Cloaked in Danger

by Jeannie Ruesch

“Adam, where do you want me?” Aria asked softly. She dropped her gown again, until it pooled about her waist, then inch by inch slid to the floor.

  Where did he want her? Next to him. Under him.

  Over him.

  He turned away from the bed, moved to a chair propped in front of the fireplace, and sunk into it. His head rested in his hands. “What do you want to know?”

  Silence answered him, but he couldn’t look up. This woman... she stirred his blood in a way no woman had. But the past stood between them, and he was exhausted. Tired of holding onto a secret that could send him to prison if the courts didn’t believe his story. Tired of forcing his family to keep quiet what he’d done.

  Tired of pretending that everything was fine.

  “I shot a man.” The words were heavy, laden with the guilt he felt for not feeling guilty.

  “And now you know. I shot him and he bloody well deserved it. What end does that achieve, Aria? What the hell does any of this accomplish?”

  * * *

  The admission floored Aria, and weakness buckled her knees. She snapped her legs straight to keep from falling. No. No. No. She hadn’t realized until Adam said the words how much she had wanted him to be the man she thought he was.

  “Is he dead?” Please, let Papa be alive.

  “Yes.” His words came through clenched teeth.

  “Why? Why would you do it?” A waterfall of tears clogged her throat, even as anger and pain began to swirl as fiercely and blindingly strong as a dust storm.

  “He held a gun to my sister’s head!”

  She reared back. “He would never do that.”

  “You weren’t there. I was.” The earl stood, his hand gripping the chair he’d left. “He left me no choice. If I hadn’t shot him, he would have killed Blythe.”

  “You are lying!” Her father would never hurt a woman. He would never... With a cry of rage, she flew at him, fingers curled into such tight fists, her nails bit into her flesh. “You killed him! How could you kill him?”

  “Stop this,” he commanded when she landed a blow to his cheek.

  “You killed an innocent man!” She had turned into a screaming, writhing ball of anger.

  “Be still!” he roared.

  Finally, he clamped his arms around her and dragged her against him, until his face was so close to hers she could feel his breath. “Listen to me.” He dropped his arms, letting her stumble back from him. “Thomas held a gun to my sister’s head. The man I allowed to marry her—hell, I gave him my bloody blessing. He made a mockery of their marriage—he used her. Then he destroyed her life, her spirit and almost killed her. I shot him, Aria, and I’d do it again. I killed him to protect my sister. I don’t know who he is to you, but he was not a good man. He caused a tremendous amount of pain to a lot of people.”

  Aria felt dizzy from the wall of undecipherable emotions that hit her, and she pressed her palms against the sides of her head. “You said you killed him. You said you killed my father.”

  Shock swept over Adam’s face. “I said I shot Thomas.”

  His door flung open. An older woman stood there, tying her robe around her waist, her long hair about her shoulders.

  “Adam, what was that awful screaming?” Blythe, Adam’s sister, appeared behind her, a candle in her hands.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the older woman, whom Aria assumed was his mother, asked with a hard edge. “Adam, what have you done?”

  The world shrank to the few steps between her and Adam and his family, and Aria had never been more keenly aware of her lack of clothing. Adam had let go, and she looked frantically along the floor for her gown. Something, anything to cover up.

  “This is not what it appears,” Adam said, which sounded so foolish.

  It was, in fact, far worse.

  Without a word, Blythe brushed past their mother and hurried into Adam’s closet. Seconds later, she came out with a thick navy robe and handed it to Aria.

  She slipped arms into the robe and wrapped it around her. The subtle masculine scent that clung to Adam clung also to his robe. Without thinking, she took in a short sniff, the scene calming her for some ungodly reason, then turned to Adam. “Please tell me what you know.”

  Lady Merewood moved to Aria’s side, put an iron arm about her shoulders, and directed her out. “Blythe, please bring Miss Whitney’s clothing into my room. She will get dressed there, and then we will meet downstairs.”

  Aria looked back frantically. “I need an answer.”

  Adam was shaking his head. “I haven’t seen Gideon Whitney since before he left months ago. I was in Gloucestershire in March, with the rest of my family. I thought you were—”

  “That will be enough.” Adam’s mother firmly closed the door in Adam’s face.

  “No!” She wrenched free. “I can’t—”

  “You will keep your silence right now,” his mother said in a firm, even voice, “so as not to wake the children in this house. I do not wish them to see this.”

  Aria flushed. As far as Adam’s mother and likely the entirety of London was concerned, Aria had done an atrocious thing by standing in Adam’s bedroom. Add to that her state of undress, and she was branded a whore. But that look on Adam’s face when she’d asked about her father...it had seemed genuine, as if he really hadn’t known what she was talking about.

  Instead, he’d been keeping a secret of his own. He didn’t know where her father was.

  A current of bright, lurid pain flashed, blinded her. All of this time...everything was for naught.

  She’d been chasing nothing but air.

  But the earl had not killed her father.

  But Merewood had killed a man. Was that the secret he’d been keeping all this time? Is that why he had refused to answer any of her questions? How had their conversations gotten so jumbled up?

  A flood of joy rushed through her. Adam wasn’t involved.

