The butler bowed to her. ‘Shall I have a groom saddle up a horse, as well?’
She shook her head. Spies did not bring along servants. ‘No, thank you. Samuel, I mean Lord Pelford, will be my escort.’
The good man raised only one eyebrow. ‘Are you sure your mother would approve, my lady?’
Huffing, she hated when Harper caught her behaving badly. Frederica shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. ‘He is my betrothed. It is quite unexceptional for us to go on a ride together.’
‘How long will you be gone?’
Holding in her groan, she realised that whilst it might be perfectly acceptable for a suitor or a fiancé to ride with a young lady in the park, it was quite another thing to travel for several miles across country with her. They would not be home until late in the afternoon. And Harper was her friend and not a fool.
‘Harper, Samuel has asked me to help him with secret military business. I might be gone for seven or eight hours. Could you cover for me?’
The butler gave her a studied look. Harper had known her since she was a child and could usually tell when Frederica lied. Luckily, this time she was not. ‘Very well, Lady Frederica. But be very careful.’
‘I am always careful.’
Harper raised one eyebrow again and gave her a dubious look. He knew her too well.
‘Fine,’ she said with another huff. ‘I will beverycareful. The soul of caution.’
Frederica thought she heard the dear butler mutter that she wasthe soul of mischief. But that did not stop him from calling her a horse and holding the door open for her when it arrived. Jim, her favourite groom, helped her into the side-saddle just as Samuel came down the street. He was not in uniform today, but dressed in a dark riding coat with five shoulder capes. It was severely cut and made him look very handsome. She thanked Jim and gave the butler a wave goodbye, before urging her horse towards her betrothed.
She winked at him saucily. ‘I am clothed and ready as requested.’
A little colour stole into Samuel’s tanned cheeks. He was obviously attracted to her and Frederica liked having this power over him. When they were younger, he had treated her like an annoying fly that buzzed around him. He either ignored her or tried to swat at her. Now he was practically drooling over her. That Samuel was equally desirable to her, she did not focus on. Or that she had spent the rest of the day after he left thinking about his kisses. He did not need to know that. Being a man and a duke, he already had the upper hand in their arrangement.
‘You look—fine,’ he said, his eyes avoiding her entire person.
Frederica grinned, directing her horse near his. ‘We haven’t got all day.’
Samuel nodded, turning his horse around in a circle. Together they weaved through the streets until they had left the city of Brussels. She made to turn onto a small gravel path. Wisely, Frederica had consulted a map for the location of Genappe after he’d left the day before, but Samuel checked her. He told her they would save a mile by cutting through a few fields. She allowed him to lead the way and Frederica revelled in jumping over several fences. They returned to the road and passed the small village of Waterloo. It was not much to look at and nothing worth stopping for.
Over three and a half hours later, Frederica reined in her horse outside of The King of Spain Inn. The building was two stories high and had been painted a crisp white. The only colour was a small black sign, three feet by three feet, that proclaimed the name of the inn. She was relieved to have finally arrived, for her thighs were becoming a bit sore. She was not used to riding this far or hard during a typical London Season. But she would have died rather than admit her weakness to Samuel. He could use it to tease or mock her.
Frederica allowed Samuel to assist her down from her horse and she had to bite her lower lip to keep from groaning. Together, they strode into the taproom of the bar. She tried to walk as normally as possible. A small Belgian man who was several inches shorter than Frederica bowed deeply to her, his long nose almost touching his knees. Samuel requested a private parlour and tea. The owner bowed lowly yet again and directed her to a side chamber with a large window that filled the room with natural light. A round table was placed in the centre of the room and had six chairs around it. The walls were whitewashed and simple, without adornment, but the parlour was clean.
‘Monsieur, my betrothed and I are expecting a British gentleman. He is going to help us with our marriage contract. Could you please bring him in here when he arrives?’ Samuel asked in French.
The small man nodded vigorously and executed another low bow. Within five minutes, a young waiter with fair hair and innumerable red freckles entered with the tea tray. He set it on the table and asked if the gentleman and lady required anything else. Frederica replied in French before Samuel could that they did not. She wanted to show her fiancé that she spoke French as flawlessly as he did.
Frederica prepared the tea and poured Samuel a cup and then herself. She enjoyed the hot sensation down her throat as she drank it. Somehow, she felt the comfort all the way down to her sore inner thighs. She hoped the British spy would be slow to arrive. She wasn’t ready yet for another long and hard ride.
Samuel drained his own cup. ‘You’re still a bruising rider.’
She could only be glad that she had not mentioned how stiff she was. She realised that it had been seven years since he had seen her ride. ‘Did you really join the army to get away from me? My brothers said that you did.’
His cheeks turned as red as a soldier’s coat. ‘You shouldn’t mention that I am a soldier whilst we are here.’
Blushing, Frederica realised that she was not being a very good spy. ‘You still have not answered my question.’
Picking up the teapot, he poured himself another glass. The colour in his cheeks fading. ‘Believe it or not, Freddie, not all of my life decisions were based upon you.’
She hated that nickname which Matthew sometimes called her and Samuel knew it. She wanted to growl at him like a wolf, but then she would have childishly risen to his bait. She refilled her own teacup. ‘Nor have I based my life decisions on you, my sweet baby angel Sammy.’
It was the endearment his mother called him and he hated it more than anything. Hence, Frederica had loved to call him that as children.
Wincing, he took another sip. ‘Shall we call a truce on names? I won’t call you Freddie and you will refrain from calling me Sammy?’