“I do not disagree, but how do you intend to extract any information from Martin Shaw if you arrive scowling? We will be tossed off his stoop before his butler can make the introductions.”
He shifted in his seat, refusing to answer. Refusing to let her know she was right again. More often than not, he admired her astute mind, the way she thought dazzling him, but now was not one of those times.
“Stop scowling. You can do charming. For goodness’ sake, when you are not pacing a hole in my carpets, demanding I marry you, or sparring with Brett and Robbie, you charm me. And you charm Jonathan. He follows you around like you can single-handedly win all the wars.”
He shifted again, bristling as he caught the flash of a teasing light in her eyes. She was reeling him in like a fat fish. He frowned, not quite ready to concede. “Very well. What about dashing?”
“Dashing, too. You dash very well. Just like Robin Hood.”
He considered her words. “He has the advantage on me in dashing, for he does lead a group of merry men.”
“And you have Robbie and Brett playing sentry,” she pointed out.
He frowned at the reminder of his friend’s curricle, which followed them. He could not afford to take any chances, not with Maid Marian refusing to stay safely at home. “So they play the guards, I play the blackguard, and you play my lovely fiancée. Maybe we should practice our roles. As I have charming and dashing down, perhaps you should practice.”
“Oh? What should I practice?” She eyed him warily.
“Fawning and batting your eyelashes, looking suitably besotted, like you cannot wait to get your hands on me and—”
“Are you quite finished? Very amusing. Another one of your dreams?” She batted her eyelashes.
He snorted out a laugh. “It was one of my fondest ones, but I am revising it. Damned if your stare, direct and forthright, has undone me. That’s the look for me.”
“I think that is one of the kindest things you’ve said to me.” She beamed.
“Oh, come now, I have said some rather lovely things about your skin, your eyes, your . . .”
Laughing, she held up her hand to stop him. “We are slowing down. Save your charm for Mr. Shaw’s son or his wife, if she appears. Pity Shaw did not have a daughter. I have little doubt she would deliver the papers and whatever else you want after you flashed your smile at her,” she muttered.
“One smile?” Delighted, he cocked a brow.
Unfortunately, the door was opened and the step lowered before he could tempt her with his smile. Julia edged forward to be assisted down. He’d have to pursue the matter later, see if a few well-aimed smiles worked on getting his Julia to say yes. It sounded as if she gave them some heed if she believed they had the power to get women to do his bidding.
He stepped outside, meeting Brett and Robbie, who had drawn up behind them.
Martin Shaw, Abel Shaw’s middle son, resided in Russell Square, and while it was not the West End, it was a respectable address. Daniel could not fathom anyone following them here. Then again, he hadn’t believed his brother capable of fratricide.
“Robbie says the hairs on the back of his neck are crawling. He thinks you should turn around.” Brett lifted a brow, which conveyed his opinion on the matter.
“I did not say that,” Robbie snapped. “I said I have seen the same tilbury following us for a bit and driving to the inch to keep up with us. The horses don’t like it, feel crowded.”
Daniel nodded. “If it appears again, see if you can catch them. They might have useful information.”
“Right,” Brett said. “And if they have guns? I think we should be more concerned if they have those.”
“He has a point,” Julia said, warily eyeing the passing traffic.
Daniel frowned. “Just be aware of anything untoward. They’re not going to fire on us in the middle of Russell Square. This is not your Wild West.”
“True,” Brett agreed. “We’re in refined London, which happens to boast a history replete with plagues, decapitations, torture, dukes murdering their own brothers—”
“Just be alert.” Daniel cut him off. “We will leave the carriage at Shaw’s and have a footman pick it up. We can exit through the servant’s entrance and take a circuitous route home. Does that meet with your approval?”
“Fine,” Brett sighed.
As Brett returned to their curricle with Robbie, Daniel overheard Brett ask Robbie why the horses who felt crowded didn’t share their concerns with Brett. Robbie’s answer was a cuff to Brett’s head, knocking his top hat askew.
Julia slipped her arm through Daniel’s, gripping his forearm tighter than necessary. Cursing the situation, he led her up the front stoop to the entrance to Martin Shaw’s residence.