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He wanted to scream out for Martin to get his gear together so they
could leave, but he couldn t. That runner was probably still lurking on
the step, waiting to see if anyone exited the building.
He didn't have the luxury of panicking, either. This was what
Perry had warned him about. Someone wanted Martin back in prison,
and that someone had hired a runner to see the job done. Harry waited
until he heard the booted feet retreat, then lifted the drapery on the
foyer window to verify that the man was leaving. He watched the
runner swing himself astride a fat black mare and set off down the
drive.
He was shocked at how badly he'd just wanted to kick the man
in the groin and then bash him on the head. Harry's job was to protect
the man, but kicking a Bow Street Runner in the ballocks wasn't the
way to accomplish the task. It might have felt more productive, but it
wouldn't have been the safest option for Martin.
Sometimes running was the best option. Fortunately, he and
Perry had planned for just this scenario. Randall should have had
ample opportunity to inform Nash of his possible arrival before he
and Jason departed for the continent.
With shaking fingers he slid the bolt home. Grateful for his
stocking feet that made no sound on the marble floor, he darted down
the hall to the kitchen. The back door stood ajar and he poked his
head out, hissing. Though the property itself was large, the garden
attached to the tiny cottage was fairly small. The kitchen garden was
nearly bare, a few straggling vines and overgrown herbs were the only
plants still growing. Over the years someone had decided it would be
a good idea to wall that bit off from the more decorative and formal
gardens and the six foot tall stone walls made it a safe place for
Martin to smoke his foul tobacco. As he expected, that's where he
found Martin.
"Sst."
Martin stood near a paltry rose bush, smoking a cheroot with a
brooding expression on his face. At Harry's hiss he turned his head
from contemplating the shabby garden bench.
Harry gestured frantically for the man to come in.
Martin dropped the cheroot and ground it out beneath his heel.
He crossed to Harry's side, and Harry dragged him in, shutting and
bolting the door.
"What is it?" Martin demanded.
"Pack your things. We have to leave." Harry was halfway to
the pantry to pack up a basket to take with them when Martin's hand
closed tight on his elbow and he came to an abrupt halt.
Shaking Martin's hand off, Harry turned impatiently. "What?"
"What's happened, Harry? This isn't about our little argument.
What's upset you?"
"Argument?" Oh, he'd forgotten what an ass he'd made of
himself so quickly. "I apologize. I wasn't wrong but what I said was
ill-conceived and thoughtless. But we can discuss my culpability in
the carriage."
Martin shook his head. "You're still not making sense, Harry."
"The runners were here looking for you." Martin still held his
arm, and it was difficult for Harry to remain focused when the heat of
that touch burned right through the thin lawn of his shirt. "You don t
seem to understand the urgency here, Martin. I sent them away to get
permission from Perry to search the place, but we still only have an
hour at the most to get out of here and on the road."
"Why would Perry give them permission to search?"
"Why to prove he's not hiding you, of course."
Martin laughed under his breath. "I'm quite certain that makes
sense to you, but fine. I'll toss my paltry belongings in a portmanteau
and we can be off in ten minutes."
Harry nodded, jerking his arm free and scurrying into the
larder. He dragged in a few calming breaths while he rubbed the
tingling spot on his arm. The damned physiological aspects of passion
were inconvenient.
It wasn't just the odd erection or ten that got in the way either.
Breathing normally and thinking clearly weren't to be underrated.
Shoring up his defenses, he pushed away inappropriate
thoughts about the last carriage ride he'd taken with Martin and the
possibilities of re-enacting those events on the upcoming twelve hour
drive to Nash's place. The basket he needed was on the bottom shelf
and he quickly filled it with a round of cheese, a loaf of bread, cold
sliced chicken, a packet of figs and as much fruit as he could pack in.
He set the full basket next to a bottle of wine on the table. His
own belongings would take only a few minutes to throw in his case.
Racing from the room, he hastily listed off the items he'd need in his
head. Jacket, waistcoat, weaponry&
Skidding to a halt on the marble floor, he veered into the small
study and found Martin pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter into
a silver flask. Harry nodded in approval and darted to the desk.
"Excellent idea, Martin." He picked the lock on the bottom
drawer and withdrew the pistols and their accoutrements. "Can you
take these with your cases into the kitchen? We'll leave by the back
door."
He didn't wait for Martin's answer, though he did hear the
rumble of his voice in the background as he raced up the stairs.
His case was under the bed, and he pulled it out and began
flinging his things in with a complete disregard for their condition
that would have appalled the men of his family, let alone his valet
Michael.
Shrugging on a plain blue waistcoat and a black jacket, he
neglected the buttons in favor of tossing the last of his things into the
case. His razor and pistol went into a smaller bag, his books into the
large one. He hesitated, hand lingering over the porcelain dispenser
with the violet lotion.
It wasn't his, then again, Perry hadn't had any women in this
place for a year or more. So it clearly didn't belong to anyone else,
either. Fuck it again. He swept the bottle up and found himself
hesitating over what to do with it.
If he put it in one of the cases, they'd have the lubricating fluid
at Nash's.
Or&
He slipped the lotion into his pocket. One of the benefits of
baggy breeches. He could pack any number of ridiculous things with
him and no one would be the wiser. Closing both cases, he tucked the
smaller one under his arm and headed off to meet up with Martin in
the kitchen.
Martin stood by the back door, his case in one hand, the
hamper in the other. He held a sack that Harry assumed held the wine
and flask. "Ready to go?" he demanded.
Martin smiled at him. Harry froze, and let that smile warm
him from the inside out. He caught himself going up on tiptoe, lips
parted for a kiss.
"Harry?"
"Mmm?" He brushed his lips over Martin's, teased the plump
lower lip with his tongue.
"Are you going like that?"
"Like what?" he breathed into Martin's mouth, wondering why
the man didn't kiss him back properly.
"Unbuttoned and barefoot?"
Chapter Ten
The rocking carriage had clattered down the lane just as the
red vested runner rode back up. "That's who we're running from?"
Martin demanded. "We could have taken him. Without your dirty
tricks, even."
Harry glared at him. "I considered the option. But that would
give the game away to whoever hired him, wouldn't it?"
Annoyed, still smarting from being labeled first a job then
entertainment, Martin scowled. "To be sure that would probably suit
you."
"For you to be put back in prison? Why would you say that?"
"Because I m grouchy and lecherous?"
The truth was often disarming, and in this instance it seemed
to completely floor Harry, who sputtered like a fish out of water for a
few seconds. "But you're angry with me for a specific reason," he
protested. "You cannot possibly want to have sex with me when I've
upset you."
"You didn't upset me. I'm more upset by the circumstances. I
liked you before your brother set you on me, you know. The fact that
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