Page 17 of How to Seduce a Viscount (Wed Within a Year #3)

T he tightening of her grip told Luce two things: there was danger nearby, perhaps right in front of them, and she feared it.

While it seemed implausible that the loquacious Vicar Paterson posed a threat to anyone other than the risk of being talked to death, Luce had made a habit early in his career as a Horseman to assume all was not always as it seemed.

He made a small gesture of covering Wren’s gloved hand with his to assure her the message was received and she was indeed safe as long as he stood at her side.

Not that she needed protection. But he’d rather not have her flash her stiletto at Vicar Paterson.

In that case, it would be hard to persuade anyone she was just a guest at the Abbey.

Luce smiled politely but did not offer his hand to the men. He would not shake hands with men who were a source of Wren’s sudden unrest. ‘How are you finding our corner of the world?’

The taller one met Luce’s gaze coolly. ‘We are enjoying it fine. The vicar is a most generous host.’

‘Yes, indeed!’ the vicar broke in excitedly. ‘We’ve discovered we have ever so much in common.’ He gave an expansive chuckle as he made the introductions. ‘This is Mr Calvin Paterson and his cousin, Mr George Wilkes, down from Yorkshire.’

Luce did not like the look of them. On closer examination he noted what Wren had likely seen already.

They were respectably dressed, as if they were gentry, but beneath their clothes they sported burly builds not found among gentlemen and there was a shiftiness about the eyes of the taller one when he’d glanced in Wren’s direction.

It made Luce want to step in front of her as a shield.

She seemed to melt into the depths of the cloak, becoming invisible.

Why? To escape recognition? What did she fear from these men?

Luce itched to get her alone and ask his questions.

‘You will not believe this,’ the vicar went on, oblivious to the rising tension.

‘You may have noticed the similarity in the name. I’ll allow that it’s not an uncommon surname but you may recall, Lord Waring, that I am originally from Yorkshire.

We spent the first night they were here discovering a distant family connection.

’ The vicar gave another happy chortle as if he couldn’t believe his good luck in stumbling upon an unknown relation.

‘We’ve had the most wonderful discussions reminiscing about Yorkshire and my wife has been in alt having guests to entertain. ’

The vicar was right, Luce didn’t believe it.

The coincidences were too damn convenient.

His mind was racing over scenarios. The snow was, unfortunately, a reasonable explanation for their presence and for them being unable to leave until their mission was accomplished.

The weather made it plausible for strangers to be in a town that saw very few outsiders, except those passing through on the coaches.

To the ordinary onlooker, like Vicar Paterson, the weather explained away what might have otherwise been a suspicious prolonged presence.

But the ordinary onlooker didn’t know Wren had been chased by three men to Tillingbourne Abbey at midnight.

That two men had died and a third had been sent to Sandmore before the second bout of road-closing snow had set in.

Those who did know though, might come looking for answers and for their comrades who’d failed to return.

That was the scenario that made the most sense to Luce.

If he was right, they’d come looking for Wren at a time when her wings were clipped by her health and by the weather.

Even if she could run, there was nowhere she could run to.

Damn, Luce wished she’d told him there might be others in pursuit. He could have been better prepared.

‘I’ve had a splendid idea, just now,’ Vicar Paterson enthused.

‘We should have you to supper, Lord Waring. Now that you’re fully in residence and returned from the holidays, my wife and I need to welcome you properly.

We can make it a little party for our snowbound guests.

’ Luce found the idea less delightful than the vicar did.

‘I’m sure it would be lovely,’ Wren interrupted, all sweet sincerity from the carefully cultivated anonymity of her cloak, ‘but I haven’t any gowns ready. My luggage didn’t fare as well as I did in this current adventure.’ Luce felt the pressure of her grip and he picked up his part.

‘I appreciate the offer, Vicar. We shall have to consider our situation before we accept. May I send you a note?’ Luce shook the Vicar’s hand, eager to get Wren away.

‘We must be off. I’ve promised to show Miss Audley some of the sights.

