Which left the earl. Adam let his gaze drift about the room until it settled on Dunlevy, who stood paying court to the very wealthy Dowager Countess of Blighdale and her daughter.
Dunlevy was slightly taller than Adam, but gangly and with the most unfortunate bushy eyebrows that literally overtook his face.
Where was Aria? She should be here, taking outrageous chances and shredding her entire reputation with every leap to gain her end.
He glanced left and blinked at the sight of Cordelia dancing in the arms, for the brief time the current country dance allowed, of Mr. Melrose. Adam shook his head. She was matter-of-fact about her ambition for a title and wealth, and yet she spent time with a man who offered neither. He would never understand his sister.
A flash of yellow caught the corner of his eye, and Adam turned slightly.
Through the mill of dancers, he saw her.
At least, he saw the top of her head. Dark, curly hair amassed in a mix of smoothed ringlets.
Relief coursed through him as he stepped in her direction. He would stay by her side until the evening was over, and sit upon her if necessary to keep her out of trouble.
“Ouch!”
Adam looked down at the woman bending down to inspect the foot he’d trod upon. “My apologies,” he said absently and looked back in the direction of where he’d seen Aria.
Through the sea of brunettes and blondes, he caught sight of the near-black curls once again and continued forward. Adam sidestepped and maneuvered around the crowd that had tripled in the last thirty seconds. Had everyone decided to descend upon the dance floor?
“I say, watch your step!” someone called out to him.
Aria was getting harder to keep track of. Without even a pretense of politeness, he plowed through the crowd and ignored the affronted yelps. He reached the garden doors and swiveled on his heel.
Nothing. She must have gone into the garden.
The doors opened easily and a gust of chilled evening air surrounded him. No one stood nearby, so he moved with long strides around the bend of the house. No sign of an alluring, infuriating woman with dark curls and a yellow gown.
“She has to be here,” he muttered.
She hadn’t fluttered into the air like a bird. He continued, noting the open windows into the house. He passed the window of the card room, where Ravensdale sat at a table with the duke and a few others, cigar in one hand, cards in the other.
Before he knew it, he was back on the terrace and into the crowd of people. Their laughter grated on the frayed edges of his nerves, and if he saw one more pointed look in his direction, he might be tempted toward violence.
Ah! A flash of yellow.
Adam bowled through the crowd, moved into a sprint. Aria began to slip out of sight, so he reached out and took hold of her arm.
“I beg your pardon!” The woman twirled about as he pulled, and at the indignant, attractive face he saw, he immediately let go.
“Damn it!” he snapped.
The girl, barely old enough to be up so late, sucked in a gasp and her eyes grew round as saucers. Small twitters about them let Adam know that he was being avidly watched.
“My apologies,” he muttered to the woman before turning on his heel to head back outside. He needed air. He needed...
Damn it, he needed to find her so he could set his world to rights again. He did not like not knowing where she was or what trouble she might be brewing.
“It’s not the duke.”
Adam snapped his gaze up and then looked back into the darkness of the gardens beyond the terrace rails. “How do you know?”
“His whereabouts are confirmed and substantiated,” Ravensdale said as he took a spot next to him and leaned on the rail, “He spent the early months with his wife’s family, at his mother-in-law’s bedside. She died last month.” He paused. “Where did Miss Whitney get this list from, anyway? She’s gone through every member of nobility and confirmed his whereabouts?” Ravensdale sounded skeptical.
Adam might have questioned the exact same thing, but he’d never admit it now. “It was a list of investors.”
“Hardly scientific, but a place to start, I imagine.”
“Aria is not an idiot.”
“I already ascertained that, as she managed to get out of my study at our betrothal party without Blythe or me being the wiser to her true purpose.”
Adam stiffened. “You knew about that?”
“Not until recently. Last night, in fact,” he muttered, “when your sister—who, by the way, enjoys knowing something I do not ever so much—told me.”
At mention of Blythe’s name, a tick jumped in Adam’s jaw.
“Blythe also mentioned that you thought I had arranged to meet with Miss Whitney in my rooms that night and questioned her about it.”
“I don’t want to discuss this now.” Not when his temper was at its breaking point, and the idea of a good, old-fashioned brawl held tremendous appeal.
“Blythe would prefer your blessing before our wedding, and I would prefer my brother-in-law not trying to undermine my marriage by convincing my wife not to trust me, so we will discuss this. Now is as good a time as any.”
Adam opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. He should walk away. He should—
No. He shouldn’t. He swiveled around until he was eye to eye with the man. “You almost got her killed.”
“I am acutely aware of that.” Ravensdale’s voice was grim. “It haunts me daily, imagining what she went through when Thomas held a gun to her head.”
“I watched what she went through. You knew Thomas was alive when you showed up at Rosemead. Even after you asked her to marry her, you said nothing. You knew he was dangerous and you said nothing.”
“I was trying to protect her. I went about it wrong. I believed getting Thomas out of her life was the way to do that.” He gave a short shake of his head, his face drawn tight. “I should have done a lot of things differently.”
“Damn right, you should have. She would have been better off without anyone from your family in her life,” Adam snapped.
