Chapter Thirteen
Hawk’s mind flashed back to the night he, Cam, Templeton, and Bedford had tracked down Loverly, who had been holding Bedford’s duchess captive, hoping to use her to escape the country. Hawk did not want to recount that night to Lizzie. Her father had not redeemed himself and had ended up on his knees begging for his life. When the man reached into his pocket, Bedford had shot him. It had been confirmed later that Loverly had had a pistol in his pocket, which they’d assumed he had been about to use on the Duke or his wife.
It had been discussed among the four of them afterward that it had seemed as if Loverly had wanted Bedford to kill him. They had all been carrying firearms that night, so there was little chance Loverly would have escaped with his life anyway. Oftentimes informers did kill themselves to avoid the humiliation of a public beheading—the punishment for traitors.
No amount of persuasion from Loverly’s daughter would convince him to relate that story exactly the way it had happened.
“Your father was brought back from America by the Duke of Bedford and placed into prison. After only a few days, he escaped, and it was assumed he was headed back to America. However, before he was able to secure passage on any ship, Bedford, Lord Campbell, Mr. Templeton, and I tracked him down, where Bedford shot him to keep him from escaping once again.”
Tears filled her eyes, and her delicate hands in her lap shook. “Was it quick?”
“Yes. He died instantly.”
She nodded, her lips tight.
Bloody hell.
She shuddered, and he realized she was trying to hold in sobs. He reached across the space and pulled her to his side. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “I’m so sorry.”
Sobs wracked her body. As a bachelor of the ton, he’d been subjected more than once to fake female tears, which had moved him not at all. But this woman was suffering greatly, and he had no idea how to comfort her. So, he did as he’d done before and just held her in his arms. He handed her his handkerchief, then positioned her head against his chest, rubbing his fingers through her hair.
Eventually, her tears ended. “I apologize, my lord.” She sat up and looked at his chest, dabbing the soggy handkerchief against her cheeks. “I am a watering pot lately, and I believe I have saturated your jacket.”
“No matter. It will give my valet something to complain about, which is what he lives for.” Her grin didn’t quite make it to her eyes.
Some women looked lovely and delicate when they cried. However, Lizzie’s lovely face was blotchy, her eyes red and swollen, and her hair in disarray. Yet, she had never looked more beautiful. Everything male and protective inside him raised its head. Although he’d been wrestling with the order from the Home Secretary, at that moment he decided despite whatever orders he received, he was not going to bring her to London. He would clear her name first.
“Once you are composed, I wish to ask you some questions.”
She took a deep breath. “I am calmer. Sometimes a good cry is beneficial.”
Hawk grinned. “I find a good bout of fisticuffs a better remedy.”
“I suppose that may be the difference between men and women.” Her smile was slight, but true.
He tried very hard not to look imposing. He was familiar with the method used to question suspects, which had been part of his work for the Foreign Office during the war. That was how he had ended up on the Home Office’s list of lords willing to help on occasion—for special tasks.
Sitting before him was a gently reared young lady who had suffered a great deal for something of which she had no part. If he believed her—which he did. Everything he’d seen of her since they’d met, as well as the two years she’d been with Wycliff, told him if she had any nefarious activities in her background, something of that nature would have made itself known before now.
When he’d questioned Wycliff about her comings and goings, his cousin and his countess had painted a picture of a quiet, demure, well-mannered young lady who rarely left the house during her time off and had made no friends in the village. She’d given them no reason whatsoever to suspect she was anything but what she had presented.
“There is a reason why the Home Office questioned you after your father disappeared. It was well known that Loverly had been working with at least one other person. There was a time when it had been suggested that the other person was a woman.”
“Yes, the man who questioned me mentioned that. But I know of no women who were friends with my father. Of course, I didn’t know everything about him—obviously—but all his cronies that he spent time with were men.”
“Did he attend ton events with you?”
Lizzie shook her head. “No, he hired a companion for me at the beginning of the Season.”
Hawk sat up. “Who was the companion?”
For the first time since the discussion started, Lizzie laughed. “Oh, my lord, no, no. I’m sure Miss Wallace was no enemy of the Crown.”
“Tell me about Miss Wallace.”
“She was somewhere in her sixth decade. A lovely woman, who had fallen upon hard times and spent many years with her sister. Once Lady Lockhart passed away, Miss Wallace moved in with an aged aunt and then a grouchy cousin until she accepted the position as my companion.”
Hawk considered. A woman with no means, possibly bitter about her life. It might not be such a stretch to believe she might become involved in a scheme that would provide her with some coin. Even being in her sixth decade.
“I don’t know what you are thinking, my lord, but believe me when I tell you Miss Wallace was a deeply religious person, compassionate, caring, and would never betray her country. When this all came to light, she was as surprised and upset as I’d been.”
Deciding to put that aside for now, but not cross her completely off his list, he asked, “What became of Miss Wallace when you made your escape?”
“She was the only person—besides Lady Franklin, who found the position for me—who knew where I had gone. She secured another position for herself before I left. As far as I know she is still in London with another friend of Lady Franklin’s.”
