling state of fear. What had happened to the calm persona that generally characterized her? She, to whom careful, considerate action was the foundation on which she’d built her life?

A great deal, clearly. It wasn’t every day that a young woman saw her father murdered and was nearly murdered herself before being rescued…only to find herself in a murderer’s sights once again.

She couldn’t help herself. She gripped his hand and brought it to her lips, kissing his fingers with fervor. “We do not need an alternative for we will meet in the beech forest in but a short time, Sir Richard.”

“But if we don’t, then I will be waiting…someone will be waiting…for you in ten days’ time—Epiphany, the twelfth day of Christmas.” He raised their linked hands, which she’d dropped in sudden awkwardness, and brought them to his own lips. “Epiphany. Sunday January 6th at four o’ clock in the afternoon, St Paul’s churchyard.”

Shocked, she pulled back. “London? In ten days’ time? But London is hours’ travel time from here. And that date is days away.”

“But it’s where we are going and where my brother lives. If anything should happen to me, I know I can rely on him to find you. Please, don’t think it’s what I intend, for I’m certain we shall be reunited in an hour.” His tone gentled. “Please, give me a nod and a smile, Miss Percy? I’m a man who needs to be satisfied with contingency plans that have built into them every element of achieving a successful outcome. Now go, my precious girl, and know that you are my first consideration.”

John, clearly anxious, hurried Jemima toward the group of villagers who were disappearing over a small rise some yards distant. Meanwhile, her thoughts were in wild disarray; more occupied with his last words than the fear and danger of being alone once more.

She turned as she drew level with the stragglers of the group, watching with dismay as he raised his arm from the carriage before it lurched forward. Trying to keep at bay the tears that pricked the back of her eyelids, she responded with a farewell wave before she was borne away by the singing crowd. Never had she felt more lost and alone.

But it would only be for an hour.