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Thirteen

“Whoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god.”

Aristotle

When Aidan hurried back to the Smythe home, riding his mount around to the mews in the back, he found that a carriage was being prepared. As he had hoped, Smythe was on his way out. This might be the opportunity he needed to learn more about what Smythe had been doing.

Waving off the groom, Aidan turned to ride back out.

Finding a discreet position out on the main road passing the front of the house, he waited. Anticipation sang through his veins that finally he could take some sort of action. Where was Smythe heading to?

What if he is merely visiting his clubs?

Aidan hoped not. The frustration of not doing anything to move this investigation forward was driving him quietly mad.

Valor snorted, pawing the earth with a heavy hoof.

“Easy.” Aidan stroked the gelding’s withers, composing himself to reduce his internal tension. It would not do to distress the beast with his own calamity when he needed to remain hidden.

Soon Smythe hurried from the front door, dressed in a dark and disheveled overcoat and his blue eyes flashing in the sunlight.

Aidan frowned, noticing for the first time that the black carriage had no markings. There was no reason to expect them because Smythe did not currently possess a rank, but along with the skirted coat he wore, it was practically impossible to recognize who was being driven.

Scanning the driver and footman, Aidan realized that they were not dressed in their usual livery. They, too, were incognito.

What fresh intrigue was this?

Aidan’s spirits lifted, the thrill of the chase racing through his body. Finally, he had something to pursue. A tangible clue. He knew in his very bones that Smythe was on the move, ready to engage in some sort of dubious activity. This was not to be a routine errand to his solicitor or man of business. Smythe was hiding his identity to pursue his dark ends.

As the carriage drew off, Aidan carefully tightened his calf. Valor immediately broke into a trot, and they kept pace with the carriage as it moved down quiet streets. After a while they joined Strand Street, which was bustling with carriages, mounted riders, and pedestrians going about their business. St. James’s Park was well behind them, and Aidan was careful to keep Smythe’s carriage in sight, noting that they were heading east as the traffic grew more congested.

Turning off Fleet Street, Aidan followed the carriage which turned onto Thames Street, near the river, and the carriage kept heading west. Smythe appeared to be heading toward the London Docks, but who knew if they would just keep moving west beyond that point?

The closer they came to the docks, the more difficult it grew for Aidan to keep the carriage in sight. Merchants and dock workers mingled in congregation on the roadside, while wagons piled high with crates and barrels clogged the streets. Aidan pressed his mount forward, and just as he turned a corner, another rider came flying through a gap in the traffic.

Valor was startled by the sudden motion and proximity, rearing up and bellowing out a loud whinny. Aidan was caught off guard, attempting to keep Smythe’s carriage in view, and next he knew, he had been bucked from Valor’s back. As the earth flew toward him, Aidan hit the road with a roll, barely missing the large wheels of a passing wagon.

Bruised and shaken, he sprang to his feet and grabbed hold of the panicking Valor’s reins, quickly tugging the gelding’s head down and walking him back several steps to disengage his hindquarters. Valor acquiesced, panting in quieting agitation but relaxing his panicked stance.

Once his horse was secured, Aidan threw a glance over his shoulder and cursed loudly. Several passersby flinched and tossed him glances of reproval, but he paid them no mind.

Smythe’s carriage was gone.

Leading Valor, Aidan limped to the side of the busy street and discovered his buckskins were torn above one knee. Inspecting his coat, he found several tears. Feeling about carefully, he perceived that he had badly bruised his upper arm and shoulder, but it seemed he had not broken anything. What he had done was lose his quarry and nearly gotten himself killed.

Disappointment burned through him, as hot as the passion he had shared with his bride the night before. Brushing the dirt off his clothes and swiping at his face, Aidan seethed with a fury he had never experienced before as he spat out the dust in his mouth.

Once he had fully caught his breath, he remounted Valor, who was now calm. They made their way gingerly down the street as Aidan searched for the vanished carriage.

People, horses, and vehicles were milling in every direction and he knew it was a pointless task, but he spent the next hour riding the cross streets and searching for Smythe, even dismounting to peer into the dim interiors of shops and taverns.

Eventually he gave in and turned Valor’s head to return home.

He had failed. They knew nothing new about what Smythe was up to. All he had achieved was to acquire himself numerous abrasions and wreck his favorite breeches. Meanwhile Lily had been chased out of her new home by a thug, and he would need to hide these bruises from Gwen to avoid questions.

The low growl he emitted was drowned by the sounds of the street, but he did not give a damn if someone overheard him. This entire matter was out of hand. The best he could hope for was that Smythe would return to the vicinity, which meant that Aidan would have to follow him again.

It took some time to reach the Smythe home where Aidan left Valor with a groom in the mews. Ordinarily he would have taken the time to rub the gelding down, but during the ride home, his muscles had made their protests known along with the contusions on his knee, upper arm, and shoulder, which had hit the street first and taken the brunt of his weight. He wanted to get out of his ruined clothes and bathe away the nameless grime that had become embedded under his fingernails.