Read Online The Hired Hero by Andrea Pickens - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrea Pickens
Tags: Romance
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taken her to see Cribbs step into the ring with the challenger from the north....She could pull it off, she was sure she could.
Her mind made up, she made herself lie down. She would need her strength, and besides, she could not put her plan into action until well after midnight. There were no servants to worry about. She could only hope that the earl had not abandoned all of his profligate tendencies and would indulge freely in the bottle, as wastrels were wont to do. Then she remembered the distinctive aroma that had enveloped his person on both the mornings she had encountered him. Her lips curled in a slight smile. Yes, there was no doubt he would be in a drunken stupor by that hour.
Some hours later, she quietly crept into the dark hallway. She dared not light her candle just yet, but a pale wash of moonlight from a window near her door gave just enough illumination for her to find her way without incident. She had an idea of where she was going, for though she had dozed off and on throughout the afternoon, she couldn’t help but hear the sturdy tramp of Mrs. Collins climbing up and down the stairs. Slowly she moved along the threadbare carpet. Her throat tightened at the thought that she might inadvertently stumble into the earl’s bedchamber, but she forced herself to relax. It was highly unlikely he would notice, even if she did. By this time he no doubt had his hand well entwined around the smooth form of a bottle—or something equally as warming. In either case, his attention would be fully occupied.
She paused before a closed door. It seemed the likely one. Slowly she turned the handle and pushed it open a few inches. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. Wooden stairs. She slipped inside and pulled the door shut. It was even colder in the attic than in the rest of the house and she shivered slightly in the pitch dark as she fumbled to light her candle. A sudden draft reminded her to look for a warm jacket as well the other things she had in mind. The flame lit, she hurried up into the cavernous darkness, her stockinged feet making no more noise than a scurrying mouse on the dusty treads.
A short time later, Caroline emerged from the door, her arms laden with an assortment of things. She crept back to her room and laid out the items she had selected on the bed. As she had suspected, very little had been thrown out over the generations. She had exactly what she needed.
Stepping back from the mirror, she adjusted the oversized woolen cap so that it fell even lower over her eyes. The effect was perfect. She tucked in the tails of the rough cotton, marveling again at how much freer she felt already, unencumbered by yards of material falling around her legs. The leather boots were a little too large, but it was of no matter. At least the thick wool socks kept her toes feeling warm. Shrugging into the heavy jacket, she was not unhappy that it, too, was a trifle big. It helped camouflage certain parts of her anatomy that were best left unseen. She took it off again and carefully felt around in its lining. It would do. She fetched her old gown and the sewing things Mrs. Collins had left for her. The transfer of the oiled packet holding the papers took only a few minutes —she hadn’t been bamming the housekeeper, she was rather skilled with a needle. As she put the garment back on, she looked out the window. A hint of light was just beginning to edge its way to the horizon. Even if there was a groom, he would not be up for another hour or two.
It was time to go.
* * * *
Davenport splashed cold water onto his face from the pitcher on his dresser. He had slept fitfully and felt the dragging lethargy of one not fully rested. Still, it was futile to stay in bed. His mind was too preoccupied with his mounting problems, not least of which was the damned young lady peacefully asleep down the hall.
He didn’t doubt for a moment that lady she was, and not some farmer’s wife or daughter. Her hands were smooth and
Her mind made up, she made herself lie down. She would need her strength, and besides, she could not put her plan into action until well after midnight. There were no servants to worry about. She could only hope that the earl had not abandoned all of his profligate tendencies and would indulge freely in the bottle, as wastrels were wont to do. Then she remembered the distinctive aroma that had enveloped his person on both the mornings she had encountered him. Her lips curled in a slight smile. Yes, there was no doubt he would be in a drunken stupor by that hour.
Some hours later, she quietly crept into the dark hallway. She dared not light her candle just yet, but a pale wash of moonlight from a window near her door gave just enough illumination for her to find her way without incident. She had an idea of where she was going, for though she had dozed off and on throughout the afternoon, she couldn’t help but hear the sturdy tramp of Mrs. Collins climbing up and down the stairs. Slowly she moved along the threadbare carpet. Her throat tightened at the thought that she might inadvertently stumble into the earl’s bedchamber, but she forced herself to relax. It was highly unlikely he would notice, even if she did. By this time he no doubt had his hand well entwined around the smooth form of a bottle—or something equally as warming. In either case, his attention would be fully occupied.
She paused before a closed door. It seemed the likely one. Slowly she turned the handle and pushed it open a few inches. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. Wooden stairs. She slipped inside and pulled the door shut. It was even colder in the attic than in the rest of the house and she shivered slightly in the pitch dark as she fumbled to light her candle. A sudden draft reminded her to look for a warm jacket as well the other things she had in mind. The flame lit, she hurried up into the cavernous darkness, her stockinged feet making no more noise than a scurrying mouse on the dusty treads.
A short time later, Caroline emerged from the door, her arms laden with an assortment of things. She crept back to her room and laid out the items she had selected on the bed. As she had suspected, very little had been thrown out over the generations. She had exactly what she needed.
Stepping back from the mirror, she adjusted the oversized woolen cap so that it fell even lower over her eyes. The effect was perfect. She tucked in the tails of the rough cotton, marveling again at how much freer she felt already, unencumbered by yards of material falling around her legs. The leather boots were a little too large, but it was of no matter. At least the thick wool socks kept her toes feeling warm. Shrugging into the heavy jacket, she was not unhappy that it, too, was a trifle big. It helped camouflage certain parts of her anatomy that were best left unseen. She took it off again and carefully felt around in its lining. It would do. She fetched her old gown and the sewing things Mrs. Collins had left for her. The transfer of the oiled packet holding the papers took only a few minutes —she hadn’t been bamming the housekeeper, she was rather skilled with a needle. As she put the garment back on, she looked out the window. A hint of light was just beginning to edge its way to the horizon. Even if there was a groom, he would not be up for another hour or two.
It was time to go.
* * * *
Davenport splashed cold water onto his face from the pitcher on his dresser. He had slept fitfully and felt the dragging lethargy of one not fully rested. Still, it was futile to stay in bed. His mind was too preoccupied with his mounting problems, not least of which was the damned young lady peacefully asleep down the hall.
He didn’t doubt for a moment that lady she was, and not some farmer’s wife or daughter. Her hands were smooth and
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