The Naturalist’s Daughter by Tea Cooper

Author:Tea Cooper
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises (Australia) Pty Ltd.
Published: 2019-02-11T00:00:00+00:00

Finneas strode down the aisle between the rows of outraged men surging towards Rose. She stood clutching the sketchbook to her as a kind of talisman in the maelstrom of madness that surrounded her. He’d let her down by suggesting the secretary should speak for her. He should have offered to do it himself; he should have protected her, should have insisted.

Rose took two steps back and opened her mouth again.

Finneas reached her side before she could utter a sound. ‘We have to leave now.’

Rose huffed, holding on to the sketchbook as though her life depended on it. ‘They are nothing more than a bunch of lily-livered, addle-headed, self-opinionated jackasses.’

‘Come on.’ Swallowing the urge to applaud her assessment of the assembled crowd he tugged at her arm.

She wriggled from his grasp. ‘Not without my mallangong.’

‘I’ll get that.’ Julian sprang to life with more enthusiasm and dedication than he’d displayed since Rose had arrived, and snatched the animal from the table, tucking it under his arm.

‘This way.’ Finneas grabbed Rose’s hand and towed her through the door into the anteroom where he opened another door leading to the street and they eased out, closing it behind them.

Julian stood for a moment looking up and down. ‘This way around the corner and down towards the river.’

With Rose’s warm hand firmly clasped in his, Finneas led her into the courtyard and through the gates. As they rounded the corner the door opened and the members poured out of the meeting room laughing and carrying on. The word ‘hoax’ floated in the night air and he tugged Rose in the opposite direction. She didn’t need to hear their insults again.

An unruly mob of bystanders lurking beside the river took up the cry like hunting dogs picking up the scent.

‘Come on. Give me the sketchbook. We’ll have to run.’ Finneas snatched it from her and thrust it under his arm and took off. Casting a look over his shoulder he caught Rose’s enigmatic glance, and before he was aware she had sprinted into the lead, her skirt lifted high revealing her clodhopping boots.

‘We’re going to have to split up. They’re onto us.’ Julian voice came in broken gasps, the mallangong still tucked under his arm. ‘I’ll see you at Grosvenor Square.’

Finneas grabbed Rose’s arm and dragged her into one of the narrow cobbled alleyways running behind the houses. ‘We’ll go the other way. Put them off, make it more difficult.’

The drumming of feet gradually subsided and Finneas came to a halt, bending double, hands on his knees.

Rose turned back to him. ‘Where are we?’

‘The Mews—the stables and carriages—they run behind most of the houses.’ He rested his back against the wall, his chest heaving. ‘You’re hardly even panting.’ Whereas he was bent double.

‘The advantage of never having owned a carriage. I’ve probably run more miles than you’ve had hot dinners.’

He grasped her wrist. ‘Your pulse is barely elevated.’

‘Let’s go then. Can you manage?’

Could he manage? ‘Slower this time I think. We’ll stick to the Mews.’

They

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