Regency Sins. Bronwyn Scott

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      Nora watched his stoic features fight for mastery against the emotions roiling within him at her deductions. Was he disappointed this meeting had come down to nothing more than extortion? Had he hoped for a nobler conclusion? He didn’t believe she actually used the funds for the poor. In his study, he’d accused her of having a Robin Hood complex. And tonight he’d implied she used the money for her own needs. Well, that much at least she could disprove.

      She outlined her offer, thinking quickly. ‘These are my conditions—meet me where Stockport and Hyde Roads meet tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. You will come alone and on horseback. No fancy carriages or outriders shall be with you. You shall accompany me into Manchester and make the rounds with me, after which you will return to the crossroads and go your own way. You will make no attempt to follow me or discover my identity. The following day, I will have the ring delivered to you.’

      Stockport looked at her, scepticism narrowing his gaze. ‘What guarantees do I have that you’ll do as you say? Who’s to say you won’t lure me into an alley where you’ve prearranged to have some thugs kill me or beat me senseless? These conditions sound suspicious to me. Perhaps the ring isn’t worth such a risk.’

      Nora feigned nonchalance. She hadn’t expected Stockport to give up without a fight. ‘It is of no difference to me. I can sell the ring back to you for the price of a visit to Manchester or I can sell it for cash to someone else. Either way, I get something I want.’

      ‘What do you get from the visit that is as profitable to you as cash?’ Stockport queried suspiciously.

      He was wavering, Nora noted with satisfaction. She stepped away from the railing, inching back towards the doors leading to the now-empty ballroom. ‘My lord Earl, I get to take your measure—a look into your soul, and you get a look into mine if you’re willing to peek. Now, I bid you goodnight. I’ll expect you in the morning.’ She felt the smooth brass of the door handle beneath her hand and turned it a fraction. She raised her other hand to her lips, blowing Stockport a kiss as she vanished into the ballroom.

      Damn, that woman had a way of disappearing and this time she’d disappeared with his good coat in tow. He had others, but that one was his favorite. The coat! Deuce take it, the three hundred pounds were still in the breast pocket. That made three things he’d lost to The Cat tonight: his coat, his money and his ring. Arguably, by agreeing to her counter-offer, he’d lost a fourth—his sanity.

      The evening had taken an unbelievable twist. He’d gone from the security of retrieving his ring to the insecurity of a dubious trip to Manchester with The Cat. By nature, he didn’t like cat-and-mouse games, especially when he was the mouse, and he was definitely the mouse here. The Cat had him dangling.

      To be honest, not all of him minded. Not because she’d been alluring in that gown she’d worn or because she flirted audaciously, but because she challenged him with her wit, her insights and sense of daring. He had no doubt that tomorrow would be full of such tests as well and not all of them would be hers. His would not be the only measure taken.

       Chapter Six

      Morning arrived stark and cold. Standing on the wood planks of the bedroom floor in her nightshift, Nora drew back the curtains to view the dreary day spreading before her.

      Christmas morning ought to look different. It ought to look special. It didn’t. It looked like every other morning in the long English winter. Bare trees raised dark silhouettes to the grey sky. Everywhere she looked, the earth was devoid of colour beneath the frost. The heart of winter carried with it a sense of desperation.

      The empty landscape made it difficult to believe spring would come again. Nora could well understand why chieftains of old had contrived great Christmastide festivities for their people. Conceivably, they’d been as anxious as she to drive the cold winter away and create a splash of colour in otherwise colourless lives, if only for a moment.

      Even the austerity of her bedroom mirrored the colourless winter. The room was ascetic and clean, fitted only with the most rudimentary of furnishings: an iron bedstead, washstand and wardrobe. By necessity, her lifestyle required an existence as bland and colourless as the landscape outside. The Cat’s successes depended on remaining aloof. She had to be able to pick up and leave at a moment’s notice. She couldn’t do that if she formed attachments.

      Her personal road through life was a lonely one. By choice, she spent her life gathering what hope there was in the world and giving it to others. She saved no hope for herself.

      That was the purpose of her trip into Manchester today; to give hope to others, a break from the tedium of their lives as they struggled to survive in a world gone grey. And because she couldn’t bear the thought of donning the façade of Eleanor Habersham and frittering away the day sitting in front of the Squire’s fire with knitting needles, watching young people play silly parlour games.

      Nora rummaged through the wardrobe, nimble fingers finding the catch that revealed the hidden chamber in back. She drew out a heavy cloak she kept for just such occasions. The Cat was well received in the slums, but she still needed to be agile and alert in case of trouble. She could not afford to be numb or sluggish from the cold.

      And it would be cold. That was a guarantee. She’d told Stockport not to bring his coach. It would attract too much attention and make people suspicious. The ride to Manchester would be a frozen one carried out on the moderately sheltered bench of her closed wagon, loaded with baskets and gifts for those who had nothing.

      She dressed quickly and went down to the warm kitchen for a sweet roll and hot tea. She let Hattie fuss over her and wished them Happy Christmas. They’d have their own celebration tonight when she returned. Alfred, Hattie’s husband and, superficially, Eleanor’s man-of-all-work, had already gone out to hitch up the wagon and load its cargo. They both walked Nora out to the yard.

      Alfred volunteered to come with her and Hattie urged her to stay home altogether after feeling the bite of the wind. But Nora would not, could not, be swayed from her mission. She seated herself on the bench of her plain wagon with its wooden sideboards and clucked to the horse.

      Nearing the crossroads where Hyde and Stockport Roads met on the way into Manchester, Nora paused before the last corner to tie on her mask and to lower a heavy veil over her face. Checking her veils and mask one last time, Nora turned the corner, surprised to see Stockport already waiting there. He sat atop his big bay, garbed in mufflers that covered him up to his blue eyes and a greatcoat, his gloved hands resting negligently on the reins at the horse’s neck. He appeared to be at ease, feeling none of the nervousness that roiled around in Nora’s own stomach.

      The nerves were due to the dangerous nature of this adventure. To ask her nemesis to accompany her on such a trip was more than bold. There would be little to stop him from taking advantage of their situation and forcing her to reveal her identity. All that stood between her and exposure was his gentleman’s creed. Her protection depended on it and in her intuition about his nature.

      ‘Good morning and Happy Christmas,’ Stockport called out, surprisingly cheery after the late evening. ‘I thought you said no carriages.’ He gestured to the closed wagon.

      ‘I needed a way to carry my supplies and keep them protected from the weather.’

      ‘Well, then, at least let me drive. I doubt you can see well at all through that veiling.’ Stockport dismounted and tied his horse behind the wagon, oblivious to her protests. Within minutes, he’d secured the horse and climbed up beside her on the wagon seat.

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