Once an Innocent (9 page)

Instead, he ordered round after round of ale, all the while talking and laughing with the others, like men enjoying an ordinary night amongst friends.

For an hour or so, they’d tried to wait the man out. But the stranger stayed, working his own way through a steady supply of ale.

When John Bates’ eyes had gone glassy and his voice brash, Jordan had surrendered and sent him and the others off to bed, while he’d remained behind to review everything one more time. A heavy slash here, a circle around something there …

Finally, Jordan stacked together his notes and capped a little bottle of ink. It was a good plan, he decided. Solid. It would work.

Behind him and to the left, the chair of the man in the corner scraped against the rough, wooden floor.

Odd that he should choose to leave now, Jordan thought — having been in the same damned spot all night — just as Jordan also prepared to retire.

The man stood and pushed his chair neatly back in place. Despite the quantity of alcohol he’d imbibed, he was as sober as Jordan.

French agent.

The words ripped through Jordan’s mind, like lightning in the night sky. In one smooth motion, he drew his pistol and sprang to his feet to meet the enemy.

The thin man was several inches shorter than Jordan. Ginger hair fell in lank waves to his jaw. He raised an amused brow and smiled. The right cheek of his gaunt face twisted around a scar that twinned Jordan’s.

“Fitz,” Jordan breathed, slowly lowering his weapon.

“Settle down,” Fitzhugh Ditman said. “You’ve gone pale. It’s me, my friend, not a malevolent ghost.” His voice tumbled in his throat, like gravel, a permanent reminder of the garroting that had partially crushed his windpipe. Jordan had avoided that particular torment while the two men were imprisoned together in Spain. He bore the matching scar on his cheek, but he’d escaped before their captors could take his voice.

Getting Fitz out of there alive had been a near thing. For days after their escape, Ditman gasped like a fish out of water. His lips went blue from the exertion of their flight, and more than once his partner urged Jordan to leave him behind. Jordan had declined to do so.

“Of course I’m glad to see you,” Jordan said. He returned his gun to his coat, and the two men clasped forearms in greeting. “I thought you were still on the Continent.”

“I was,” Fitz rumbled. “Just got back a couple days ago. Checked in with our friend. He said you might need help.”

Jordan frowned. “Why didn’t he send me word?”

Fitz rasped a laugh. “Where would he send word, you sod? If he’d sent a note ahead to Lintern Abbey, I’d have been standing at your shoulder while you read it, anyway. I s’pose I could’ve brought a courier along with me and waited in the hall while — ”

“All right, all right.” Jordan held his hands out in surrender. “Point taken. What has Castlereagh told you?”

Fitz sniffed loudly and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “We’re dealing with a bunch of bastards, like I’ve been up to my ears with over there these last few years. I know a thing or two about how these men of Boney’s operate.”

Jordan felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “I’ve been given men of questionable value to work with. It’ll be good to have your expertise on our side.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Fitz said, extending his hand.

Jordan grasped his old partner’s hand. “It’s good to work with you again, Fitz.”

His friend’s grip was firm and sure, confident, able. What a boon this was, to have Fitzhugh Ditman at his side once more.

Aunt Janine poked Naomi’s rib again. Naomi rolled over and moaned as though deep in sleep. Rain beat steadily against the diamond windowpanes. Watery, gray light had dimly illuminated the room for the last hour and a half. It had become an effort to feign sleep, but Naomi was determined to have Lord Freese up, out, and well on the road before she so much as set foot outside her room.

It should not have startled her so, to find him at the same inn. The Swan Song was the last well-appointed inn before their journey took them off the Great North Road to strike into the Yorkshire moorlands. Nevertheless, when she’d seen him yesterday, her heart had jumped against her ribs. It had taken all of her willpower to mind her brother’s caution and turn down the tempting cave outing.

Aunt Janine jostled her shoulder. “Come now, my girl. Stop lazing the day away.”

Naomi squeezed her eyes and burrowed deeper into her pillow. Across the backs of her eyelids, she once again saw Lord Freese as he’d stood off to the side, observing Auntie’s tirade against the poor innkeeper. Where Aunt Janine’s bluster and bluff had gotten them no closer to lodging than they’d been when they first arrived, it had taken Lord Freese but a few words and a flash of his charming smile to set the situation to rights.

In spite of Marshall’s warning, she found herself drawn to the man. All the more reason to mind her brother’s instruction to keep her distance, hence her decision to lay abed well into the morning.

