Page 35 of Rogue’s Holiday

Sir John dipped his head. “Charmed.”

Letty, being Letty, would have to remark on Miss Reynolds’ given name. “Chastity? What a moniker! A damned anvil to carry around, what? Did you not think to adopt another?”

“Many times,” said Miss Reynolds, unoffended. “My inheritance requires I bear it. Vengeance from my Puritan ancestors, I believe, my lady.”

Letty laughed. “If you know my beginnings, they are quite opposite yours and so I insist you dispense with ‘my lady’ and call me ‘Letty’.”

Chastity smiled, her blue eyes shining beneath her saucy hat. “And you must call me Chas, as do my particular friends.”

“Splendid,” said Sir John. “Now, whither shall we ride? A fast ride down the racecourse or along Brighton’s shore at a more leisurely pace?”

“Let’s race first,” said Letty. She might be entering her sixth decade, but Robbie had always thought Letty Lade was not one to be held back by the passage of time.

One look at Chastity told Robbie she was eager to run, too. “A race it shall be.”

Sir John nodded. “Very well.”

The four of them took off at a run, the ladies outpacing Robbie and Sir John. Based on all he had been told about Chastity Reynolds, he should not have been surprised at how she galloped away a smile on her face. His gaze fixed on the ribbons from her hat flowing down her back to her narrow waist as it flared into gently rounded hips and a perfect derrière.

The two women took the bend in a blur, laughing as they did, like two Furies bent on punishing mere mortal men with stings of conscience. Did such women cause men like him to reflect upon their lives? That was certainly the effect Chastity Reynolds was having on him.

He did not count his life as a spy as the kind of stuff that made for a legacy. He was proud of his service to the Crown, but legacies arose from families where love abided and where children resided in great numbers, like his own. He wanted that kind of legacy.

Thank God it is not too late.

The women plunged down the track with Robbie and Sir John in their wakes. At the end, Letty pulled reins and Chastity Reynolds drew alongside her. They slowed their horses to a trot and Robbie and Sir John followed at the same pace.

“I see your wife has lost none of her spirit for the horse,” Robbie observed.

“No, though these days she much prefers her high perch phaeton. Thankfully, seeing her commanding the reins scandalizes society less today than it once did.”

“You and Letty have been well matched,” Robbie remarked, thinking of the controversy that had always swirled around the couple for his gambling and her outrageous past.

“I tell you true, Powell, women with spirit like Letty keep a man warm at night. I have no regrets.”

“Doubtless you speak the truth,” Robbie said, thinking of Chastity Reynolds. The woman had spirit in spades. As he pulled up alongside her, he noted her brow beaded with sweat, her complexion glowing in the morning sun.

She sat her horse with excellent form. Her blonde curls had fallen free of her hat and he pictured them lying across a pillow. She would warm any man’s bed.

Leaving the racecourse, they rode along the shore for some time, the wide Marine Parade affording them a grand view of the beach and the blue sea beyond. Where they had room, they cantered but most of the time they walked the horses to avoid crowding the people who were on either side of the Parade.

“I hear Prinny means to have his yacht, the Royal George, brought to Brighton,” said Sir John. “I expect we’ll all be invited aboard.”

“Have you ever sailed on the king’s yacht?” Miss Reynolds asked Letty.

“Yes. Last year, John and I sailed on the Royal George. It has been Prinny’s yacht for several years.”

“Since you are here as the king’s guest, Powell, you’ll doubtless be one of the king’s guests,” said Sir John.

Robbie could see the idea of being on the royal yacht enchanted Miss Reynolds. Her eyes were alight with excitement. Though he suspected the yacht might remain anchored offshore, he would enjoy a sail on the Royal George. All of the royal yachts were fully rigged, square sail ships. “If I’m invited, would you like to be my guest?”

“I would, indeed,” she replied.

An hour later, he returned her to Lady Sanborn’s house. A footman held the horses while he escorted her to the door. The red-haired butler welcomed them back, taking Miss Reynolds’ hat, gloves and riding crop.

The demon cat sauntered into the entry hall and rubbed his furry body against Robbie’s boots, purring loudly. Laughter bubbled up in his chest at the change.

“It seems Crispin has decided to accept you,” said Miss Reynolds.

Robbie raised a brow. “And what of his mistress?”

“I’m still considering the possibility,” she said. But he was pleased to see her lovely mouth curve up in the merest hint of a smile.

“You are fortunate I am a patient man, Miss Reynolds.”

She scowled at him, reminding him of her once hissing cat. He chuckled to himself, tempted to take her into his arms and kiss that scowl from her face. Remembering how she had responded to his first kiss, he was certain he could do it.

With a bow, he bid her good day and returned to where he’d left the horses. As he did, his attention was drawn to two men watching the house from the small park in the middle of the Steyne. They were partially hidden by the vegetation, so he could not discern their features, nor could he tell if one was the same man who had followed him and Jack the day before. They could be visitors to Brighton curious to observe the goings-on at the house of the Catholic woman next door who had dared to marry the heir to the British throne. Or, they could be traitors to the Crown intent on vengeance.

He experienced a sudden dread when he realized if they were among those who had been following him, he had led them to Lady Sanborn’s home—and to Chastity Reynolds.