  His mother shuffled her into a bedroom, even as Aria tried not to follow. “You’ll wait here. Blythe will bring your clothes shortly. Then I wish to see you downstairs.” Regret showed in her pinched lips. “Where shall I send a note to your father? He’ll need to be involved in this discussion.”

  Her father. She had failed him.

  Every second that went by without answers could cost him his life, and she’d wasted so much time. Pressure built behind her eyes, for the tears she couldn’t seem to find, and she wrapped her arms around her stomach to hold in the pain. “He’s not available.” Her body screamed; her eyes stung. “He isn’t here. God, what have I done?”

  The phrase was becoming her personal mantra.

  Adam’s mother reached out to place a hand on Aria’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “It isn’t an ideal situation, I understand, but I assure you, my son will do the honorable thing.”

  “Honorable thing?” Aria blinked back tears, as the unending panic stole her breath, made it impossible to breathe.

  Blythe pushed the door open. She held a gown Aria didn’t recognize.

  “I...accidentally stepped on the hem and ripped the gown,” Blythe said, her gaze never leaving Aria’s. “I apologize for that. Here is one of mine.”

  By Blythe’s look of horrified shock, she had assumed the worst. His sister thought Adam had forced himself on her. This situation was getting worse with each passing minute. And Aria had spent enough time thinking the worst of Adam. She wouldn’t allow someone else to do it for even a second.

  Aria took the gown from her. “It’s not what you might think, Lady Ashton. There is an explanation for all of this.”

  “We will hear the explanations,” Adam’s mother said, “but that will have little bearing on the outcome. Please get dressed. We’ll be downstairs.”

  Blythe gave Aria one last measuring glan
ce then followed her mother out the door. Before they closed it, Aria heard, “It looks like we’ll have another wedding to plan.”

  Chapter Nine

  A wedding to plan.

  Aria moved into the corridor, dressed in Blythe’s simple gown of green muslin. But the words ran through her mind in circles, over and over again, playing havoc with her nerves.

  She couldn’t marry Lord Merewood. That was absurd.

  She wouldn’t marry Patrick either, but he expected a betrothal, despite her adamant response to the contrary.

  And good God, what would he think of her now? She didn’t want to hurt him. But she’d done nothing but lie to him for weeks, and Patrick would be devastated. Would it have been so terrible to ask for his help? To ask for anyone’s help?

  Aria followed the murmur of voices, turned the corner into the front parlor, and found Adam, his mother and sister conversing softly.

  At her appearance, Adam immediately leapt to his feet. “Aria, why do you believe your father is in danger?”

  Panicked, Aria looked from face to face. She didn’t want this out. “Perhaps I misspoke...”

  “Danger?” his mother said, as if Aria hadn’t spoken. “Aria, come in. Sit down. We’d best start at the beginning.”

  The scene was so domestic, with Blythe pouring tea as if they were having a cozy visit.

  “I can’t do this. If I leave now, no one will be the wiser. A wedding is not necessary.”

  “We can discuss that later.” Adam waved his hand to push the topic aside. “If your father is in danger, let me help.”

  Aria had to physically force her feet to stay put even as every muscle wanted to propel her forward, to run. Escape. The basic survival skills her father taught her at a young age wanted to take over: Fight or flight.

  But how did you fight your way out of a gathering with tea and scones?

  “There is no need.” Aria let her foot inch sideways toward the door. “I’ve managed to keep this quiet, and I think that’s best for now.” She turned to Adam. “I need to go. And Lord Merewood, I assure you, I will not divulge your secret.”

  “Your secret?” Adam’s mother echoed.

  Adam’s mouth thinned. “Thomas.”

  “What about Thomas?” Blythe sat still, her teacup just below her lips. “What else did that man do?”

  “Blythe, I will return your clothing,” Aria said softly, relieved no one paid attention. Another inch. And another. The door loomed closer.

  Adam spoke. “This is not about Thomas, Blythe. Don’t worry.”

  “Thank the heavens. I shudder at the thought of him wreaking havoc on my life from the grave.” She glared at him, then added, “And no comments about Michael.”

  He set the tray down. “I wasn’t going to say a word.”

  “Of course you—”

  “Aria, where do you think you’re going?” Adam’s mother asked.

  Aria put her hand on the doorway. She was two steps away; she wasn’t turning back now.

  “You need to sit down. Have a cup of tea.” The motherly tone brooked no defiance.

  “It is late. If I leave now, all can be restored to rights.”

  “Your carriage is sitting out front, Miss Whitney,” Adam reminded her. “If word has not spread of that already, it will the moment the rooster crows.”

  Her carriage.

  The room shrunk to the size of a cage, and to Aria’s horror, tears bubbled into her throat. She would not cry in front of these people.

  Blythe grabbed a teacup filled to the brim, walked it to the sideboard, and added a liberal dose of spirits. At the same time, Adam’s mother was by Aria’s side, curling an arm over her shoulder, propelling her toward the couch. Her gentle, but firm push landed Aria on the cushions, and Blythe stuck the cup in her hands. “Drink. You will feel better. We are family now, or will be soon enough after the wedding. We’ll help you.”

