The taller of the two nodded. “Don’t worry about us. The Watchman’s getting impatient and ye wouldn’t want him to lose his temper.”
“No, indeed,” Arthur agreed wholeheartedly.
Thankful they’d done nothing beyond issue a warning, he left the folly, relieved Tillie was nowhere in sight.
*
Tillie mingled withthe crowd of destitute women returning to the poorhouse, hoping the beady-eyed matron standing on guard at the door wouldn’t see the grass stains on her skirts. Even if she did, and jumped to the inevitable conclusion, Tillie didn’t care. The crotchety crone had probably never known the thrill of sexual congress with a powerful man like Arthur. The memory of the afternoon’s naughty delights caused a spasm in her lady parts.
So what if her bottom stung like the devil? If it gave Arthur pleasure to smack her, she would bear the pain. When he inherited his father’s title and she became his baroness, she’d insist he make sure the cruel matron was sacked.
Joining the queue for her meager share of the slop the almshouse commissioners provided as sustenance, she wrinkled her nose against the smells emanating from her fellow inmates. From the distinct odor of sex, she’d wager several had been obliged to spread their legs in some back alley. At least her protector had never insulted her by offering money in exchange for her favors. He was right when he said he couldn’t be seen on the road to Preston, so she’d happily walked the six miles back to the poorhouse. Somehow, the trek had seemed longer than the walk to Withins Hall, but then she’d been anxious to meet her lover earlier in the day. Now, she was worn out.
She took solace in Arthur’s promise that he’d soon be able to come out of hiding. Then she’d bathe every day in steaming hot, perfumed bathwater instead of scrubbing down with lye soap once a week. Arthur didn’t like the smell of lye soap.
Everything would work out once he’d made sure his father had squared things with the Earl of Farnworth. She remembered her former employer as a reasonable man. Surely he was over the upset of the kidnapping attempt by now?
What the horse had to do with anything, she wasn’t sure, but Arthur seemed convinced the solution to their problems lay with the animal. He’d refused to let her use his precious telescope but, even without it, she could tell the stallion was a fearsome beast. Arthur had undoubtedly been joking when he casually mentioned she’d have to ride the horse. He’d always been a tease.
“Lady Matilda on a horse,” she muttered with a chuckle, gritting her teeth when the matron glared at her and bellowed for silence.
Just a few more days and she’d be free of this hellhole.
*
Griff had mixedfeelings about accompanying Gabriel to Withins Hall. He’d taken a liking to Baron Whiteside. The jovial fellow had welcomed him into his home and treated him well. The unfortunate incident with the rude young man who’d turned him away was perhaps a simple misunderstanding.
However, as they set off from Thicketford Manor, Gabriel’s uncharacteristically stern demeanor confirmed Griff’s suspicions. His fellow earl suspected Arthur Coleman had returned from wherever he’d been hiding.
Gabriel Smith wasn’t a vindictive man but there was no hint of compassion in his steely gaze. If Arthur had indeed returned, he couldn’t expect forgiveness from Lord Farnworth.
Griff sympathized. He’d been apprised of the full details of Arthur’s crime and his flight to the Caribbean. If someone ever tried to kidnap a child of his…
The notion stirred pleasant memories of his tryst with Susan earlier in the day. The enticing prospect of filling her delectable body with his child was arousing. Who’d have thought it? The rakehell Griffith Halliwell eager to become a father!
“I’m sorry to drag you into this,” Gabriel said, jolting him out of his reverie. “It’s important there be a reputable witness to any conversation I might have with the baron.”
“Of course,” he replied, wondering if this was the right time to share his plans to marry Susan. They’d returned hand in hand from the dower house, a fact that must have reached Farnworth’s ears. “I suppose you’ve realized Susan and I plan to wed. I like Baron Whiteside and I pity his predicament, but family always comes first in my book.”
“I hope that’s true,” Gabriel replied, his tone holding a hint of warning. “I consider myself Lady Susan’s protector.”
“I would expect no less of you,” Griff replied. “However, that will be my role once we marry.”
Gabriel extended a hand as the carriage rolled to a halt. “Forgive me. I’m preoccupied. I wish you both every happiness. Now, let’s get this over with. I sent a footman ahead, so Bertrand knows we are coming.”
Griff accepted the gesture and they climbed out of the carriage.
Eavesdropping
His innards stillin turmoil after the encounter with the thugs from Manchester, Arthur scanned the servants’ entry at the rear of Withins Hall. His father had ordered him not to leave the house until things were sorted out with Farnworth. Thus, he could hardly enter the front foyer. The back door was actually more convenient, coming as he was from the far fields.
All in all, he was satisfied with his afternoon. Tillie had helped relieve some of the tedium. Small wonder the Watchman wanted her back. She’d be an asset to any brothel. He pitied the poor sods who paid prostitutes in some filthy back alley for what he enjoyed for free. Initially, he’d been angered to learn the toughs had watched but, on second thought, it was amusingly arousing to think they’d probably taken matters into their own hands.
Tillie wasn’t the brightest star in the universe—had she truly expected him to let her use his father’s telescope? Anyone with half a brain would realize he couldn’t take her back to Preston. He’d make his grand reappearance soon enough, once he’d convinced his father he was truly repentant.
Calmer now, he made his way stealthily through the servants’ quarters, which seemed to be deserted. He really needed a bath but, so far, only his immediate family and the snooty butler were aware of his homecoming, so he couldn’t summon scullery lads to fill the tub.
Resigned to climbing the back staircase that led from the foyer to the bedchambers, he paused, the hairs at his nape bristling when the rap of the front door knocker echoed through the house. Holding his breath, he gripped the rough wood of the rickety banister and listened. The butler allowed the visitors immediate entry. Evidently, they were expected. Arthur heard male voices and the sound of booted feet crossing the tiled floor to the drawing room. Then, his father’s voice. “Farnworth, Pendlebury, come in, come in. Brandy?”