they were going to meet Vincent.
But why were they proceeding in this clandestine fashion?
For that matter, was she wise to cast her whole dependence on Vincent as she had been doing? She had hardly proved herself a good judge of character in the past, she thought wryly. Diana had never quite understood Lonsdale’s motives in removing her from her home so precipitately. She began to wish herself back in the safety of the Litton town house—or even her own former quarters.
She wanted to seize her children and bolt.
But that represented no more safety than her present destination.
Whatever it might be.
No, for now she must trust, warily perhaps, but trust in someone. Not far ahead, tucked up against the mews, the outline of a dark coach loaded with trunks emerged from the gloom. The coachman in his powdered wig and top hat slumped on the box as if dozing. At the sound of their approach he sat up and peered down at them. Lord Litton opened the door and lifted Selena onto the seat. She murmured a drowsy protest before curling up and again sinking into slumber. He then took Bytham from Diana so that she could enter. For a moment she hesitated, afraid to let the children be separated, even for a moment.
Apparently sensing her uncertainty, he stepped in front of her and placed the boy on the other seat, then turned to help her, patting her gently on the shoulder. “Do not be afraid, my lady. All will be well.”
Diana nodded mutely and settled herself beside Selena. She felt the carriage rock as Throckmorton climbed onto the box and the lamps flickered into light. A moment later the coachman startled her by climbing inside. Before she could question this unorthodox procedure, he shrugged out of his greatcoat and tossed his wig aside.
“Vincent!”
He grinned his crooked grin. “Just so.”
“But why this masquerade?”
“For your safety. And mine. There are reasons you needn’t…” He glanced out the window as the coach lurched forward. “I don’t want us to be followed.”
The carriage rounded a corner and set off at a brisk trot. “Is Throckmorton driving? He is coming with us?”
“Aye.” A crease formed between his black brows. “It seems so. Litton insisted I bring him. Throckmorton has been in his employ for several years. Litton says he is reliable and very…useful.”
“But you do not sound as though you are pleased.”
“I don’t know him well enough.”
“Do you not trust him?”
He gave her an appraising look and replied gravely, “I don’t trust anyone.”
In fact, Vincent had no real reason not to trust the redoubtable Throckmorton. He just found it healthier to be wary of all comers. But he had to admit that the reinforcement represented by the footman might prove invaluable if it came to a fight.
He only wished he could completely trust Diana.
She was obviously holding something back whenever he asked about possible enemies. But what? He sat opposite her in the coach with the boy sleeping beside him on the seat. Diana leaned wearily in the corner with Selena’s head on her lap. Vincent hated the dark bruise on her cheek. In a few hours he would see that she had a chance to rest.
She sighed and looked at him. “Where are we going, my lord?”
“To Inglewood, eventually, but I do not want to go directly. I’m sure that whoever is harrying you will look for us there sooner or later, but I hope to delay their finding us until I am ready for them. It will be easier to protect you there than it is in London—and much easier than to do so on the road. When they find us, we will know who they are.”
Diana pressed a closed hand against her mouth. “Why, Vincent? Why are they doing this? Why would anyone take my children?”
“I am not perfectly sure, but, as Litton said, it must be that they desire a way of controlling you.” He studied her expression intently. “What do you know, Diana? And whom would it harm?”
“I don’t know!” Her voice rose on a hint of impending panic. “It must be something someone thinks Wyn told me, but we did not spend much time together. He was always very…busy.”
Vincent nodded. Certainly her husband had neglected her. But that did not mean the garrulous rascal never talked to her. “He is bound to have said something. Some reference to some group of people perhaps?”
She stared thoughtfully out the window for several heartbeats. “I cannot think… Well, yes. He once or twice said something about ‘St. Edmunds’s people,’ as though I would know who he meant, but I don’t. Except for his lordship, of course.”
“Did he ever mention Lord or Lady Holland?”
“Well, yes. We used to be invited to their home, and Wyn would go. I—I had stopped going into society. I could not afford…” He could not see the embarrassed flush in the dark, but he could hear it in her voice. “Why are you asking about them?”
“They are admirers of Bonaparte. There are some English folk who would like to see him replace the Bourbon king.”
Diana shook her head. “Who replaced him only months ago? Can no one ever be satisfied? How many English lives were lost fighting him?”
“Far too many, and if any attempt to restore him is made, there will be many, many more.”
Diana glanced down at her daughter and smoothed the pale hair spread across her lap. “I would that my children might grow up in a peaceful world. I cannot bear the thought that one day Bytham might have to go as a soldier.”
“If I have anything to say in the matter, at least he will not have to fight Bonaparte.” Vincent leaned forward and peered out the window into the dark. “I need to be able to see. Excuse me.”
Before she could ask him questions he wished to avoid, he pounded on the roof of the carriage. It came to a jolting halt and he donned his wig and coat and got out and climbed onto the box with Throckmorton. At least here he would not be so painfully aware of her presence as in the close confines of the carriage. Would not have to inhale her subtle fragrance. Not have to fight the impulse to touch her, to take her in his arms and devour her soft mouth.
They rumbled along at the best speed they could in the darkness for several hours. Vincent was obliged to look sharp to make out landmarks in the gloom. At last he signaled Throckmorton to pull up.
“How far are we from the Ashwell fork, do you think?” he asked of his new bodyguard.
“I dunno, me lord. It’s been dunnamany years since I come this way.” The big man shoved his white wig aside to scratch his brown-haired pate. “But we ain’t come to the Ivel bridge yet. We can turn just past that, but I’m thinking Ashwell’s out of our way if you purpose going to Yorkshire.”
“We’ll get to Yorkshire.” Vincent nodded. “Continue.”
Throckmorton gave the horses the office to start, and a mile or two later the wheels clattered across the bridge.
