Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise Allen
down from the carriage. The moment’s inattention was almost fatal, the kerb tripped her and she fell headlong, only to be caught up by a tall buck.
‘Well, damme, but here’s a pretty thing to have fall into my arms!’ His long fingers slid under her chin. ‘Let me look at you, sweetheart.’
‘No!’ Lily tore herself free and ran on, looking for a hiding place. The fog swirled as a door swung open and she glimpsed an interior as vivid and unreal as a stage setting: Hatchett’s Coffee House, the sign said. Sanctuary.
The tall man in the corner booth at the back of Hatchett’s leaned forward, watching the door for long minutes after it closed, his face as expressionless as when he had shaken hands and said goodnight to his companion. Then he sat back abruptly and rubbed both hands over his face, as though to scrub away the evening’s effort at diplomacy and persuasion. The wasted effort.
What did that leave now Hotchkinson had proved unwilling? He flicked through the notebook on the table beside him. A few more introductions to take up, one or two ideas still to be tried, before his money ran out and he had to return home. One hundred pounds he had allowed himself for this London venture, budgeting it as carefully as a prudent young lady making her come-out might. His expenditure was far more prosaic, but his aim was the same as hers: to catch a rich man. Only he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that what he had to offer was much less attractive.
He clicked his fingers at the waiter and ordered the house ordinary. There were cheaper eating houses; his choice of this one had been a futile attempt to impress Hotchkinson, but now he was here he would indulge himself for once. When the man came with the food and a tankard of porter, he asked for paper and ink. This warm, noisy space was a more pleasant place to spend the evening than his room at the Green Dragon off Compton Street.
The man forked some braised gammon and greens into his mouth, then pulled forward his notebook and began to draft.
Persons desirous of investing … No, too wordy. An attractive investment … Only it was apparently unfashionably unattractive. If he was promoting a canal now, that would be another matter altogether.
He paused to tear off a hunk of bread and to glance at the advertisements in that day’s Morning Chronicle for inspiration.
… will provide the fullest particulars at the sign of the Green Dragon …
And if this did not work? How much longer could he afford to stay in London? He flicked to the back of the book and did some rapid calculations—he would have to budget carefully unless he was prepared to travel home in the basket of the stage.
The door opened again, slamming back against a settle and sending a swirl of damp air into the warm room. He glanced up, along with most of the men in the room, then slowly lowered his quill. The person who stumbled in was not, as one might have expected, someone slightly the worse for wear, looking for a strong cup of coffee, or a meal to sober himself up.
The young woman who half-fell into the room, pushing the door shut behind her and leaning back against it, was no street walker. She was not even one of the expensive barques of frailty who flaunted themselves amongst the fashionable crowd like so many moths seeking nectar. This was a lady, as incongruous and as flustered as if she had been picked up by a whirlwind off the dance floor at Almack’s and dropped into the midst of this coffee house.
She had no cloak over her gown which was, even to his eye, in the extreme height of fashion. Diamonds dripped from her ears and flashed across her bosom with the unmistakable watery fire of the real thing. Her rich auburn hair was elaborately dressed and pinned with yet more gems. He corrected his initial fancy—not so much Almack’s, she seemed to have been snatched from the floor of Carlton House itself. He half-expected Prinny to stumble in after her. The other occupants of the coffee house just gawped at the vision, transfixed.
The lady stared around, green eyes wide, looked at him— and he found he was on his feet. Her dress was torn, her hair was coming down; she was in trouble. He took a step forward and she held out a hand. ‘Please, sir, I beg you, hide me.’
Chapter Two
Why she should turn to this one man, Lily did not know, except that he was so big she felt instinctively that she would be safe with him. When he stood, and she saw his decent, unfashionable suit moulding broad shoulders, his gaze steady on her, his shock of dark hair which was so badly in need of trimming he had tied it back, she could have wept with relief at the contrast with Adrian.
‘Please, sir, please hide me, Ad … he is following me.’ His gaze flickered to the neck of her gown and his lips tightened. ‘He hurt you.’ It was a statement and he held out his hand. ‘Here. To me.’ Lily let herself be pulled down on the seat next to him, sheltered by the broad cheek of the settle. The man stayed on his feet, his eyes sweeping the crowded coffee house and the fascinated customers. ‘No one has come in here these five minutes past,’ he said, his voice carrying across the room with no apparent effort. ‘This lady is not here.’
People turned away, conversation picked up, the scene began to animate again and Lily let out a little sobbing breath. ‘Thank you sir—’
‘Get down.’ His hand on her shoulder pressed her inexorably towards the floor as the door flung open again. Lily slid without grace between settle and table and found herself curled up tight against her rescuer’s leg. There was barely room. She wrapped her arms around his calf and pressed her cheek to his knee. From her hiding place she could see Adrian’s feet, his striped silk stockings, the hem of his cloak, nothing else. The room had fallen silent again, so quiet that the clatter of crockery and the raised voices from the kitchen could be heard clearly.
‘A lady came in here not a moment since. Where did she go?’ Lord Randall’s voice was languid, arrogant—and under it Lily could detect seething rage.
She stirred, trapped, convinced that every finger in the room was pointing at the table she hid under. A big hand settled on her head and stroked as though it was reassuring a nervous cat.
‘No gentry mort’s come in here, sir.’ The waiter sounded bored, as if he thought Adrian was yet another half-cut young buck out on the town. ‘And we don’t let no other kind of woman in either, should that be what you’re looking for, sir. Gentlemen only, this place. If you want the other, then there’s a place down the road I can—’
‘No, I am not looking for a harlot, damn your impudence. Come along, someone must have seen her.’ The tone was demanding and patronising. Without being able to see a single face, Lily could sense the antagonism of the patrons—Adrian could have chased Napoleon Bonaparte into Hatchett’s and they would have refused to hand him over to this lordling.
‘Reckon you must be mistaken, sir,’ a voice said, full of mock-civility. ‘Lady’s given you the slip by the look of it.’
The door slammed behind Adrian, but the derisive cackle of laughter would have reached his ears, Lily thought with satisfaction. She tried to wriggle out, but the gentle hand held her down. ‘Not yet, just in case.’
‘Unlicked cub,’ an elderly man at the next table observed. ‘You can let her up now, sir, he’s gone.’
Lily emerged and smiled shyly round at the interested faces. ‘Thank you.’ She received a few grins and nods, then the patrons went back to their own business. The entertainment was over.
The waiter came across, lifted the empty plates and whisked a cloth over the table. ‘A cup of coffee, miss? Or chocolate?’
‘Chocolate, please. Oh, I have no money.’ She began to tug a ring off her little finger. ‘If I leave this and send a footman in the morning, would that be all right?’
Long fingers closed over her hand. ‘Put it on my reckoning. And here, that’s for your acting.’ A coin changed hands.
Lily turned to her rescuer and pushed her hair back from her face. ‘Thank you, sir, I do not know what I would have done if you had not hidden me.’
His