‘Yes, of course.’ Cal took the reins, adjusted his grip on the whip without actually wincing and sent the pair into a collected canter. ‘I will drive you home directly.’ He wanted to ask her more, never mind that it was already a most improper conversation and she had very firmly, and properly, snubbed him. But Ben was up behind and, discreet as he was, he had already overheard too much.
He half expected to be treated to affronted silence for the half hour it took them to reach her front door, but he should have realised that Miss Wilmott was far too well-mannered for a fit of the sulks. She remarked upon the weather, other carriages they passed, the gait of his horses, the latest plays and the crowded streets, all in the most pleasant of conversational tones. By the time they drew up at the Wimpole Street house Cal was wishing for either stony silence or a tongue-lashing. If she was auditioning for the role of duchess she could not have performed better.
Ben jumped down and ran to the horses’ heads. Cal dismounted with rather more caution, cursing his stiff shoulder and very much aware that he was smarting at not being able to vault down. To be fretting about it was almost as humiliating as feeling twenty years older than he was.
Sophie allowed him to help her alight. ‘Thank you. That was most… instructive. I did appreciate being able to drive such a dashing vehicle, Duke.’
‘I would be honoured to take you out again, Miss Wilmott. We never made it to that ice cream, did we? Perhaps another time.’
‘I do not think that would be a good idea, do you, Duke?’ She did not wait for his answer before she mounted the steps with a smile for the butler who had flung the door wide for her.
Cal drove off down Wimpole Street very conscious of his tiger’s crashing silence behind him. He had known Hooper, Ben’s grandfather and the stable master at Calderbrook, since he was a child. On hearing of his impending return Prescott had sent to his long-unvisited estate for grooms and a coachman and young Ben had come too.
In a few days Cal had discovered that, besides being a magician with horses, the lad had an almost irrepressible urge to comment on everything. He was also vocal about how pleased everyone was that His Grace was home and how his ‘granfer’ had given him a lecture on the importance of a tiger. ‘He said I was a confidential servant, ’cos of what I see and overhear when I’m out with my gentleman,’ he had reported, swelling with pride.
‘He did?’ Cal had asked, managing to keep his mouth from twitching into a smile.
He must have looked sceptical because the boy said fiercely, ‘I can keep me trap shut. Gossip’s for girls. And Granfer said I would be a bodyguard too.’
‘A what?’ What did old Hodges know if he thought Cal needed a bodyguard?
‘I’m to throw myself between you and highwaymen with shooters and make sure you get’s home when you’re top heavy,’ Ben had announced with total confidence. Cal had refrained from pointing out that the boy’s skinny little body would hardly stop a bullet and that he was not in the habit of driving himself when too drunk to cope, but he had believed in the lad’s loyalty and guts.
‘Well?’ he enquired when the heavy breathing became intolerable.
‘You made a right pig’s ear of that, Your Grace, iffen you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘Would it make any difference if I did? No, don’t answer that. I made a pig’s ear of it, as you so tactfully put it, only if I was actually courting the lady. I am not.’ He was not ready to commit himself. Not yet.
‘You wuz winding up Mr Thorne then. So ’e’s not a friend, even though he’s your coz? I likes to know, see, so I knows who’s on our side and who isn’t.’
‘Side?’ Cal probed, keeping his voice casual.
‘Granfer says that’s important for a confidential servant like me to know who the Master trusts and who he don’t.’ The tiger relap
sed into thoughtful silence then added, ‘She’s got nice ’ands, the lady.’
She’s got very nice everything, Cal mused as he drew up at his own front door and handed over the reins to Ben. It was very tempting to let himself daydream about getting his hands on her.
He trudged up the steps, shoulder and back aching, half-regretting he’d taken Sophie out that afternoon and not let his shoulder heal for a few more days. But damn it, he wasn’t an invalid any longer, hadn’t been for years, and he was tough enough to get fit again without mollycoddling himself.
‘Your Grace.’ Benson, his town butler, took hat and gloves.
‘Have a hot bath drawn will you? I’ll be in my study.’
‘Your Grace, there’s – ’
‘Later, Benson.’ Cal scooped up the letters from the salver on the side table and walked down the hall as he studied the envelopes. The study door was ajar and he went in, elbowing it shut behind him, head still bent over the post as he broke the seal on the thickest letter. A sound made him glance up, just in time for a clenched fist to connect solidly with the point of his jaw.
Cal went down, banging his head against the door panels, then his bad shoulder for good measure. His right hand slid the knife from his boot even as the damaged shoulder joint screamed for mercy.
Then he saw who had hit him.
‘Ralph. What the hell was that for?’ As though I don’t know. He kept his fingers around the hilt of the knife hidden against his leg, but made no attempt to get up. It would be interesting to see what followed. Because if this was intended to be a murder, then he knew just how he would do it if he was in Ralph’s shoes.
Chapter Six - Where Sophie Plays Cupid
Cal stayed where he was and waited for Ralph to make his move. His cousin stood there, silent, cradling bruised knuckles and breathing heavily, then reached out a hand.