’ It was a handy excuse. There’d be no more sightseeing.

They were going straight home. They had business to settle.

The drive home was accomplished in silence, offering Luce time to align his thoughts.

Without warning, the tenor of the day had turned from a light-hearted shopping spree, which picked up where their kiss had left off last night, to something darker—full of danger and quite possibly deceit.

Luce was less concerned about the danger.

The men posing as the Vicar’s guests were merely an external threat.

Luce was used to those. They were all part of every job the Horsemen did.

It was the potential for deceit, the threat from within, that prodded the deep places of him.

He’d not realised how much of his trust he’d given to Wren without being asked to give it.

He’d merely volunteered it, something he never did with others.

He’d made assumptions because they were on the same side and because he felt he’d held all the power.

After all, he had rescued her. He’d stitched her up, overseen her healing.

The most damaging assumption he’d made was that she’d told him everything he needed to know because they were a team.

He’d been wrong about that and as a result, he’d been caught by surprise today because he’d been taken in by a pretty face, by her .

All of her. Her looks, her touches, her intelligence, her kisses…

The list was quite extensive because so much about her was appealing to him.

That kiss in the alley…good heavens it had rocked him from head to toe.

And all the while she’d been hiding the information that the three men on his doorstep had friends.

Yes, he was angry. But to her credit, she had seemed genuinely surprised and not a little afraid.

He’d have to keep his own temper under control if he wanted answers from her.

The last thing he wanted was for her to shut down or to bolt.

One did not win the trust of someone who was frightened by heaping more fright upon them with threats and rants.

His mother had always believed one caught more flies with honey than vinegar and his mother was usually right.

Luce followed that advice, wisely holding his tongue until they were ensconced before the fire in the library.

He placed a calming cup of tea dosed with a little brandy in Wren’s hands, making it clear that her comfort was his priority in the moment.

He poured a dollop in his cup as well and took the seat across from her before he began.

‘All right, would you like to tell me who those men were? I take it they’re not the vicar’s long lost Yorkshire relations?

’ He’d get the information first and save the castigation for later.

‘They were in the pub I stopped at the night I came to Tillingbourne.’ She made a frown.

‘Stopping was a mistake. I should not have gone inside to warm myself. It exposed me. I might have gone right past all of them and they would never have known. But I was cold and I was concerned my hands were too numb to be effective if I needed them.’ She shook her head.

‘The irony is that I wouldn’t have needed my hands if I hadn’t stopped.

It was just so bloody cold.’ Especially for the orphaned girl who’d spent years shivering on London streets, Luce thought. Her one weakness had been her undoing.

‘No doubt they’ve come looking for news of their comrades, news of the code…perhaps they’ve even come for me.’ Wren gave a resigned sigh. Luce nodded. Most likely they had come for her. Such men were quite keen on revenge.

‘Do you think they recognised you?’ It would be best if they hadn’t.

And yet, it would only buy them a little time.

If the snow had prevented people from leaving the village, it would have prevented her from leaving as well.

Those men would know that. They could be certain the woman they sought was still here.

‘I don’t think they recognised me. I let the hood hide me and I doubt I looked much like the waif who’d come into the pub.’ Luce could agree with that. Without the trousers and coat, she didn’t look boyish in the least.

‘But your hair?’ Luce prompted. A man would not forget hair like that on a boy or a woman.

She touched a hand to her head. ‘I had it under a cap that night, at least while I was at the pub.’ She paused a moment.

‘Luce, we need to consider that they could be here for you, too. If they knew I carried the code, they also knew who it was going to. Fortunately, the vicar introduced you as Lord Waring. The names Waring and Miss Audley will mean nothing to them.’

‘Unless they ask the vicar what my surname is.’ The subterfuge of names provided minimal protection.

A veil easily pierced. These men were no fools.

They knew a Horseman was in the village.

It wouldn’t take them long to put the pieces together given there were no other nobles in the immediate area and given the vicar’s penchant for gossip and talk.