Page 18 of Lyon’s Obsession (The Lyon’s Den Connected World #91)
L ord Almano again called for Theodora in his gig and just as Alexander arrived. In some ways she cursed herself for the missed opportunity to speak to Marksman, but in other ways, she was happy to have him view her on the arm of the handsome Sardinian count.
“I am pleased for your company, my lady,” the count declared just as Alexander stepped down from his own coach.
With a simple nod of her head in recognition of Alexander stopping to stare at her, Theodora accepted Lord Almano’s extended hand and permitted him to steady her step into the carriage.
The count was not the only one to know pleasure, for it was quite satisfying to note the dismay on Alexander’s expression while Theodora waited for Almano to assist her maid Winston onto the rear-facing seat at the back.
Alexander was still looking at her as Lord Almano climbed up on the seat and took the reins, and they pulled away from the curb.
At the corner, they turned to the right, and she was satisfied at knowing Alexander’s bewilderment, so much so that Dora did not hear the jingle of the bridle or the click of the carriage’s wheels.
Eventually though, all the street noise had been drummed out by the pounding of her pulse in her ears.
That pulse beat even louder as the road showed less and less traffic.
She had not realized they were essentially leaving London proper, which was assuredly not what they had discussed.
“You are quite comfortable, I trust,” Lord Almano remarked blandly.
“What is our destination?” Theodora asked with a bit of alarm. The horses began to canter along at a smart clip, and she reached for her bonnet to hold it in place. As a result, she had to catch the side of the carriage with her other hand.
“I thought we might view some of the English countryside,” he said without looking to her, which Theodora determined as having his opinion override hers.
“Yet, we agreed to visit the display of the Elgin Marbles at the museum,” she countered.
“Surely you have viewed them many times.” He presented her with a sidelong glance.
“I have,” she admitted, “but you said you had not, and as you are from Sardinia…” She glanced again to the countryside, where the number of people and houses had thinned significantly.
When he still did not slow the horses, she sat forward, preparing to alight whether Lord Almano was agreeable or not.
“Do not be ridiculous, my lady. We have covered several miles, Lady Theodora,” he ordered.
“I am not afraid of a healthy walk,” she asserted. To her maid, she said, “Winston, we may be required to jump if Lord Almano does not agree to stop this carriage.” To him, she said, “I ask that you please stop this carriage, sir!”
“I am not accustomed to setting a lady down in the middle of the road,” he declared.
Determined, Theodora lifted her skirt hem above the top of her half boots and slid to the edge of the seat.
“Do not!” Lord Almano commanded and caught her wrist.
“You shall greatly regret your actions, sir!” Dora hissed. “Neither my father nor I will forget this abuse.” With a swift motion, she reached up to grab the long hat pin holding her bonnet in place and jabbed it firmly in the back of his hand.
“You bi…!” he cursed and sucked the back of his hand to stop the seeping blood.
“The next time, it will be your eye or that artery that sends blood to your brain! My brother Benjamin taught me some of his lessons from surgery!” she warned. “Now, pull the gig over!”
“I require a country lane to turn…” he protested.
A gun clicked behind them. Theodora glanced to where Winston held onto the belted line with one hand, keeping her on the carriage seat while pointing a gun at Lord Almano with the other. “I am not the shot my mistress is, but at this range…” her maid growled.
Lord Almano pulled up on the reins, slowing the horses. When they came to a halt, Theodora pulled her own Queen Anne pistol from her reticule. “You should step down, my lord. With no arguments, sir.”
“It was all a lark…” he began. “I thought you would enjoy…”
“I said no arguments!” Dora growled. “Perhaps in Sardinia such behavior is acceptable, but not in England, and, for your information, you would not be the first person I have shot at close range.”
“Nor I, my lord,” Winston warned.
Slowly, Lord Almano raised his hands and climbed down from the carriage. “You will regret this, my lady,” he threatened.
“I already do. Winston, join me on the seat. I have his lordship in the sights of my gun.”
“Did you realize Theodora just left the house with a gentleman?” Alexander asked.
Viewing Dora on the arm of another man had shaken Alexander more than he would care to admit.
Seeing her with Justin Hartley was one thing, but with a man he knew only by name but one Alexander would make it his business to learn more of, had rattled him thoroughly.
