William hunkered beside him, their knees crammed together in the small space. He sucked in air that reeked of grease and musty clothes. “Who paid you to do this?”
“What I gots paid for, I ain’t done.” The jarvey reached into a pocket, jangled coins in his hand. “Some bloke paid me near a pound to tell him where you go off to every day and what room you be staying in at the inn.”
“You told him?”
“The room, I did. Bloke could’ve figured that out by asking anyone.”
“And the other?”
A chortle rumbled out. “Cribbons Tavern, I told him, where you get foxed every day. I never said a word ’bout that fancy townhouse wot belongs to the viscount.”
A breath eased out. “Thank you. I shall pay for your secrecy.”
“No need. Like I said, you have me saintly wife to thank for this, ’cause every time I do some unchristian deed, she knows it right off and hauls me straight for the clergyman. Taxes a man’s patience, that does. Best off just to save a man’s life than deal with all the confession and repenting I gots to do.”
“Who was the man?”
“Never said his name.”
“Did he mention anything else?” William’s fingers tightened around the edges of the seats. “Any reason why he should want me dead?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No.”
“I was pondering all day what it could be. Figured you must o’ ran off with his wife or took his gingerbread or something. Whatever it was, good thing I stopped you from going in that room tonight.”
“He was waiting for me.”
“Saw him going up the steps meself.”
“I cannot go back there.”
“That’s sure as the clergyman’s Bible.” The jarvey leaned up long enough to glance out the windows, even though it was too black to see if someone had been lurking. “There’s a woman I know, kind o’ stricken in years and cranky, but she lets a room or two for lodgings sometimes, and if I bring you there tonight, like as not she’ll keep you.”
William pulled himself back to the seat. “I would be obliged.”
“It’s nothing too fancy, but you’d be hidden well. Best too you find yourself another hackney from now on, case I’m followed.” The man eased open the carriage door, waited, then jumped outside. “I’ll be driving fast tonight, so hold on.” He tossed something to William’s lap. “And here’s that. You’ll be needing it.”
Leaning back into the seat, William tightened both hands around the gun. A sickening anger curled through him, but he tried to push it away.
He was alive. He was escaping.
But he was no closer to knowing who wanted him dead. That thought gnawed at him deeper than his fear.
The chalk dust art on the ballroom floor had long since been destroyed by lively dancers.
Tapping her foot to the Scotch reel, Isabella reached for an iced punch from a servant’s silver tray. The cool, fruity liquid chased away the stifling warmth from a room full of fifty guests and an hour of dancing.
The small pleasure dissipated, as thoughts of her own guest from this evening resurfaced. Why had Mr. Kensley departed so abruptly? Without a word to her even? Had he not enjoyed himself at all?
The punch swirled in her stomach. Of course he had not. They had badgered him—and even Miss Kettlewell, who had been oblivious to their plan, had thrown him one question after another.
All of which he seemed loath to answer. Why?
Ah, mercy. She must stop this at once. She had done her best to assuage her curiosity, had failed, and now must accept that she could do nothing more. She was only sorry Mr. Kensley, at the end of her little scheme, had been so uncomfortable as to leave her dinner party without a goodbye to anyone.
She was ashamed of herself.
