Page 83 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

At length, he rose to put his hand to the mantel and considered the fire before him.

*

He suppressed his terror for his darling wife. He strode around the room, an animal in a cage.

Oh, yes, he had guards on her. Thank heavens, he had ordered them as soon as he and she had arrived in England.

But this was different.

This was dire.

This need to protect her was more vital.

Vaillancourt already sought Zephora for revenge over taking the first book. For this one, this most valuable one, the one whose decoding could destroy his network, the Frenchman would want blood. Death. Violent retribution.

Zeph came to him, her arms going around him and holding him tightly. “You are afraid for me.”

He spun to take her to him. “You do not fear him?”

“My dear man, I have been here in your care and in the Ashleys’, and nothing and no one has befallen me. Not even the meeting with Monsieur Tauzain.”

“Yes, Tauzain.”

“Who in the book is also Chaudry.” She gave a little shiver, adding her details.

“Chaudry! Tauzain! Who has disappeared. Who signed the lease on the house next to the Lenoirs as Mr. Chaudry, but who is—”

Zeph held up a finger. “Monsieur Paul Chaudry,” she said with delight at her own success at this decoding business.

Rafe choked out a laugh.

Zeph played with the ends of his cravat. “A man who happens to live in Deal, on Silver Street.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Two days later, Rafe led Zeph out to a newly rented—and unmarked—carriage. His plan was to take them to a remote house in Norfolk owned by Viv and Tate, Lord and Lady Appleby.

Zeph had objected to the move, but he would not change his mind.

“We will go by a circuitous route, north to the east, then west.”

He went on to say he had not only planned this out with the Applebys, but also with Carlisle, Halsey, and O’Neill, as well as Scarlett Hawthorne and all her agents.

“You will be so well protected, you need never fear.” She didn’t, because Rafe also told her that he had sent word to O’Neill, who had a few of his men haunting Silver Street in Deal. “We know not the number of the house, but we will find him.”

They climbed into the carriage and settled in for the ride. Lap covers and good whiskey added to her own good spirits, if not Rafe’s.

“What could go wrong?” she asked him, and got only a raising of his brows.

They were two hours out on the Great North Road when what went wrong had to do not with Faucon, but with the carriage.

“The wheel is broken, my lord,” their groom informed Rafe.

Snow had begun to fall, and the thin layer of it glazed over in the afternoon chill. What snow had lain on the ground from a storm days ago added to the problem.

“I will go into town,” the coachman said, “find a wheelwright, and bring him back with me.”

“Unhitch a horse and ride into this village.” Rafe consulted the map he’d brought with him and pointed to it. “Drinkwater. Bring back another carriage, no matter the size or condition. My wife and I will travel on. You will remain with the horses and carriage, then return to London after it is repaired.”