“Perhaps that is true. But I can assure you she will never be without me again. I will protect Blythe with my life should it come to that.”
Adam stiffened. “Is there something else you haven’t told her? A reason she would need your protection?”
“Goddamn it, Merewood. Enough is enough. She is going to be my wife, and you’ll bloody well live with it.”
Adam took the few inches between them in one stride, until he stood toe-to-toe with the man.
Ravensdale jerked his chin back. “Will this settle it? If you get in a few clips, can we move on?”
“It would feel damn good.”
“Then I give you leave, Merewood. Take your best shot. If this is how we must settle it, so be it. This time, however, I will fight back.”
The temptation gnawed at Adam as it always did whenever he came face-to-face with Ravensdale, which proved irritatingly often. He’d given in to that temptation once before, at their club, when his family had first arrived in London to discover that Ravensdale had betrothed himself to someone else. Blythe had been devastated, and Adam had wanted to kill the bastard.
He’d wanted to give in to the urge another time, oddly enough in this very spot at a different ball the Pennybrookes had thrown, on yet another occasion Ravensdale had done something to make Blythe cry.
Tears were his downfall, Adam knew. Any time a woman he cared about cried, he felt like he must right the wrongs of the world to stop it.
But tears would be the least of his worries if the next time Blythe saw her fiancé, he sported bruises and cuts from a public brawl—at the Earl of Pennybrooke’s home no less. As Adam’s mother was already upset, his home would become a veritable cage filled with
irate females.
Adam looked around them, noting that the room had gone dramatically quiet for such a large crowd.
This exchange would be gossip fodder in every call paid come morning. Adam had a feeling that an icy storm would be heading his way whether he took the punch or not.
However, perhaps he could earn a measure of forgiveness for behaving himself.
“As much as I regret this, I must decline.” And did that regret sting.
Ravensdale lifted a shoulder in careless disregard, then let out a sigh. “Thank God. Blythe would refuse to speak to me for weeks should we come to blows again.”
Adam popped his head up. “Again? She knows about our...conversation at the club?”
“God, no. She considers our last exchange here at Pennybrooke’s close enough to violence to count.” He snorted in disgust. “I didn’t get as much as a shove in.”
Adam opened his mouth to retort and then glimpsed Lord Dunlevy heading toward the entrance. “We’ll be certain to find another time for that shove,” he said and strode into the mix of people.
“I look forward to it,” Ravensdale muttered behind him.
Adam paid a scant more attention to people’s feet, in hopes of avoiding them, but still managed to hear a few yelps along his path to the front door. If Dunlevy was leaving, Adam would be right behind him.
It was time to face facts: Aria was not showing up.
Which likely meant that she’d taken more drastic measures. Given her penchant for trouble, she could... Ah hell, Adam had no idea what she would do.
Break into the man’s house? Throw herself in front of his carriage? God only knew.
He stopped in the corridor and stood quietly, the other man a few feet away, as they both waited for their overcoats to be delivered. Once they were bundled, the front door was opened and Adam followed Dunlevy outside.
He would get the answers. One way or another.
* * *
Every muscle in her body screamed in pain, in need of movement. Aria lay curled in a ball, bound hand and foot.
She wiggled and tried to pull free, but no amount of pressure loosened the bonds. The jarring all around her and the clop of horse hooves told her she was traveling.
She forced her eyes open, tried to focus the blurry images in front of her.
A carriage?
With every bounce, she groaned.
God, her head ached. Everything ached.
And that smell...pungent enough to sting her nose and with a foulness that made her stomach roll. Was it her? Hours had gone by. Or had it only been minutes? Or God forbid, days? Why was her head so fuzzy she didn’t even know time?
There had been the tiniest glimmer of light through the slats in the wood. Now there was nothing except dark. Blurry circles danced in her eyes and she fought to keep them open.
She had to get out. Had to see where she was. What had happened.
But the edges slunk in closer, like a blanket surrounding her.
Darkness.
* * *
The carriage ahead slowed to a stop in front of a house.
The footman opened the carriage door, and the earl unfolded from inside. With a spring in his step, he tipped his head to his driver and walked to the front door. In minutes, it was opened by a well-endowed, scantily clad woman.
She folded Dunlevy into an embrace, and they slid inside the door, then kicked it shut behind them.
Wonderful. He was here to tumble his mistress.
Even as the man searched for a bride, it was common knowledge that Dunlevy’s true love remained unmarriageable material. Adam could feel pity for the woman who ended up shackled to him.
Adam wasn’t about to wait in the bloody carriage and feel like a Peeping Tom.
Adam pushed the door and exited, waiting in the shadows as Dunlevy’s driver hauled himself into the seat atop his carriage and set the horses to moving. Likely eager to get to the pub around the corner, the driver never noticed Adam.
Adam wasted no time getting to the door, and rapped his fist on the peeling, splintery wood. Moments later, the same buxom woman appeared. In the light, she was attractive, though older than Adam had thought. Her...attributes were clearly on display in the open dressing robe and nearly sheer nightgown. She looked up at him, befuddled but unconcerned over her lack of modesty.
“What can I do fer ya, gov’na?” she asked.
