Regency Masquerade by Joan Smith

Author:Joan Smith [Smith, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Regency Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1994-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

No one paid much attention to a youngster like Jonathon. He slipped away from the table and upstairs to tap on Hartly’s door. When there was no answer, he darted down to the taproom. Seeing no sign of Hartly, he headed for the front door with a wave to Bullion.

“Just going to see if Firefly is bedded down right and tight,” he said.

“That’s a fine bit o’ blood.” Bullion grinned. He believed in keeping his smart clients in curl.

Jonathon did go to the stable. He saw that Hartly’s curricle and carriage were both in place. The old jade Bullion had hired as a mount stood in her stall, so wherever Hartly was, he must be close by, for he was on foot.

His next destination was the estuary. The weather conspired to lend his search the whiff of danger. A pale sliver of moon shone in a charcoal sky. Ragged clouds hid the glory of the stars. Mist lay low on the ground and over the dark water, which lapped menacingly against the shore. Three fishing smacks were at anchor, but no ships moved through the mist.

The moisture-laden air felt soft as a woman’s fingers against his skin. Jonathon peered along the shoreline but could see no sign of his quarry. Remembering that a ship had docked behind the inn the night before, he worked his way around to the back. His black slippers moved noiselessly over the soft ground.

The rear of the inn was a jumble of crates and boxes, of dustbins and cast-off lumber. Hartly, or worse—a Gentleman—could be concealed behind any one of them. Jonathon had heard tales of the vicious stunts employed by the Gentlemen in the last century. Stuffed anyone who interfered with them down a rabbit hole headfirst and locked him in with a forked branch between his legs. Even a slit throat was not beyond them. His heart hammered with excitement as he peered around the various mounds of refuse.

He was about to advance when he thought of a better idea. It would be possible to see the rear of the inn from the inside, through the kitchen window. He would go and compliment the foul-tempered Cook, tell her how much he had enjoyed her lobster patties. With this plan to save face, he darted around to the front again.

As he hastened along, he noticed a ladder leaning against the wall. Surely that had not been there when he passed the first time, or he would have noticed it. He glanced up and saw it went to one of the windows. He had caught a thief red-handed! Before he went hollering for help, he stopped a moment to consider which room the ladder was at. It was not his or Moira’s, at least.

Theirs were on the other side. This would be either Hartly’s, Stanby’s, or Ponsonby’s. It was the window closest to the rear. Jonathon felt a certain sympathy for anyone preying on Stanby. He would not like to land a poor farmer in jail for lifting that bleater’s tiepin.

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