“Child, are you unwell?” Aunt Janine’s voice held a note of genuine concern. Naomi guiltily cracked an eyelid. Auntie was already dressed in a charcoal-gray traveling costume. A dowdy bonnet framed her face, and worry lines creased the skin between her eyes.

“I’m not ill,” Naomi answered as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I still have no great desire to spend the next several weeks at Lintern Abbey.” At Aunt Janine’s sympathetic smile, she said in a small voice, “They don’t want me at home anymore.”

Janine hurried to take her hand. “Hush now. There’s not a bit of truth to that.”

Naomi’s stomach twisted as she remembered her brother and sister-in-law’s cold words. “To be honest, Aunt, I’m not sure what to think. It was so startling to hear Isabelle say she didn’t need me, when just a week ago, we were making plans for the nursery at Helmsdale.”

Scowling, Aunt Janine pulled Naomi to her feet. “There must be more to this than we know. I cannot believe Marshall and Isabelle have suddenly had done with us. But come, we’ve a long drive ahead of us. We’ll fill the time trying to solve this mystery.”

Downstairs, Aunt Janine settled with the innkeeper. Naomi looked around. The inn felt emptier than it had yesterday. She hoped that meant Lord Freese and the rest of the party had gone on ahead.

Their carriage was brought around. A footman wearing Marshall’s livery held out a hand to assist Aunt Janine.

“Allow me.”

Naomi sucked in her breath as Lord Freese strode from the stable yard to hand Aunt Janine up. He wore a dashing ensemble consisting of a tall hat, a tailed riding coat, and tight, buckskin breeches that revealed every curve of his muscled thighs and …

Oh, dear.

Inside her kid gloves, Naomi’s palms began to sweat. “Why are you still here?” she blurted.

Lord Freese flashed her a roguish smile and touched the brim of his hat. Moisture was collected there, as though he’d been out in the weather a good deal already. “Good morning, Lady Naomi,” he said affably, unperturbed by her tone. “Much to my dismay, I am here once more, rather than still. I set out bright and early this morning, but Phantom threw a shoe, not two miles up the road. So back I came.” When he shrugged, the deep crimson superfine of his coat moved with his shoulders like a second skin.

“You’re riding the entire distance from London to Lintern Abbey, my lord?” Naomi asked in wonder.

“I’ve never cared for the confinement of a closed carriage over long distances. Makes me feel like a caged bear.” He waggled a brow, and Naomi couldn’t help but giggle at the mental picture of the great Lord Freese prowling behind bars at a fair.

His answering wink shot right into her. Her breasts tingled, and delicious warmth crept through her. Naomi looked away from his shockingly blue eyes, discomfited by her body’s response.

“Your steed is reshod, then?” Aunt Janine asked from inside the carriage.

“Not yet,” Lord Freese replied. “The farrier is making calls at some farms this morning. I’m told he will be back by noon.”

“Will you wait until tomorrow to complete your journey?” Naomi asked.

Lord Freese shook his head. “No, I’ll set out the minute Phantom is back in form.”

“My lord, you cannot!” Aunt Janine protested. “That would have you on the road well past dark. Highwaymen! It is most inadvisable.”

“Then, I shall have to trust my wits and a brace of pistols to see me through.” His wolfish grin and the glint in his eye made Naomi wonder whether he didn’t relish just such a challenge.

What an odd man.

Aunt Janine snorted derisively. “Nonsense. You shall ride with us.”

Naomi’s eyes went wide. Hours and hours cooped up with Lord Freese? She shot her aunt a meaningful look.

The older lady frowned. “Are you certain you’ve not taken ill, Naomi? You’ve an air about you as if you’re in pain. Does she not, my lord?”

“I’m perfectly well, thank you,” Naomi said through clenched teeth.

“If you’re sure it’s not an inconvenience, I’d be most obliged,” Lord Freese said with a bow. “My man can bring Phantom along later.”

He took Naomi’s hand to help her into the conveyance. She wondered whether he noticed how her fingers melted against his palm.

“Freese!”

Naomi and Lord Freese turned at the same instant. A man approached, slender of build, with a hat pulled low over his eyes. He moved confidently as he maneuvered on the wet cobbles to avoid luggage and crates. As he neared, Naomi was startled to see a scar on the man’s right cheek, too like Lord Freese’s to be a coincidence. But where Jordan’s scar was a neat, slightly curved line running from ear to mouth, the newcomer’s was jagged at the end near his lips, like a lightning bolt. His cheek puckered around the pinkish ridge in places, pulling his mouth into a permanent smirk.