  “No.” Panic roared. “I don’t need the earl to marry me.”

  “Of course he’ll marry you.”

  “This can remain between us. I wasn’t...I mean, Adam didn’t ruin me. We didn’t even—” They had kissed. Was that enough? She mentally combed through Emily’s etiquette books, trying to recall. She looked at Blythe. “I ripped my dress, not him. He did nothing wrong.” She bounded her gaze between his mother and sister, willing them to believe her. “He did not hurt me in any way.”

  “He may not have taken your virtue, but he did plenty,” his mother replied. “You’ve been truly compromised, Miss Whitney. If your carriage parked out front wasn’t proof enough, servants gossip, and you made quite the racket. I won’t have my son dragged into such a reputation, and I won’t have you ruined over this. My son will marry you.”

  “I can’t marry the man I thought was—” She stopped, gave in, took a liberal sip. The warmth exploded in her throat, all the way to her belly. “I have made so many mistakes. I will not add to them. Thank you, but none of this matters. I don’t care—”

  “You might not care, but I do.” Adam stood to the side, legs apart, arms crossed. Aria recognized his sailor’s stance as one taken when battling the elements of nature. “I allowed this to come to this point, and I will take responsibility for that. There is no discussion.”

  He walked closer, until he loomed over her. “Now tell me about your father and why you thought I had anything to do with it.”

  His autocratic nature set her teeth on edge, so she put her cup down, stood up. “My father disappeared in March,” she told him, not exactly eye to eye, but with her shoulders squared. “You were out of London for the length of time it would take to get to Egypt and back, and no one would confirm your whereabouts. You refused to discuss any of it with me.”

  “He’s too blasted stubborn for his own good,” Blythe muttered, grabbing a biscuit from the tray.

  “So my name was on a list? That has been your grand plan?” Adam looked mildly pained and infinitely irritated, as if he realized how a simple answer could have solved so much.

  “I still need to find him. I need—I have wasted so much time.” Her hands jerked in beat with her words. “What if I’m too late? What if—” The cup and saucer clattered out of her hands and hot liquid spilled onto the carpet. “Drat!” She grabbed a napkin and blotted at the mess.

  Adam bent down next to her, grabbed her hand. “Stop. We will sort everything out.”

  “I won’t marry you.”

  “Yes, you will. But we can deal with that later.”

  Her world spun farther and farther out of her control. She couldn’t help her father. She couldn’t keep her life in order. And while she was happy to know that her heart hadn’t betrayed her, that this man was as good, as strong as he seemed, she couldn’t marry him.

  “I do not understand something. Why would you assume me, of all the men in London?”

  “You blackmailed me, for God’s sake, and told me to stay away from your family. You were acting quite suspicious.”

  “Blackmailed?” Blythe questioned.

  Adam shot a gaze at Blythe. “I found her in Ravensdale’s rooms the night of your betrothal ball. After you told me she was a title hunter—”

  “Which I am not.” Aria looked from face to face. “I didn’t want this. I don’t want this.”

  “You believed she was going after Michael,” Blythe finished Adam’s sentence.

  “At first. And then because she was acting suspicious and quite focused on the time things happened with Thomas, I began to fear she was after something worse.” His shoulders slumped. “And it wasn’t blackmail.”

  “You threatened to ruin my reputation. And my father’s,” Aria replied. “In fact, that was the moment I believed you were involved in my father’s disappearance.”

  Adam opened his mouth, then shut it
with a snort of disgust. “What a bloody mess.”

  “What exactly happened to your father?” Adam’s mother asked.

  “My father made a tremendous discovery. He’d found crates of pottery and jewelry that—”

  “This is over jewelry?” Adam interrupted.

  “Not random pieces of jewelry. Cleopatra’s jewelry. There were written accounts of one of her most treasured possessions, a necklace rumored to be given to her by Marc Antony. But it was stolen and never found. It would be priceless, and a find that would establish my father’s work, his name in history.”

  “And your father found it.”

  “According to John, they believed so, yes. They had been searching for years.” She frowned. “You’re an investor—didn’t you know of this?”

  Adam shook his head. “I invest in the work in general, not specific digs. He may have sent updates, but those are forwarded to my solicitor, who sends me an accounting of all my investments combined. I didn’t notice anything particular. Perhaps he made a list of previous investors, people to readdress later for another purpose.”

  Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap. “In any case, men arrived at their camp that night, torched it, left most of the men for dead and took the crates they’d discovered.” The words were flat. “My father was gone when his partner woke. There has been no word or sign of him since. John barely made it out alive.”

  “And your goal has been, what, poke at sleeping bears until you find the one who might bite back?” Adam paced the room. “Do you realize how dangerous that is? Do you even know what you are looking for?”

  “John told me one of the investors was there, in Egypt. He argued with my father.”

  “Good Lord, Aria, do you realize how thin that is? You don’t know who he was, who he worked for. You have nothing to go on here, other than putting yourself in harm’s way.”

  “I cannot let my father die!”

  “Your father may be —”

  “He is not dead!

  “He may not even be in trouble.”

  “He hasn’t come home.” That was proof in Aria’s mind. She crossed her arms.