How to Tame a Lady. Кейси Майклс

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      Nicole nodded as he let go of her arm and hopped down from the curricle, hastening around the vehicle to assist her to the flagway.

      She put her hands on his shoulders as he cupped her waist, their eyes meeting as he slowly lowered her to the ground. She had to remind herself to breathe. “I’m not simply being nosy, you understand. Or wanting my own way, wanting my own fun. It’s…it’s more than that. I know you said you’re in little danger, but I’m worried about you. As…as your friend. Which makes me very angry with you for some reason.”

      “I know,” he said quietly, his smile delighting her in ways she really didn’t wish to think about at the moment. He took hold of her right hand and lifted it to his lips. “Thank you.”

      Did she blush? Her cheeks felt hot. But that was impossible; she never blushed. Lydia blushed. “Yes…yes, well…you’re welcome. And still infuriating,” she added when his smile grew and once again twisted her stomach into knots. “And now I’ll tell you that I had a lovely time and, if you have a shred of kindness in you, you will take yourself off so that I can go inside and attempt to figure out what happened between us today.”

       CHAPTER FIVE

      LUCAS READ THE FIRST LINE written by the Citizens for Justice out loud—“It is time, friends, to take up arms against an oppressive government determin’d to starve our children and screw honest men into the ground”—and then folded the broadsheet, handing it back to Fletcher.

      “Yes, yes, thank you, I’ve read it. Several times. Quite depressing. She was going to give it to her brother the duke, but he was called away to his estate the morning after we dined in Grosvenor Square, and isn’t due back until this evening. So she gave it to me at the inn today instead, having decided not to bother her brother with it. “What do you think, Lucas?”

      “Nothing good, that’s for certain. And you say Lady Lydia found this in her maid’s possession?”

      “In the gel’s apron pocket, yes. Lady Lydia didn’t confront the woman. She admits she may be seeing trouble where there is none, but the fact that she’s reading your relative’s fiery pamphlets at the moment did set some frightening ideas to percolating in her head.”

      “He’s not my relative,” Lucas said offhandedly. “But I can see where Lady Lydia might connect the two in her mind. That broadsheet is speaking sedition, Fletcher. Do you know what that means?”

      “Necks will be stretched?” Fletcher offered, shrugging. “When we find out who wrote such nonsense, that is. Citizens for Justice? Citizens for Mischief is more like it. I told Lady Lydia not to worry, but I don’t think she believed me. What do you say about this? You’re the one who warned of just this sort of possibility not more than a few days ago, after all.”

      “What do I say about it?” Lucas repeated, subsiding into the leather chair behind his desk in the large private study in Park Lane. He answered carefully. “I think there are no names associated with this nonsense. There’s a call to arms, but no mention of when or where the angry populace is to gather, or what they are to do when they do come together. Where do they go? Whom do they attack?”

      Fletcher scratched at his cheek. “Well, I…Stap me, Lucas, I don’t know. Do you suppose there’s a code hidden in there somewhere?”

      Lucas smiled. “No, I don’t suppose so. No more than I suppose that more than one in fifty of the persons this broadsheet is directed at can even read the King’s English, let alone decipher hidden codes. So, what is the purpose of this broadsheet, hmm?”

      Fletcher screwed up his features, clearly deep in thought. Then he shook his head. “Since we’re the only ones who can be counted on to read it, I imagine I don’t know.”

      “But you do know, Fletcher. You just said it. This wasn’t directed at the people of London, or wherever-all the thing has been distributed. It was aimed at the people who could read it. Us.”

      “No, sorry, I don’t understand.”

      Lucas wished he didn’t understand, either. But thanks to Lord Nigel Frayne, he was sadly sure that he did. It was only Fletcher who believed that Lucas was seeing this particular broadsheet for the first time.

      “Think about what you told me the other day. You told me you’d overheard that some in our government believe they’ve found a way to bring Parliament, Tories and Whigs both, around to the idea of stricter laws and taxes meant to beat down English citizens, correct?”

      “I don’t believe I said beat down. But yes, that was about it.”

      “All right. And what better way to assure success than to have the populace threatening to rise up against the government? Against us, the rich and powerful and, sadly, uncaring.”

      Fletcher’s eyes went wide. “Are you saying—No. That’s ridiculous. Why would anyone want that to happen? Riots? Marching in the streets of Mayfair? They throw rocks, Lucas. They rip up cobblestones and use them as weapons. I’ve heard the stories of what happened not that many years ago. I can’t afford to replace all the windows in my townhome, for pity’s sake.”

      “Your glazier’s possible bill to one side, we can none of us afford civil unrest. Calling out the Guard on our own citizens? And I may have actually helped Sidmouth and the others with my impulsive tirade at White’s, warning of just such an occurrence if we don’t help those among us who are suffering most at the moment. I was unwittingly making their case for them, the exact opposite of my intention.”

      It also hadn’t been his intention to have Lord Frayne approach him. But he had.

      Fletcher picked up his wineglass and stared into it, deep in thought. “Let me see if I follow this, all right? You’re saying that someone—for the sake of argument, Sidmouth, or some of his ilk—would deliberately goad citizens to rise up against their government? So that the laws that are already oppressive to them can be made more oppressive?”

      “Exactly, yes.” And, God help him, Lucas knew that he, against all his principles and arguments, was about to become a large part of that effort.

      “I’d like you to be wrong. I hope you don’t mind. The glazier bills, you understand. Very well, as I see you’re set on this—this whatever it is you’ve clearly decided to do. How can I be of help to you?”

      Could he lie to his friend? To clear his father’s name, yes. Yes, he could. Especially if confiding in Fletcher could end with the man in trouble. After all, a man didn’t do what Lucas was contemplating doing without bending a few of the King’s laws. “I don’t want to involve you.”

      “Christ’s teeth, it’s a little late for that, isn’t it? I’m your friend. If you’re planning something, I should be a part of it. You’d do the same for me. Now, what do you want me to do?”

      “Would it be a hardship for you to continue to pay court to Lady Lydia Daughtry?”

      Fletcher sat forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees. “Ah! In case she finds more broadsheets, you mean?”

      “No,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “I’m sure we can find more of those on our own all over Piccadilly, if we just look.”

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