Page 60

She was struck again by the shadows under his eyes, and by the haggard look of his face. “West, have you… have you been quite well?”

“Yes, yes! Perfectly well.” He was limping.

“Have you hurt your leg?”

“It is nothing.” He seemed to be making an unsuccessful effort to walk normally. “A bruise.”

The room he led her to was as luxurious as the hall and the corridor, and paneled in the same expensive wood. He shut the door. "Pomona, I... Whatever brought you here, I am..." He swallowed. "I am happy to see you."

She wanted to embrace him. But as he showed no signs of wanting the same thing, she thought it best to stick to business. “Sir Anthony came to me with a warning for you. The soldiers are here because Townley is plotting against you.”

“Townley!” He looked stunned. “Is he not still in Italy?”

“No. He has returned." She must stick to the main points of what Sir Anthony had told her. "Soldiers set upon a crowd of people in Manchester several days ago. It was a dreadful incident. People were killed. The government now fears a popular rebellion. Sir Anthony believes that Townley is hoping to use the chaos of the situation to stir up trouble here—and blame you for it somehow. I—I am sorry if none of this makes sense. I am tired.”

He gazed at her. “No. You are making perfect sense. Indeed, you gave me the outline of those facts right under the colonel’s nose.”

“But that is not all that Townley has been doing. He is also having our letters intercepted and read.”

“What?" He froze for a moment. "Oh. Of course. That explains... I sent letters here that never arrived.” He broke off and raked his hand through his hair. “You were right. About Townley. About everything. And I did not listen to you, and I… Oh, God. I do not deserve you. I have been such a fool.”

She hadn't told him everything, though. She hadn't told him about Monsieur Mazarine, about Townley’s barely veiled threats… about her book... about the scandals that were about to engulf both of them because of her. "West, I"—

"Pomona, something happened here that I”— They both stopped speaking. "I beg your pardon." He gestured toward her. "You first."

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. “Yes? What is it?”

“Your graces? I beg your pardon.” It was a footman. “Mr. Bray is come with an urgent message.”

“Bray?" West looked surprised. "Send him in.”

A young man with ginger hair entered. Seeing Pomona, he stopped short and bowed deeply. “Your grace! I apologize for interrupting. Your grace, there has been a serious incident in the village.”

The tired sag of West’s shoulders disappeared and the tense strain was back. “What has happened?”

“It is the soldiers, your grace. They have arrested Ewan Pitman.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Arrested? On what grounds? He is only a boy!”

“He shouted an insult at the soldiers. He has been accused of fomenting a riot.” Bray’s face was pale beneath his freckles. “They are holding him under guard at the Wheat Sheaf until sunup. They say that he will be taken to London to answer for the charges.”

"That is the most ridiculous, trumped up"... West swiped a hand down his face. “He is in no condition to be dragged off to London to be made an example of, or whatever they intend. He has scarcely recovered from the injuries that he suffered in the mine collapse. Tell Thompson to saddle my horse at once. I will ride down to the village with you and put a stop to this before it can go any further.”

“Yes, your grace.” Bray hurried out of the library.

West turned to Pomona. He wanted only to speak with her. He wanted to speak with her for hours... to speak with her forever. He still hadn’t had the chance to apologize. Not properly. Not the way she deserved. They’d been too busy talking of the infernal Townley, who always seemed to be everywhere and in every conversation. “I am sorry. I must go. I must use my authority as duke to prevent them from taking the boy. I shall be back as soon as I can.”

“No. That is what they want!” She reached for his arm. “West! This is exactly what Sir Anthony warned against. They wish to provoke you, and create a situation in which they can accuse you of something! They are using this boy as bait! This is little more than an ambush.”

He scrubbed his hand over his face again. “You may be right. But I am the only one who can speak for the boy. I am a duke, so they cannot accuse me of much. And at least the colonel—for all he is a pompous fellow—struck me as an honorable man. I shall be able to reason with him.”

Her face was pale. “Then I shall come with you.”

“No. It is no place for you.”

“On the contrary. A lady’s presence will remind the soldiers to behave as gentlemen. Besides, it will be far more difficult for anyone to make unfounded accusations if I am there. And I shall be able to help the boy.”