36. Winterhope’s Diabolical Scheme

WINTERHOPE'S DIABOLICAL SCHEME

H aving gotten such a late start, the sun was just cresting the horizon when Leopold and Fitz rode into the stable yard at The Goat's Tail.

He was tired but determined, even if he was also nervous as hell.

But he didn't regret coming. Even if she laughed in his face, he wouldn't.

Not that that was something he thought she would do. Not the Amelia he knew.

Walking into the pub area, he was met with a few curious glances—some more so than others. He wasn't the kind of boss to spring surprise inspections on his employees, but he wouldn't apologize for it either.

He stopped at the bar, drumming his fingers on the aged wood. When Mrs. Billings appeared from the kitchen, he nodded and got straight to the point. "Morning. What room is Lady Amelia in?"

Mrs. Billings replied in kind. "Seven, Mr. Beckworth."

Leopold spun on his heel and headed straight for the stairs. As he made his way up to her room, he mulled over what he might say. While they'd covered the distance by moonlight, Fitz had offered several tidbits of unasked for advice.

"Be romantic," he'd said.

"I've heard it helps to get down on one knee."

"Or," Fitz had added, " You could simply carry her off again. That seemed to work well enough the first time."

And that was tempting. Very tempting. However, he'd not come to steal her away in the night like some sort of monster. No, he'd come to give her a choice.

In giving her a choice, he couldn't be certain of the outcome.

He patted the little bulge in his coat pocket where he'd stuffed Mr. Toad.

For good luck.

It certainly couldn't hurt.

As he arrived at the landing, a not-too-distant argument dominated by an almost grating noblewoman's voice broke the quiet of the morning. As he approached the source of all the ruckus, which happened to be very close to what he'd been told was Amelia's room, he braced himself. Getting Amelia to himself might not be as simple as he'd hoped.

But he would manage.

This time, he'd do whatever was necessary to speak with her privately.

Before Leopold reached the end of the hall, however, Winterhope emerged from one of the chambers, effectively blocking Leopold from Amelia's room.

"You can't keep me from her." Leopold felt his hackles rise. Did this arrogant prick think he could keep Leopold from Amelia?

Winterhope's next words, however, dispelled Leopold's knee-jerk reaction. "She's not in there. But I'll take you to her." And then, with a tilt of his head, he gestured back toward the staircase.

Leopold only paused for a moment. As one of the few nobs who actually cared about his code of honor, the marquess never lied.

At least, to Leopold's knowledge, anyhow.

"I was hoping you would come," he said, shuffling around Leopold. The other man looked more tired than normal, but was otherwise as impeccable as ever.

"She and my wife actually believed I'd just send her off like that. After all the trouble we'd gone to protecting her." He ducked his head and descended to the pub. More curious than ever, Leopold followed silently.

Marching across the yard, at least, the noise from the women's shouting match faded into the background.

"You'll find her hidden in the back of your man's cart." Winterhope pointed behind the carriage house. "He wasn't going to leave without letting me know. Now that you're here, however, I'm going to see what I can do to quiet that woman. You cannot imagine…" To Leopold's utter shock, Winterhope actually rolled his eyes. Winterhope.

The bloke was almost likeable this morning.

But Leopold was more curious about the cart. If this was what he thought it was, Winterhope might deserve more credit than he'd been given.

"Lady Amelia," Leopold clarified, "Is hiding in Wooley's farmer's cart."

"That she is."

Interesting… Leopold could hardly believe his good luck.

The marquess tugged at his cravat just then, however, and stared at him pointedly. "Beckworth," he said.

"Yes?"

"Don't mess this up."

Because Amelia deserved to be happy . In a rare moment of agreement, Leopold dipped his chin. "Right."

But he'd wasted enough time already. Catching sight of the familiar cart that Wooley used to make the occasional delivery to London, Leopold's stomach did a little flip.

Without consciously deciding to do so, he was running.

Because she was near. He didn't care who her mother was, or that his past had ruined him for her, he just needed…

Amelia.

Without bothering to properly untether the knots, he tugged on a few ropes and, with a single jerk, threw the tarp off the cart.

And there she slept.