“Did you keep in touch with her?”
“No. We thought it best if we did not continue our friendship. She’s a lovely lady. Truly she is. I know she did not have anything to do with my father’s doings.”
…
Lizzie hoped Hawk believed her, even though he gave no indication he didn’t. If she couldn’t get him on her side, she had no chance of avoiding an interview with the Home Office. The thought terrified her. She found herself in a position where she had to trust Lord Hawkins, and she wasn’t sure she should.
She had trusted her father to take care of her, and up until the end he had done so quite well. His drunken confession had shattered her world, and a part of her would never feel whole again. “You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Let’s say I believe you believe so.” He pushed back a loose curl from her forehead. “What I want you to do is try to remember your father right before all the accusations became known.”
“I didn’t know anything about it until right before he disappeared.” She hated how anxious and shaky her voice sounded, but she was terrified.
Hawk took her hands in his. “Sweetheart, I want you to calm down. I’m not accusing you of anything, and I’m not saying I doubt you. However, I have learned even though matters are not obvious to us, in the background we are aware of them. Might you have overheard an unfamiliar name mentioned when your father didn’t know you were listening?”
“My first inclination is to say no, but I promise I will consider it.”
“What about ledgers and papers? Did your father have a safe? Or a special place he would keep important documents?”
“I saw him take my mother’s jewels out of the safe in his office one time.” She dabbed at her eyes again. “It was when I turned one and twenty. He said he’d bought them for her himself, so they did not belong to the estate, and he wanted me to have them.” Her voice shook at the end of the sentence. “I am sorry, I’m afraid this brings back memories that I haven’t thought of in two years.”
“And I apologize to have brought them to the surface again. It is certainly not my intention to cause you distress.”
She nodded. “I understand.” She rubbed her head where the beginning of a megrim had made itself known.
Watching her carefully, Hawk said, “For now, let us put all of that aside. Perhaps a short nap might be just the thing. I suspect you could use a rest.”
She made to move to the other side of the carriage, but he held fast. “No, stay here. Rest your head against my chest.” He shifted so his back leaned against the side of the carriage, with Lizzie practically lying on top of him.
“I don’t think this is quite proper.”
“Probably not.” He grinned at her. “But you must admit, I make a fine pillow.”
Despite her reluctance, she settled on his chest, finding it warm and comforting. “A bit hard, though.”
She fell asleep to the sound of his heart beating in her ear and the scent of leather, horses, and Hawk in her nostrils.
“Lizzie?” A soft voice woke her, and at first she couldn’t understand why there was a man in her bedchamber. The second thing she noticed was her head hurt more than any headache she’d ever had. She raised her hand to block the sunlight coming through the window, making the pain worse.
“Where am I?” Everything looked fuzzy, and she felt odd.
“We’ve stopped at the Red Lion Inn for luncheon.” He studied her as she attempted to sit up, then fell back down again. “Are you well?” He wrapped his arm around her and gently brought her forward to lean against him.
“My head.” It was about all she could get out. She’d never had a pain as bad as this.
The driver opened the door, and Lizzie moaned and shifted so her face was tucked against Hawk’s chest.
“We were stopping for luncheon, but her ladyship is unwell. Please ask the innkeeper for a room, and I will bring her inside when it is ready.” His voice rumbled against her cheek.
Lizzie cringed when the driver closed the door.
“We will stop here for the night, even though it’s early. You cannot continue to travel in a carriage with your head hurting. In fact, I will summon a physician when we get you settled.”
“I don’t think that is necessary.”
“Nevertheless, that is what we shall do. Remember you suffered a head injury not long ago.”
Lizzie might have objected to his highhandedness if she didn’t feel so very terrible. Right now all she wanted was a soft bed, darkness, and a cloth soaked in lavender.
The driver returned and opened the door. “My lord, there is a room already prepared. The innkeeper’s wife will show you when you are ready.”
Hawk shifted forward with Lizzie in his arms. He stood and twisted so he could back out of the coach. He walked slowly, for which she was grateful. But more pressing now than her headache was the nausea. She needed to get to a chamber pot. And soon.
“My lord, I have the room all prepared. If you will follow me.” The innkeeper’s wife led them up the stairs while Lizzie fought to keep her last meal down.
Hawk carried her to the bed and laid her gently down. “My lord, may I speak with the innkeeper’s wife?” Lizzie continued to swallow, but it was becoming harder by the minute to keep her stomach from rebelling.
“Certainly.” He slid his hands out from under her and moved toward the door. “Please assist my wife in undressing. I will send for a doctor.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Lizzie was too sick to worry about them staying at another inn as husband and wife. Right now with the pain she was enduring, the last thing she cared about was being ruined.
“My lady, may I help you with your clothing?”
Lizzie rolled onto her side and whispered, “What I need more than anything right now is a chamber pot. I am about to vomit.”
In one swift movement, the innkeeper’s wife tugged a chamber pot from underneath the bed just in time for Lizzie to make use of it.