“I think so too, but I’m grateful for the madness.”
“My boy says we should keep your secret,” Old George continued.
He didn’t look that old to Tony, probably around fifty.
He heaved the cask across the room as if it weighed nothing and set it up in the corner. “I put a tap in it but wait for it to settle before you ’ave anything. Listen.”
He turned to face Tony. “This ’ouse ’as suffered because of the Cause. I don’t want that ’appennin’ again, clear?”
Tony tended to agree, though he could hardly say that. He was supposed to be a Jacobite spy. If he confessed otherwise, Emmy might not feel the same way about him. She might betray him, and in his current state, he couldn’t fight very effectively. After that he could probably get out of the tangle, but not without scandal and not without his powerful family becoming involved. He’d rather confess his failure privately and slink away in the night. Perhaps he’d even get the chance to achieve his mission and find the documents he’d come for. “I understand. Once I’m well enough, I’ll leave.”
Old George grunted. He put his hands on his hips, increasing his girth impressively. Although he could stand upright in this cramped space, he filled it with little to spare. “Good. I’ll come and get you. I don’t want ’er involved any more than she ’as to. And don’t come back.”
“You’re not a loyalist?” He forced a smile he feared was more of a grimace.
“Depends. I used t’ be. I could see the sense. And Gawd knows we need something. But as things turned out, it’s time to start again. Especially the people ’ere. We need a bit of peace. Not all that hurly burly again.”
By which Tony assumed he meant the ’forty-five. The Young Pretender had mustered forces from the Catholic peers in this area. Lancashire had been as hot for the would-be prince as Scotland, but it hadn’t done either the Pretender or the county any good. Many old families were ruined. This one had come close.
“I promise I will leave quietly as soon as I can. Your friend even offered me a horse. Is that possible?”
Old George gave him a considering stare. “Yes.”
That was succinct. “Another day, perhaps two.”
“I’ll ’ave a coat for you too.”
“Just as well. I might get taken up for a madman if I rode around the countryside with half a coat. What made you do it?”
“I wouldn’t have brung you ’ere. I’d ’ave told somebody, but you was ’urt and she always did ’ave a soft spot for the wounded.”
He couldn’t deny that. He’d been in danger of bleeding to death. That must be why he felt so weak now.
With one final “humph,” Old George left and settled the panel back into place.
Tony had little to do other than sleep, eat, and think. Ponder on his failures, perhaps. Bored with the social round in London, which never stopped, only peaked at certain times of the year, he’d leaped on this opportunity to act with all the enthusiasm of the barracks-bound soldier. Jolted into action by yet another argument with his brother, he’d only wanted to escape from London. That was how it felt when he’d first reached the open road. Freedom.
A strange place, this. The creaks and groans of a timber-built house disconcerted him. It was like existing inside a living thing, not a building. The timbers on the floor here weren’t straight. Neither were the walls. His bed was set in a corner of the room, but while the bed had right angles, the walls did not.
He loved it. All his life he’d lived in regimented circumstances. Either the family seat or a military tent, with everything where it should be. This appealed to his long-dormant sense of the ridiculous. It made him smile. God knew he needed a reason to smile. He picked up the prosaic list she’d made, the one she’d obviously forgotten, and smiled down at it like a loon. Shoving it under his pillow as if it were a love letter, he determined to keep it. She had a firm, steady hand, with few flourishes and loops. Like herself. He liked her the better for it.
Her kiss had given him reason, shocking him with its instant sensuality. He had nevertheless recalled that he was, nominally at least, a gentleman. He could not return the kindness she had bestowed on him by seducing her. Those were the actions of a cad, and he’d tried very hard not to be a cad. But oh, she was sweet, and she’d felt so good in his arms!
His wound throbbed, but he decided to leave it for now. He was too tired to concern himself with a little pain. He’d known worse.
* * * *
Imogen’s mother expected her to entertain her noble guests. Imogen guessed the visit wasn’t as unexpected as it had first appeared. The Holland covers were off the furniture in the summer parlor. Usually they didn’t come off before Easter. The paintings and furniture gleamed with extra polishing.
Was her mother matchmaking? Of course she was, but even if the Duke of Northwich was a known Jacobite, he wouldn’t want his son to marry the daughter of a person who’d had his title removed by Act of Attainder. Imogen still cringed at the memory.
They’d received a letter from her father, who loftily ordered them to ignore the edict, since it was imposed by an illegal government. A government that had the power to take everything they had. If not for this house, she and her mother would be living in a hovel somewhere.
A fact that her mother was blithely unconcerned about, or so it appeared when she arrived in the parlor in her best white lustring gown, as if preparing to take the salons of London by storm.
Lord Dankworth arrived shortly afterward, and from his dress Imogen concluded that he planned to take the air. She forced a smile. “It is cold today, sir. The rain turned into a hard frost this morning.”
He slanted her a smiling glance. “Lady Imogen, I am perfectly aware of that. I’ve been out already. I must compliment you on the excellent condition of the estate. I believe you manage it?”
“It is my estate, sir, so yes, you guess right.” He used her courtesy title but to correct him would be churlish. Besides, her mother would object if she did that.
He raised a dark brow. “Indeed, ma’am. You are to be commended. I find a woman who does more than sit in front of the fire and sew a fine seam far more interesting.”
Why should she care? Perhaps her lack of sleep had made her irritable. She ameliorated the sharp retort she’d originally planned in favor of a smile. “My mother sews far better than I. I could never keep the line entirely straight.” She glanced at her mother who gave her best gracious nod.
“Perhaps, madam, you would give me a tour later. I noticed a particularly run-down hut at the edge of your estate when I was riding here. Surely it must belong to someone else? But it could prove a hazard in a storm.”
Her heart pounded against her ribcage and she had to take a couple of deep breaths in order to remain in control. “The hut was part of a boundary dispute which has fortunately concluded in my favor. Unfortunately, the hut belongs to me. I will either have it repaired or demolished soon.”
“It is remarkable in a beautifully kept estate.” He favored her with a warm smile she was hard put not to turn her back on. She didn’t cultivate the estate to please some passing lord. She did it purely for herself, and to keep the house in food and fuel.
She murmured a “Thank you, sir,” and attempted to pass on to other matters, but she was to be disappointed.
“I would appreciate a tour of the grounds, if that is not too much trouble.” He came closer, with that smile fixed on his face, although something else lurked behind his eyes.
She saw no humor there.
Fear clutched at her heart. What was this? Did he know her secret, the man in the hidden