A Most Mysterious Gentleman (#1 Sweet Nineteenth Series) VERY SLOW UPDATES

AMMG ~33~

His face dropped. He could feel it. Each muscle separately relaxing from the smile it had originally held in place. It hurt actually, to hear the rejection. It wasn't so much that he was in love with her, or any baloney like that, it had been too short a time, though it was just that he'd some to quite like her, her odd attributes, and her new found unselfishness that had startled him.

It wasn't like she was hard on the eyes either. Her blonde hair, free of comb restraints and various plaits he wasn't sure he would be able to identify, hung loose and long, curled gently with the heat. Her eyes, they sparkled in the fire lit room, reflecting the flames in the furnace. The dress was no beautifully fitting swath of silk, but the design suited her better than the high waisted garments the ladies usually wore, rather pulled in at the waist and not beneath the bust. Her mother's locket rested between her bare collarbones and also drew his attention to the flour marking its surface.

Ignoring her pleading face he pulled his jacket sleeve down and further into his hand.

"Would you allow me?" He murmured, and before she could ask what he meant, or say no, he wiped the surface of the locket gently, until its shining surface once again gleamed and he could see his reflection.

He'd leaned closer, the move intimate, and the surroundings even more so. Most of the crowd had left, and in their wake left a great mess that the inn owner and the other girl, Lucy, were in the process of cleaning up. Turning he caught Lucy's eyes in a silent head bow. Catching his meaning, she left the immediate area and began to clean the tables at the other side of the room.

He reached over to her trembling hands that were resting in her lap, and gently held the one on top to turn it over. Tracing her palm with his fingers, he examined the tiny veins running along her wrist, choosing to trace their path as well. Her breath hitched.

"Why?" He could tell she hadn't heard him that clearly, so she'd leaned forwards, her soft breath gracing across his ear.

"Why?" His voice was stronger this time, and he'd made sure it was neutral, his face expressionless. If it was a good reason, like his job, his character, he could deal with that separately, but he did not want to lose any pride over the situation. He needed to remain expressionless, like they'd taught him to do under extreme torture.

Her voice, usually strong with reason or passion, was quiet and trembling. "You are too good for me. Look at me," she gestured towards her leg, "I will never make you a good Duchess. I will never make a good mother to any heirs you may wish, I would never be able to chase them around, catch them if they misbehave, carry them."

She grasped his face, he could feel her fingers softly turn his jaw round to look him right in the eye. "I release you, I release you of the honour you felt bound to give me whilst I was in that room with you the second time we met."

They both ignored the banging of the entrance door and the quick strides of a man towards the inn owner.

"I need the Duke of Trent immediately, I was informed he was here." He grabbed her arm roughly and shook her lightly. "Now woman, I need him!"

Rosalie started in outrage, "Sir, if you will excuse me, do you need reminding that you do not manhandle a woman like that ever?"

He turned to look at her and she gasped. "Stephen?"

Henry smirked, "George." At her confused face, "Long story."

He stood up to go to his valet, not before glancing at Rosalie. "We will carry this conversation on later." She nodded, but not before her eyes glared mutinously at George.

Henry walked closer, examining his friend's stiff posture, his hand still on the woman. "Oh do let go. It's not like you for the theatrics."

George's eyes were widened, he smelt, the sweat mixing with hay on his hairline. "It's serious Henry. Wilborough, he's-"

Henry glared at his friend, and then towards the woman stood tall staring intently at him. "I believe you owe this kind woman an apology, and then perhaps we can go to talk somewhere more privately, like my rooms."

George muttered an apology to the angry woman and followed him as he lead the way to his rooms.

Henry banged the door shut. "What in all that is-"

George cut him off, "Wilborough, his plans. I swear man, you'd forgotten him. Romance problems with the fair maiden, eh? We still have to catch him you know, the damage he did, what he can do."

Henry scowled, he almost had forgotten, 'tis how relaxed he'd become. What had he become?

"Go on."

"He's planning something to do with the Scottish."

"Gads man, we already knew that."

He threw a frustrated hand through his hair. "No, he's starting riots, spreading evil propaganda. He and his cronies are doing evil, evil things and then blaming it on the government. There's going to be an uprising, Civil War, gads man I'm not even sure."

Henry paced the room. "What was his purpose with me, with Rosalie. What was the point of badly attempting to frame me for something, and kidnapping Rosalie? He was going to bring her to Scotland, but I can't imagine she'd have been much help, hindered him, a gently bred lady would have caused suspicion."

"I can only imagine what he told her was true, that he wished to marry her. I don't know, use the dowry for the riots."

"Only he's done that without the money."

"Yes."

"How bad?"

"The reports suggested Civil Uprising is predicted, War, death. It's going to hurt them more than it will England. It seems to be main cities at the moment, but it will infect everyone soon like the smallpox. Commoners will die in the retaliation to the soldiers. Their lives aren't worth it, we need to convince the leaders to back down. They won't win, and the government aren't budging in the effort to help them with the basics, food and shelter. They can't afford to rebel, they can't afford not to. But rebelling will only make their situation. It's Wilborough's lot though. They send through their plans for uprising in every city and before we can get there, or get a letter to any of any importance, the riots have started."

"Where's the center? You can guarantee that's where the crew will be hiding, they'll be protected by those around them."

"Glasgow."

"Pack up. Get Rosalie and her Father to pack too. We leave for Glasgow come morning."