Since, as long as he could recall, the “dream” was to marry Theodora.
They were to see Duncan into old age with grandchildren all about and adoring their grandfather.
When Duncan did not respond, meaning Theodora’s business was none of Alexander’s concern, Xander began again, “You sent for me? Hopefully, you have new information on Honfleur. I am exhausted from trailing him about town. Most days it appears he takes great pleasure in leading me from one tea party to the next. I believe the man possesses a hollow leg. I never knew anyone who could drink a good twenty cups of tea in a day without carrying a chamber pot about.”
Duncan ignored Alexander’s attempt at levity, a warning of what the earl meant to share was extremely important, and, so, Alexander sobered quickly.
“You best sit down,” Duncan advised without looking up from the paper his lordship held in his hands to meet Alexander’s worried expression—a fact which sent a shiver of dread down Alexander’s spine.
“That bad?” Alexander asked as he claimed a seat before Duncan’s desk. “Has the situation with Honfleur escalated? Has something occurred with Miss Moreau? I have not viewed even a glimpse of her since that night at the inn. Has Honfleur sent her away?”
Duncan eyed him with a peculiar look. “You have developed a strong interest in the lass,” he said sagely. “It is not wise to forget she is part of Honfleur’s family.”
Alexander shrugged his response. He knew his obsession with Miss Moreau was not appropriate, but he could not seem to keep the woman from his mind. “I believe she fears Honfleur,” he confessed.
“I would think anyone who does not fear Honfleur would be making a mistake,” Duncan stated plainly.
“I comprehend your warning,” Alexander responded in seriousness. “I assume you have additional information regarding the marquis, and you mean to remind me of our obligation to this investigation.”
“Aye, but not as you assume,” Duncan said gravely.
“Then perhaps we should skip the various warnings and come to the point,” Alexander suggested.
Duncan cleared his throat before retrieving another letter from his desk drawer. “I have heard from our agents in France, and it is as we expected: Honfleur is not a marquis.”
“I knew such was true,” Alexander declared with glee. “What else did we learn?”
“Honfleur is not French at all. He is British.”
“Such explains the combination of French and English he often uses,” Alexander observed.
“I should have realized his use of French was odd, especially as Miss Moreau’s English has tones of the Lake District in it.
Now that I think about it, when I asked the lady if Honfleur was English, all she said was her parents were English, and Honfleur was her mother’s half-brother, who came for her when she was in Honduras. ”
“We have information saying Honfleur captained a ship in the West Indies and along the coast of America, making a living essentially as a privateer and running brandy and rum and other goods where there was a market.”
Alexander sat back in his chair. “A pirate? I am surprised John Yates associates with Honfleur. Yates does not seek notoriety. He learned well at William Booth’s hands.”
“Perhaps Yates is unaware of Honfleur’s history. Then again, perhaps a marquis could pass larger amounts on the bank notes than a five-pound note.”
“Do we know when Honfleur was in the West Indies?” Alexander questioned. “We require specifics.”
“We know Miss Moreau was only five when Honfleur claimed her. The lass can be somewhere around twenty,” Duncan suggested.
“How can you be so confident?” Alexander demanded.
Duncan cleared his throat again. “I have a tale to relate to you, boy, and it is not a pretty one.”
“You are rarely so somber, Duncan. How bad can the tale be?” Even as he spoke, a shiver of anticipation claimed Alexander’s spine.
“Bad enough,” the Scot confirmed.
“Then be about it,” Alexander ordered. “You have my undivided attention.”
“Although the tale begins before the date when Honfleur claimed Miss Moreau, I will begin there.” Duncan shuffled through some papers before discovering the one he sought.
Alexander noted Lord Duncan’s hand trembled as he lifted the letter higher to read aloud what it held.
“In 1785, first Moreau arrived at a property held by a ‘Shoreman’ in one of the British logging concessions.”
“Then it is as we anticipated,” Alexander declared. “Honfleur holds connections to crime in the Caribbean.”
Duncan spoke in exacting tones. “I am more of the persuasion Honfleur’s contacts are French and not part of groups exploiting the area between England and America.”
“Then, beyond selling goods to those along the Bay of Honduras, how did Honfleur come to the British notice?”
Alexander’s long-time mentor shook off the question. “Such is not the point of this conversation. I require you to listen carefully, boy.”