“Can you still see them?” she murmured.
“Aye,” he said. He flicked a startled gaze in her direction before returning to the street. “But hurry, Lydia.”
In answer, she snatched a straw hat from its place beneath the window, where it seemed to have been relegated as out of season. She ground it along the floor and then mashed it with her palm for good measure. The milliner behind her made an outraged sound, but she ignored him and shoved the hat down over Arthur’s brow.
It wasn’t enough. She turned frantically back to the window display and yanked at the wool draping. Roses flew everywhere in a shower of autumn-colored petals. A pear made of—she did not know what, something surprisingly springy—bounced off her boot. She pulled the draping free and wrapped it around Arthur’s neck like an overlong scarf.
He looked… original, at best. But his face was almost completely obscured by hat and scarf.
The milliner made another, louder sound.
“I do beg your pardon,” she squeaked. “Mourning! Quiteupsetting!” And then she grabbed Arthur by the arm and drew him out the open door.
“I’m a widow,” she hissed when they regained the street. “You’re my footman. Slump down a bit and walk two paces behind me, and—yes, that’s it.”
It was remarkable, how ruffled he managed to look with only his eyes and brows visible. He ducked his chin, pulled the hat further down, and—
Well, it wasn’t perfect, and she’d obviously gone mad in the head, because her woolen pelisse was hunter green, not black, as anyone with eyes could see. But she thought their identities would be disguised, so long as the Thibodeaux did not look at them too closely.
Arthur’s murmured words were quick. “They’ve turned just ahead. Two more streets and then to your left. Go as fast as you can without drawing attention.”
She picked up her pace and then suddenly he was behind her, his hand on her shoulder.
“Wait,” he said. “Your hair.”
She felt his hand brush the back of her neck and, despite herself, she shivered. He nudged a loose lock up under the netting, then tucked the veil more securely about her shoulders.
And then they were off again, chasing the Thibodeaux. She walked quickly round the corner he had indicated and spotted the couple up ahead. Two more turns and then Didier and Claudine slowed, heading for a public house.
“The stables.” Arthur’s voice was low behind her, and she nodded and made for the whitewashed mews behind the inn. Arthur kept close behind, and they slipped inside without catching the attention of any roving groom or stable hand.
Once inside the stables, Arthur pushed open the door to anempty stall and urged her into it, bringing his body to shelter hers in the shadows. She could smell the tang of horses and the sweet undercurrent of hay.
He lifted her veil, baring her face, and tucked the thin fabric past the brim of her bonnet. “Good Christ,” he whispered, “I’m not sure whether that was cunning or mad.”
She gave a strangled laugh, exhilaration like tiny bubbles bursting in her blood. “It worked,” she managed, not entirely certain whether she was assuring him or herself.
It had worked. She had not fallen apart in a moment of crisis.
“Aye.” His hand, which had come to rest on her shoulder, was a warm solid weight she could feel through her pelisse. “Aye, it worked. You’re clever as the devil, Lydia Hope-Wallace, and twice as brave.”
Brave. She had never considered herself so. But she could feel the earnest gravity of his gaze, the powerful pull of his perception of her.
Perhaps she had been brave. Perhaps she could believe it.
“We should search the carriages out back while they’re inside the public room,” he said.
She forced her brain to return to the situation at hand. “Yes,” she breathed. “Of course. If they left Kilbride House after we did, they can’t have been here long. Their luggage might still be in one of the hired hacks. Some letters, perhaps, or some other clue.”
“Aye—or one of the drivers may know where they’re headed next.”
“Do it,” she said. “I’m going to go find someone to carry a message back to Huw and Georgiana.”
His eyes looked darker in the shadows, the green a forest, the blue a deep still pond. “A message?”
“Yes.” She licked her lips and looked up at him. “To tell themto go on to London and speak to Jasper whilst you and I follow the Thibodeaux.”
His grip on her shoulder tightened. His face had gone taut as well, his expression pained. “If we’re right—if they’re the ones who searched your room and are connected to Davis—then it’s not safe for you to be here.” He hesitated, his gaze flickering to the window that revealed the line of coaches for hire behind the mews. “I should not do this. I should take you back to Huw.”
