Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

affianced bride of the hero of Quatre Bras, the most eligible, sought-after bachelor in all of England. If anyone should be considering hating someone, Daniella, I think that anyone should be me.”

      Dany’s smile hurt, totally forced. “And he’s going to retrieve your letters and Oliver will never be any the wiser. You believe that, don’t you?”

      “I have to believe that, yes. If not, my life is completely and utterly over.”

      Thank you, Mari. That added another row to the pile of bricks on my shoulders.

      “Have you heard from the earl?”

      Mari shook her head. “No, nothing since his last missive, telling me that he’d be home within a fortnight. And that was three days ago. That’s enough time, isn’t it? You must tell me that’s enough time.”

      Dany crossed her fingers in her lap. “I told you. The blackmailer’s note was quite specific. He will contact you another way rather than the knothole. He will arrange to return your letters on trust, and then your chosen emissary will hand over his letters at a designated place and time because he fully understands you have no more funds available, as you explained so eloquently in your note, and has accepted the garnets as payment in full.”

      So I can be assured the letters will be tossed in the fire, and not saved as some sort of romantical keepsake, only to be found someday and stir up a mess all over again. Because yes, sister mine, much as I love you, there are times you can be thick as a plank.

      “He’s being very nice, isn’t he, in the circumstances?”

      Like now.

      Dany’s eyes crossed, but she quickly agreed. “Your blackmailer is best of good fellows, definitely. Very nearly a gentleman.”

      Mari’s chin went up. “Now you’re being facetious. I know he’s an odiously bad man, but he could have been worse, couldn’t he?”

      “Oh, yes, he could have written a chapbook about you.”

      Mari shivered. “A chapbook? Now why would you say anything so silly as that?”

      Because I also can be a fool, with a very large mouth. “Oh, no reason. I think I heard one of the footmen open the door. Yes, I’m certain I did.” She gathered up her reticule and gloves and headed for the landing leading down to the foyer. “Ta-ta, Mari. I’m off to Bond Street, to bankrupt the baron.”

      Coop had just stepped into the foyer when she came charging toward him. “I talk too much,” she said, brushing past him. “Let’s go.”

      He replaced the curly brimmed beaver he’d barely had time to tip in her direction, and followed her. “Am I allowed to agree, or would I be safer with a simple ‘Good morning, my dear’?”

      She stopped on the flagway, looking at the town coach. “What on earth? It’s not raining. It’s sunny and pleasant, even a bit warm. Why are we riding in that contraption? Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

      Coop put his hand beneath her elbow, and she studiously ignored the rather pleasant frisson that impersonal touch caused. “Sharp as a tack this morning, aren’t you? Yes, that’s it entirely.”

      “Oh, it is not. There’s someone else inside the coach, isn’t there? Don’t tell me it’s the viscount. I may not know him above a day, but I am fairly certain he hasn’t yet left his bed.”

      “Or not yet reached it. I chose the privacy of the closed coach because we may be traveling together but we won’t be arriving in Bond Street at the same time. We’ll meet by accident.”

      “Then you do have a plan. Thank goodness one of us does.”

      “It’s not brilliant, but it is a plan, yes. Now come along, I want to introduce you to my friends and allies.”

      “Does that make them my allies, as well?”

      “I wasn’t aware you needed allies.”

      “I’m with you, aren’t I? I should think it wouldn’t come amiss if I had an entire army behind me.”

      “I can see this is going to be a pleasant morning.”

      “Perhaps if I had been able to sleep after realizing Mari’s now in twice the trouble she was before I was so fortunate as to find her a hero, I might be more pleasant.”

      Why couldn’t she stop talking? Really, the baron would be doing her a courtesy if he stuck a handkerchief in her mouth.

      “I warned you I was no hero. Just get inside while I explain to myself why I persist in enjoying your company as much as I apparently do,” Coop said as the groom let down the steps.

      “You enjoy my company? Really?”

      Yes, there it was, her heart once again going pitter-pat.

      “Why look so shocked, Miss Foster? Or does that bother you as much as it does me? Now, please, we shouldn’t keep the others waiting.”

      Since she was left with no other sensible choice—and told herself that was the only reason she was obeying him—Dany stepped up and pulled herself inside the coach, aiming for the empty forward-facing seat as Coop joined her and the coach moved off into the square.

      Sitting on the facing seat was a pair of exquisitely dressed creatures, both of them grinning at her as if either she or they were the resident village idiots.

      “Oh, Coop, she’s beautiful!” exclaimed the dimpled young blonde in the bordering-on-outrageous bright pink redingote and high-crowned straw bonnet adorned with red cherries and a sprinkling of what most resembled sugared gumdrops, and tied with a wide green grosgrain ribbon that nearly obliterated her neck. Her voice was slightly high, but adorable in its honey-dripping drawl that clearly stamped her as not being English born. “You didn’t tell me she was beautiful, Jerry.” She gave her companion’s forearm a quick, light slap. “Details, my love. It’s as the duchess says, if you’re going to be of any use to us, you must remember the details.”

      “Yes, Clarice,” the sweet-looking cherub of a man apologized. This must be Jeremiah Rigby, Baronet, the friend Coop had mentioned yesterday. Now here was a redhead who’d wandered too close to the carrot patch. Its color clashed badly with his heated blush. “But I did tell you about the hair, right?”

      The woman he’d addressed as Clarice leaned over and planted a kiss on the cherub’s cheek. “You did, indeed, precious peach.” She turned her attention to Dany, who had just then been looking at Coop, hoping for some sort of explanation that clearly wasn’t coming. “Hello, Miss Foster. I’m Clarice Goodfellow, late of the Fairfax County Virginia Goodfellows and soon to be Lady Clarice Goodfellow Rigby. That’s my Jerry here,” she said, hooking a thumb toward her betrothed. “Isn’t he just the most handsome thing you’ve ever seen? Well, yes, of course he is. Say hello, Jerry.”

      “Miss Foster,” Rigby somehow managed to choke out, tipping his hat. “Pardon me for not rising. It is my honor to meet you.” He then looked at Cooper in some desperation.

      “Sir Jerr—Sir Jeremiah,” Dany answered, momentarily wondering if she should put out her hand for him to bow over, but then quickly deciding the man had enough on his plate without attempting such a maneuver in a moving coach. “Miss Goodfellow. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

      Clarice put up her gloved hands, as if framing the last moments for posterity. “There, you see? That wasn’t so terrible, was it? Introductions are so full of stuffy rules in England. Rough ground, I say, with all the folderol of who comes first and who comes last. Rough ground gotten over quickly is my answer to it all. And now, to settle it, I shall be Clarice, and Jerry here will be Rigby, because everyone save me calls him that, and then there’s Coop and you. You’re Dany, correct? Ah, I love when things are settled, and now we’ve all cried friends. Oh, and fellow conspirators, which is more lovely than anything, I’m thinking. I’ve always wanted to conspir-e-ate.”

      Dany saw a mental