Page 34 of Unmasking the Earl

As another lurch of the coach forced bile into her throat again, Cassie asked herself why in blazes she had embarked on this questionable adventure. The recent rain had made craters of the roads and mudslides of the verges. Now these were drying out and hardening to uneven surfaces so that every jolt of the wheels whisked her stomach up like someone making a meringue.

She was perched uncomfortably between an elderly farmer who smelled of sheep and a parson who smelled of brandy and mildew. Trying to keep from joggling against their unattractive frames took much concentration, and she thoroughly envied Ella riding up on the box, enjoying the elbow room and the fresh spring air.

She picked at a loose thread on her glove and reminded herself this visit had to be made. It was too risky to let Ned deal with this business of Wycherley by himself. Ned had a fiery temperament and was apt to turn angry at the smallest infraction. If all his dire suppositions proved correct, he was going to make sure Wycherley was finished.

Yes, it would be truly despicable if the captain had sent an innocent young woman into hiding because he had—possibly—got her with child and refused her marriage. But did he deserve the awful punishment the earl was likely to deal him? What if Ned killed him, even accidentally? It would be a terrible waste of two lives.

Hopefully, if Ned found Georgiana in Aston Tankerville, Wycherley wouldn’t be with her. But either way, Cassie needed to warn the captain that the Earl of Stranraer was getting close to the truth about his sister and was out for blood.

Was Wycherley really such a terrible man? Despite his allegedly dissipated lifestyle, he ran a tidy household, had been accepted into respectable clubs, and numbered many peers amongst his acquaintance. He enjoyed culture, poetry, and the pursuit of knowledge. And he was so very good-looking. Not striking like Ned, or handsome like Julian, but she’d hate to see his nose broken by the irate earl’s iron fist, or see his bright eyes bruised and blackened from an assault by that angry bear of a man.

Admittedly, she had also hastened to Aston to assuage her own guilt. If Ned killed or maimed Wycherley, it would be entirely her fault. It was she who’d discovered the inscription and told Ned where Aston was located. How could she ever forgive herself if either gentleman were to harm the other?

The creaking of the coach abated, and the ringing sound of horse’s hooves on cobblestones reached her ears. The coachman’s horn blared out, and there was a significant easing of tension amongst the passengers. They had reached the next stop and could look forward to a stretch and refreshments.

“Aston!” called the driver. “We stop for half an hour, exactly, to change horses. You’ll find a ready welcome at the Rose and Crown.”

The coach rocked as it gradually emptied of its passengers. Cassie finally emerged from the crush of the interior, feeling like a butterfly freed from its chrysalis.

A brightly trimmed bonnet atop a mass of curls bobbed up and down amidst the general melee of people on the green before the inn.

“Cassie! Over here!” cried its wearer.

Cassie hurried to her friend and embraced her happily, noting with pleasure how well she looked. After arranging for Cassie’s bag to be delivered, they strolled arm in arm to Portia’s whitewashed cottage situated close to the center of the village.

“I’m so glad you came to see me!” enthused Portia as she ushered Cassie into her small parlor, which looked out across the village green. “At last a break in the boredom. How I long for something exciting, like a goose fair with games, a traveling lantern show, or a tethered air balloon. You’re so lucky to be able to walk into Oxford whenever you want.”

Cassie gratefully received a cup of tea. “Then you must come and stay with me one day soon. But let me tell you,” she added, feeling the hairs stand up on the back of her neck, “excitement may have already come to Aston.”

Portia’s eyes sparkled. “Pray do tell.”

“I can’t reveal all, as I’ve promised not to. But I’ve come here in hope of saving someone’s life. And someone else’s honor.”

Portia clapped her hands. “An adventure with very high stakes! Please tell me it’s not going to be dangerous!”

“Don’t worry. I think I can prevail.”

Ned liked her. Cassie knew he’d never hurt her. But she wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t follow through on his threats to seriously injure Captain Wycherley. She prayed she could make Ned listen to reason, but her own safety was the last thing she was worried about. No, it was another thing entirely…

“Have any people of note come to the village recently?” she asked. “A powerfully built gentleman in the last couple of days? Or a lady, about six months ago? Or even a man who looks like an angel with golden hair?”

Portia leaned forward excitedly. “What interesting people you seem to have been consorting with! But none of them sound like your beloved Mr. Carnforth. Is he excluded from this adventure?”

Cassie sat back abruptly at the reminder. “It’s best he knows nothing about it.”

Portia’s eyes widened. “Two gentlemen involved, neither of whom is Julian. How very intriguing!”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” Cassie said quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly, for Portia’s gaze sharpened. She would not blush, Cassie told herself firmly. Ned—Lord Stranraer—meant nothing to her. His kisses had just been…briefly distracting. And she would not allow him to take such liberties again.

She loved no one but Julian. And that was that.

“So, how would I know this powerfully built gentleman?” Portia asked. “Apart from that description?”

“He looks like Hercules. Or how I imagine Hercules might look. A tower of strength, sinew, and muscle…” Cassie broke off and gazed out the window, an image of his handsome face in front of her, remembering the searing heat of his last kiss. Her breath condensed in a cloud of hot mist on the window pane.

“Go on,” her friend prompted gently. “Does this demigod have a name?”

Cassie forced herself back to the present. “I’m not at liberty to say.”