Page 54 of Indecently Daring

The words were quiet, thoughtful, and turned her heart inside out as hope bloomed inside her.

“Oh?” Alana swivelled in her seat, turning towards him, suddenly breathless. “So… you’re not going to let me go?”

Harry jerked his head to remind her they were not alone, and Alana gave a huff of frustration.

He laughed softly and leaned into her, whispering in her ear. “Never.”

Alana smiled, and the rest of the journey passed in something of a blur.

Chapter 16

Dear Max,

I hope this letter finds you well. How does the brat go on? Thriving, I hope. When he’s old enough to be interesting, do bring him to meet me. I’m curious to see what this next generation of Drakes looks like. I wonder if he’ll turn his father’s hair white with his misdeeds?

I’m going to France. I'm uncertain why I’m telling you this as I don’t suppose you care but I feel like I ought to tell someone I’m leaving the country just in case rumour gets round that I’m dead. Not so lucky as that, I’m afraid, old man. Though, you never know, perhaps I’ll get in a duel with some excitable Frenchman. You know how passionate the Gallic race can be.

No doubt it will take me a few weeks to prepare and pack up my household, but I cannot endure England any longer. The weather is dreary, the people are dreary, everything is dreary. I’m tired Max, of everything and everyone. Do you know, I have done more good deeds in the past week than I have in my life before. If this keeps up, I am in danger of giving a damn. I refuse to do it. So I’m leaving to find pastures new, warmer climes, and something dreadfully wicked to do. I’ll forward my direction once I’m settled on the off chance you wish to write to me.

Yrs, etc.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Right Hon’ble Maxwell Drake, The Earl of Vane, from The Most Hon’ble Ciarán St Just, The Marquess of Kilbane.

The early hours of the 26th of January 1845, Holbrook House, Sussex.

It was four in the morning when they finally arrived at Holbrook House, though the grand building was not in darkness. As the pony trotted the last few yards up to the impressive entrance, the doors flung open, and Harry saw people silhouetted against the light that spilled out.

“Oh, now we’re for it,” he murmured.

Alana stirred beside him. She’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder about an hour ago, but now sat bolt upright.

“Oh dear,” she said, anxiety lacing her voice. “Oh, my word.”

“What?” Harry frowned at her. Obviously, he knew they were going to be in trouble with her aunt and uncle, but that would surely not account for the panicked look on her face.

“Montagu,” she whispered.

Harry stared at her in alarm. “As in the marquess of?”

She nodded.

He swallowed. He was returning home in the early hours of the morning, with the Marquess of Montagu’s daughter asleep in a straw-laden cart borrowed from the local pub. He’d never met the man himself, but he knew about him. Everybody knew about him. Anyone with any wits would cross an ocean rather than risk getting in Montagu’s way. Everybody knew he adored his daughter more than anyone else on earth, saving his wife. The daughter Harry was bringing home in the early hours of the morning.

Bloody, buggering hell.

“He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?”

Alana swallowed. “N-No,” she said, but with enough uncertainty that every bruised muscle in his body sang with tension. “I don’t think he’ll kill you, Harry. As it wasn’t your fault, but I truly would not wish to be Cat at this moment.”

“Ought we to wake her?” Harry asked.

Alana shook her head. “No. She looks like an angel when she sleeps, even more than when she’s awake. Perhaps it will soften him up.”

They exchanged a glance as they drew level with the crowd. Montagu stood beside the Earl of St Clair, both men white-faced and grim.

“Catherine!” Montagu exclaimed, and the face that had been severe and intimidating just a moment ago turned to one of sheer terror as he saw his daughter laying in the cart. With hindsight, they ought to have woken her. Her father reached for her, and Cat jolted awake with a yelp.

“Papa?” she said blearily.