The Impostor Prince. Tanya Crosby Anne
never say such things to Ben, were Ben in her position. And God forbid that he should ever have parted his lips to second-guess her father.
“I cannot fathom how Lord Huntington could think to direct you to such an unhealthy address. Not only is that place unseemly, it is unheard of—”
“Really, Jasper,” she interrupted. “You have nothing to be concerned about.” She lifted a brow. “As you can plainly see, I am in disguise.”
The steward scrunched his nose as he examined her dress. “As what, madam?”
Claire thought it rather apparent. “As an honest but poor working woman,” she replied reasonably, and gestured down at the plain brown, threadbare dress and weathered black boots she’d discovered in the servants’ quarters.
“But, madam, surely you do not wish to be confused with the working women of that quarter?”
Claire had to think about his question an instant, and then her eyes widened as she caught his meaning. That wasn’t at all her intent! “You don’t mean…?”
His cheeks stained red. “Not that!” the steward exclaimed, realizing now that he had insulted her.
That was thrice her honor had been questioned in the past twenty-four hours!
She seized her reticule from the foyer table, then reconsidered the wisdom of carrying a purse with her at all. It certainly didn’t do much for her disguise. Poor women didn’t carry purses, did they? Frowning, she set it down again.
“You simply don’t belong there,” Jasper persisted.
Claire refrained from telling him that it wasn’t the first time she’d visited the rookeries. Her hands flew to her hips. “What would you have me do instead, Jasper?”
No one would simply hand over the amount of cash she required. She didn’t have any favors to call in, and she didn’t have much left of value to sell—nothing but her body, and she hardly relished the thought of lying with Lord Huntington.
And it wouldn’t do much good to offer anyone else the house. Lord Huntington had made it perfectly clear no one would deal with her simply because she was a woman.
She eyed the reticule, wondering how Cameron would know who she was if she hadn’t any proof. Besides, as sad as it might be, she planned to offer him the set of silverware for his services. She picked up the reticule again and opened it, revealing a calling card and a butter knife. She had considered carrying a spoon as an example of what she was offering as payment, but the knife would serve a dual purpose. She withdrew the calling card, tapped it against her chin as she considered it and then shoved it back into the purse. Anyone could print a carte de visite.
Ignoring Jasper as he babbled on, she considered her locket as proof instead. She put down the purse and removed the necklace from her neck, then opened the locket and examined the miniature of her mother, reading the inscription although she knew it by rote: To my darling daughter, Claire. Tears pricked at her lids and she closed the locket again, shoving it into the purse, not wanting anyone to see it.
The locket would do. She and her mother bore a striking resemblance and the inscription was clearly written to Claire. She would carry the purse, she decided. It was plain enough.
That decided upon once and for all, she turned her attention to her querulous servant. “I appreciate very much that you are concerned,” she said, “but please remove yourself from the door at once.”
“Madam!” Jasper continued to protest.
“Jasper, this behavior is entirely inappropriate,” she advised him. “You are not my father. I am the mistress of this house and you are to do as you are told. Now, please remove yourself.”
“Yes, madam,” he relented, looking properly chastised, though he still seemed unwilling to budge. “What will you do if someone gives chase?”
The answer was quite obvious, Claire thought. “Run, of course.”
The note of alarm in his voice escalated in response to her calm, rational reply. “What if they should try to snatch you?” he persisted.
“I shall scream,” she answered without hesitation and with entirely more confidence than she felt.
He was certainly succeeding in his attempt to unnerve her.
“But, my lady, what if they should cover your mouth?”
Claire’s brows drew together. “Then, I suppose I will be forced to bite them,” she replied, though, in truth, she’d never, before this instant, even considered committing such a crude act upon any human being.
She had not even considered it at five years of age, when Ben had snatched her braids and pulled her, screaming and kicking away from the stables where she’d hidden away to watch the birth of their new foal. Ben had insisted it was unseemly for a girl to watch such a crude act of nature, and threatened to tell their father if she didn’t come away from the stable at once. Claire had refused and he had dragged her willy-nilly away.
“But, madam, please…what if they catch you unaware?”
Claire tried to skirt around him in an attempt to reach the door. “Jasper, I am venturing into a very unsavory area. I assure you I will not, for a single instant, be caught unaware.”
The old servant sighed, realizing at last that Claire was unwavering in her decision.
He should have realized sooner.
When her mind was made up, she wasn’t likely to change it. How many times had Ben called her stubborn, and how many times had her father merely laughed at the accusation? It might not be her most endearing trait, but her father had often told her, with a hint of admiration, that he felt sorry for any man who thought to take her reins.
“At the very least, allow me to drive you,” the servant offered.
Claire shook her head. “No, that won’t do. The coach is in shambles,” she reminded him. “And besides, you can’t see well enough to drive. I shall do well enough on my own, thank you very much!”
It wasn’t her habit to point out a man’s handicaps, but this might well be a matter of life and death. The last thing Claire needed was to have an old man hobbling after her while she was running for her life. It was enough she was putting herself at risk.
“Very well,” Jasper relented. “But if you must go, let me tell you something about a man’s greatest vulnerability.”
Despite the fact that there was no one about to hear what he had to say, Jasper leaned forward to whisper in her ear.
Claire felt her face burn as he proceeded to explain where best to strike a man.
She gasped in surprise. It seemed the southern-most region of a man’s…territory…could be quite delicate.
When Jasper straightened, color bloomed in the old man’s cheeks. He couldn’t quite look at her and for that Claire was grateful. “A swift lift of the knee should do it,” he said, as he moved away from the door.
“Thank you,” Claire replied. “I shall remember that.”
“God be with you, madam.”
Ian didn’t fool himself. Merrick was certain to return, and it was inevitable he would be discovered. Until then, he intended to make good use of the time Ryo had offered him.
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