A Well Pleasured Lady by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page B

also felt positive that Mary had deliberately kept her brother hidden away. Surely her actions bespoke a guilty conscience of some kind.
    Her guilty conscience, rather than her integrity, had no doubt prodded her to pack efficiently. As promised, she had been ready to leave in two days. He hadn’t had to wait on Guinevere Mary Fairchild.
    Then he grinned. His godmother was another story.
    â€œSebastian, did you make sure every bit of my luggage was loaded into those carriages?” Wrapped in a fur cloak some long-forgotten Russian lover had given her, Lady Valéry stood high on the steps of her mansion and stared down her nose at him as if he were some peasant born to do her bidding.
    And while he wasn’t a peasant, he was born to do her bidding. She was the only woman in this world he respected—and feared. He was going into the jaws of hell—which some called Fairchild Manor—and he was doing it for his country, to save it from a political disaster. Yet he was doing this for Lady Valéry, too. He owed much to her, and he served her faithfully.
    â€œYour luggage, my dear, rides within those extra vehicles.” He waved at the two lumbering conveyances waiting behind her own well-sprung carriage. “Miss Fairchild’s carpetbag rests on the knees of one of the lady’s maids you brought, and my paltry trunks ride on the top, exposed to the weather.”
    â€œAs it should be, my dear.” She frowned as she descended the steps. “Except for Mary’s carpetbag, of course. We’ll have to spend some time in London, you realize, creating a persona for her.”
    â€œShe has a persona,” he retorted. “What she needs is some clothes.”
    â€œThat, too,” Lady Valéry replied tranquilly.
    He heard a little snarl, and turned his head. Miss Fairchild was glaring at both Lady Valéry and him.
    â€œSensitive, isn’t she?” he asked his godmother.
    â€œShe hasn’t ever been before.” Lady Valéry stopped on the bottom step and watched Miss Fairchildenter the carriage. “I wonder what brought that on.”
    Sebastian glanced at Lady Valéry’s thin, upright figure. By God, she was the opponent of every man in England. A power-dealer, knowing more about the government and its works than most of Parliament and knowing, too, how to direct the course of legislation. He had to get that diary, not just to protect Lady Valéry’s privacy, but to halt the spread of her sedition through all of the British Empire. If other women discovered it was possible to rule, and wisely, too, what use would they have for men?
    He handed her into the carriage and stepped away, knowing the ladies would need time to arrange themselves and their belongings before he could join them. With a meticulous eye for detail, he studied the three vehicles. The wheel hubs shone from the labor of the wheelwright. Beside each coachman on his high seat sat a footman armed with pistols—highwaymen were always a problem. And each carriage carried an extra footman, his own or Lady Valéry’s, in case of accident or in case the horses, excellent animals all, needed tending. The two lady’s maids rode in the second carriage while his very efficient valet supervised the servants from the last.
    Even now, a well-bundled Gerald strode along the length of the procession, doing his own last-minute check, and when he came abreast of Sebastian, Sebastian said, “We should reach London within the fortnight, God grant us good weather.”
    When the man turned his head toward him, Sebastianrealized his mistake, and wondered why he’d made it. This fellow wore rough wool, not elegant broadcloth, and the muffler that covered his head and mouth had clearly been knitted by some granny in the hills. Gerald would never have been caught dead committing such a sartorial sin, yet this man—this footman?—had the same air of command that distinguished