Adam pushed the door open and stepped past her.
“This is me house!” she cried. “Ye can’t jes barge in.”
“Watch me.”
“Dorothea?”
From the single doorway that likely led to the bedroom, the earl emerged, his cravat loose around his opened shirt. As he focused on Adam, his brows drew together and he turned a pointed glare at his woman. “What is going on?” His gaze snapped to Adam. “What is he doing here?”
Dorothea rushed to his side, grasping at the edges of her dressing gown to yank them closed. “I don’t rightly know. Ye ‘ave to help, Alfred! I didna invite ’im in.”
Dunlevy grabbed a candle from a nearby table and lifted it up. “Who are you? What do you want?”
Adam looked around the small room. There was naught to find here, but hopefully some answers. “Lord Dunlevy?”
“Yes?” the other man replied with a frown. “Wait, Merewood, is that you?” Dorothea stood behind him, her tousled head peeking out around the man.
Adam nodded. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“This is a damned deuced time for questions, old chap. Whatever it is, it shall wait. See yourself out.” He turned toward the bedroom.
“I’m afraid it can’t, Dunlevy. I am in need of information now.”
“About what?” Dunlevy demanded. “What can’t possibly wait until tomorrow?”
“Your whereabouts a while back. If you could kindly tell me where you were during March and April.”
The man sucked in a breath and even with the sparse candlelight, a panicked expression crossed his face. Adam waited for less than a second before he moved forward, yanked the candle out of the man’s hand, and shoved it toward his mistress.
“Go in the other room and close the door,” Adam ordered her.
With wide eyes cast at Dunlevy, Dorothea clutched the candle close enough that Adam thought she’d set herself on fire, and then whirled to the door and ran. It slammed shut behind her, taking the cloud of light with her. In the sudden shadows, Adam shoved his hand against Dunlevy’s chest and pushed him back with a hard jolt against the door.
“Tell me what you know, or so help me God, I will break every bone in your body.”
Dunlevy shook his head frantically. “I don’t know what you want!”
“Then why are you so bloody skittish?” He moved his hand closer up toward the man’s neck. “Tell me where you were.”
Dunlevy raised a hand tentatively in the air. “Might I request we discuss this outside perhaps?”
“Tell me now.”
“Very well. I was visiting...” His words grew softer by the breath until Adam couldn’t understand a thing he said.
“Louder.”
Dunlevy flicked a glance at the door behind him. “I was visiting the Dancy estate.” His words were hushed still.
“That would hardly be worth keeping secret.” Then Adam recalled that the Earl of Dancy had a lovely daughter who had debuted last season until she fell from a horse and broke both her legs. She’d not returned to the marriage mart since.
Beads of sweat on Dunlevy’s forehead glistened in the dim light and gathered at his bushy brows. “I was visiting with—” He paused, then with overly exaggerated movements, mouthed the rest, “La-dy Hannah.”
Adam’s hand slackened and he pulled back from the man. “Lady
Hannah?”
Dunlevy cringed and held up a hand. “Please, not so loud,” he urged in a stage whisper.
Nonetheless, the door behind him was yanked open and Dunlevy went crashing to the floor. Dorothea stood over him, hands on hips and temper near setting her hair aflame.
“Did I hear Lady Hannah? This is regarding that Dancy girl again?” She snapped her gaze to Adam. “What is this about? Why have you broken into my home over Lady Hannah?”
Dunlevy held a hand up. “Darling, ’tis nothing for you to worry about. I believe it was likely a case of mistaken identity or some such nonsense.”
Adam frowned. “Then you were not at the Dancy estate in March?” Which Adam noted was less than half a day’s ride from London and far, far away from the Red Sea.
Apparently, that was the wrong thing to mention as Dorothea let out an outraged scream. “You were with me countless times that month, and you left my side to go see her? In the...the country?”
Adam could debate that less than half a day’s ride from Town was not truly the country, but he doubted his opinion mattered. And from the way Dunlevy moved to his knees—and stayed there—to plead forgiveness, Adam found it difficult to believe the man capable of any sort of subterfuge.
But still...”Why would Dancy keep your visits quiet?” He’d heard nothing of it, and was certain had one of the women in his family done so, the gossip would have been common knowledge. Adam would have thought the Earl of Dancy would announce to the world if his daughter had a suitor.
Dunlevy turned in his prostrated position. “My God, man, have I done something to offend you?”
“If you answer my question satisfactorily, then you’ve done nothing to offend. However, I must ask for an answer.”
Dunlevy dropped his head, and defeat washed over the man like bathwater. “I was courting Lady Hannah and—” he looked to Dorothea, “please, dearest, you must forgive me and understand that this does not replace my affection for you.” As she turned away from him, Dunlevy finally pulled himself to his feet. “I requested Lady Hannah’s hand in marriage. However given my well-addressed relationship with Miss Gedding here, they were unconvinced as to my devotion. They required a number of visits and...” Dorothea let out a strangled cry and ran back into the bedroom. Dunlevy stopped to give Adam a pointed glare. “Do you have what you came for? Would you get the bloody hell out of this house now?”
Cloaked in Danger Page 18