Her fingers reflexively tightened around Lord Freese’s. He squeezed back and held her hand when he addressed the man.

“Fitz, we agreed you’d ride on ahead with the others.”

The man’s light brown eyes narrowed on Naomi’s face. His menacing demeanor intimidated her, but she met his stare and lifted her chin. Pursing his lips, he cut his gaze back to Lord Freese.

Jordan looked at Naomi as though surprised to find her still standing beside him; he dropped her hand. “Oh, forgive me. Lady Naomi Lockwood, please allow me to present Mr. Fitzhugh Ditman.”

The introduction was acknowledged on each side with the barest degree of bowing and nodding civility allowed. There was something about the man Naomi did not like.

“Lady Naomi and her aunt have graciously offered me a place in their carriage,” Lord Freese explained. “I won’t be as late getting in tonight as I’d feared.”

Mr. Ditman’s lips twisted as he looked the carriage over. “You’d make better time walking,” he rasped.

“Our carriage is in excellent repair,” Naomi assured him. “Lord Freese will be delivered to his doorstep in time to change for supper.”

Ditman’s cheek twitched. He swiped at a strand of wet, reddish hair, ignoring her. “We need to talk,” he said to Lord Freese in a low voice. “That’s why I returned.”

“We’ll speak later,” Jordan replied. He handed Naomi into the carriage and followed her up. Mr. Ditman said something Naomi couldn’t make out, and Jordan’s body filling the door blocked him from view. Pausing, Lord Freese turned. “We agreed you’d go on ahead, Fitz.” His voice carried a warning tone. “We’ll talk later. Safe travels, my friend.”

Naomi and Aunt Janine exchanged a wondering look as Lord Freese settled into the opposite seat.

He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair, loosing a riot of dark curls. “Once again, I thank you ladies for coming to my rescue.”

“Have we rescued you, my lord,” Naomi asked, “or merely caged you?”

His laughter filled the small space. “How could I be anything but grateful for confinement with two such dazzling ladies?”

Aunt Janine lowered her chin and looked over the rims of her spectacles. “Thrust out your tongue, young man. I’m curious to see the silvering.”

Naomi spared her aunt a wry grin, and Jordan smiled amicably.
“Touché
, madam.”

“My lord,” Naomi ventured, “I could not help but notice your friend bears a scar similar to your own.”

Jordan’s expression fell blank. “War injuries. We fought side by side and bumped into the same saber. Bit of bad luck.”

Poor Mr. Ditman had as bad a time of it in Spain as Lord Freese, then — worse, perhaps, if his unusual voice and gaunt, haunted face were any indication. No wonder the man glowered. Naomi resolved to think more kindly on him.

“And yet, my lord,” Aunt Janine ventured, “if I may say so, your scar is not all bad luck. It’s widely regarded as a badge of your courage — a testament to your sacrifice. The ladies find it rather dashing, you know.”

Naomi’s eyes widened. Never before had she heard her aunt compliment a gentleman’s looks.

A small smile touched Lord Freese’s lips. “You must forgive me, Lady Janine, if I’d prefer medals on my chest to commemorate my service.”

Naomi winced inwardly at the pain she detected behind Lord Freese’s words. Speaking of the war caused distress he could not entirely conceal with levity. She wondered how often she’d missed these moments of revelation by taking the man at face value. The temptation to discover more was alluring — but dangerous, if Marshall was to be believed.

For the next couple hours, Naomi kept to herself as much as the cramped dimensions allowed. She faced the window, her eyes riveted on the passing countryside. Aunt Janine and Lord Freese chatted quietly, occasionally lapsing into companionable silence.

No matter how hard she tried to ignore him, though, Naomi found herself listening closely, examining each of his words, his inflection, his turns of phrase, hoping to glean some further insight. Nothing informative surfaced, but she found herself drawn to the warm velvet of his voice. It crept down her back and wrapped around her like a secret embrace. The sound of his voice made it bearable to keep her eyes averted. He was still present, still near.

She decided to relish these hours in the carriage. Once at Lintern Abbey, she would have to resume her observation of Marshall’s edict and stay away from her handsome host.