“I suggest you keep your mouth shut right now,” Adam snapped. “You have been playing them both on some sort of string for weeks now. If you had affections for Lily, you should never have continued your courtship of Cordelia.”
“I—”
“He kissed me as well, so any claims he makes of affection toward Lily are false,” Cordelia interrupted.
“You kissed my sister?” Lily’s words were a small whisper. “And then you kissed me?”
“Melrose, get out of my house.”
“But—”
“You will return this afternoon to call, and we will discuss wedding plans.” The words were bitter, and Adam hated to say them. Hated even more how each gaze in the room turned toward him, with various degrees of anger and shock. “But right now, I want you out.”
Melrose looked as miserable now as Adam felt. “Very well.”
He turned to leave and stopped. Adam held his breath, waiting as Merewood lifted his head. He was certain that whomever Melrose pointed his gaze at would prove...something.
It landed on Cordelia, then flitted to Lily, and then Melrose was gone. Adam sank into the chair behind his desk and rubbed at the hammers of pain in his forehead.
“Adam, he arrived this morning,” Lily said. Her words were thick and emotion-filled. “He’d not been here longer than ten minutes when I saw him outside. He said he came so early because the letter I sent sounded urgent. I told him of the news of America and I admitted how I felt about him, and he told me that he cared for me, too.”
“He lied.”
“Cordelia, that’s enough!” Adam said. “If you can’t contain yourself, you may go up to your room.”
Cordelia crossed her arms. “I want to hear what lies he told her.”
Lily continued to scrub at the tears that fell down her cheeks. “He held my hand, he...he kissed it, but that is all. Then Cordelia happened upon us.”
Lily had wrapped her arms around herself again, trying to hold in the sobs that followed her tears. “I—” She cut off, pointed at Cordelia. “I shall never forgive you for this.” She ran from the room.
Cordelia was uncharacteristically silent.
“You lied, didn’t you?”
“No, I didn’t.” Her reply was hot and immediate. “I saw what I saw. And it serves her right to marry a man who doesn’t give a fig about her, who would have chosen me.”
With those cruel words, she fled the room. Moments later, the walls shook with the echo of her door slamming. Adam dropped his head into his hands, his fingers clenching strands of hair until it hurt.
If there had ever been a time he wanted to throttle a man, it was now.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
As soon as Emily had freed herself from the man, she’d waddled toward Aria as fast as her enormous stomach would allow. “Aria! Thank God.”
In seconds, Emily was kneeling next to her. Aria didn’t know how long they sat, arms around each, finding comfort with each other. It helped to diminish the terror inside, just a little.
Aria felt the tears welling in her eyes, and for once, didn’t worry about scrubbing her face free of emotion. “Emily, I am so sorry. So sorry he did this,” she kept murmuring. “Please, Emily, you have to sit down.” She pushed herself out of the chair and gently nudged Emily into it.
“I thought you would enjoy having her at our wedding.”
Patrick. Aria had forgotten the bastard stood there, watching them. His tone was benign, but laced with a promise she didn’t need articulated.
“And as long as you behave yourself, Mrs. Whitney will remain nothing but a treasured, well-cared-for guest.”
“I hate you.”
“We can work on that.” He waved a hand to send the thug out of the room. “I’ll let you two have some time together. The seamstress will be back in the morning with your gown. I assume you will conduct yourself as befits a bride, my dear.”
The door clicked shut behind him and the sounds of the lock being turned needled her growing panic. She turned to Emily. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you? Is the babe okay?”
Emily rubbed her stomach. “The babe is fine. And other than pulling me from my bed in the middle of the night, they’ve done nothing to harm me. Aria, what happened to you?” She reached a hand up to Aria’s face.
Aria pulled away, and the motion brought resigned sadness to Emily’s face.
“Emily, please, it’s not you. It’s...” The words refused to form, in her mind, on her lips.
“Lord Merewood has been searching high and low for you.”
Aria’s heart burst with a wild rush of hope. “He’s alive?”
“Is there a reason he shouldn’t be?” Emily asked, and her face paled. “No, he couldn’t...Did Mr. Wade...Oh my God, Aria, who is that man?”
“A man capable of anything.” The extent of what he’d done to the people she loved, to her...Pressure continued to swell in Aria’s chest and she flattened a hand at her collarbone, the warmth instantly rising to her fingers. “Emily, I...I have to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“Papa. He...” She looked down, pursed her lips, and struggled for the strength to say it. “He’s dead. Patrick killed him.”
“Patrick killed him?” Emily whispered. One hand clutched her belly, and the other reached out to grab hold of Aria’s. “Oh, God. I know I said I believed it. I forced myself to—” her words grew mottled from her tears—”so I wouldn’t live with... Oh, my God, he’s gone.” Sobs shook her frame, tears escaped in her delicate way, and pain slashed across her face.
Aria sunk to her knees and wrapped arms, as best she could, around Emily and her babe. “I am so sorry. I was angry at him for leaving, and when he left, I took out my anger on you. You haven’t done anything wrong, but I refused to give an inch. I didn’t want to like you,” she admitted in the jumble of words running together. “But I’m not going to fail you—or Papa—again. I will find a way to get us out of here.” Emily’s hand came to rest on top of hers, and she moved it to the middle of her belly.
“Oh!” Aria cried as something pushed against her hand. She looked down as it happened again. “It’s...moving!”
Through her tears, Emily laughed. “He does that all the time now. Little babe won’t let me sleep at all.” She squeezed Aria’s hand, then lifted it to wipe at the fat wet tears jumping off her chin. “You can’t marry that man, Aria.”
Aria twisted around to lighten the weight on her bad leg, and felt the quick prick of pain from the pin that had made a small patchwork of her skin already. “I won’t, Emily.”
If only she knew how to stop it.
Chapter Thirty
“Adam?” Blythe’s voice called out.
“In here,” Adam replied from his study, the same exact position he’d been in since his sisters had stormed out of the room, as equally angry with him as they were with each other. He’d gone over every misstep, every second he hadn’t paid attention, or hadn’t done the right thing. He’d known that Lily had feelings for Melrose, and he hadn’t given them enough weight.
Footsteps sounded along the hardwood floors until Blythe appeared in the doorway.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, walking toward his desk, “you couldn’t have stopped what happened between Cordelia and Lily, even if you’d been sitting on them day and night.”
“I certainly wasn’t doing that, was I? I got distracted, the one thing I swore would not happen after your miserable marriage to Thomas Ashton. I promised all of you, myself, hell even Papa’s memory that I would protect them. I failed.”
She took a step toward him. “It’s not as if you’re running off for a fox hunt every day. You’ve been trying to help Aria find her father.”
“Yes, another example of my excellent skills at taking care of
people.” Disgust with himself curdled his stomach, pushed him to stand up and walk around, even though every step hurt like hell. “When I met her, I didn’t know her father was missing. I told myself it was to keep her away from Ravensdale, to stop her from ruining your betrothal.”
“Which was never in any danger,” she interjected and smiled. “I had to point that out.”
“But it wasn’t about you,” he admitted. “I was drawn to her from the very first moment. Believing she was going after Ravensdale’s title was a convenient way to stay connected.”
“Shall I find you a hair shirt to wear? For God’s sake, there is nothing wrong with wanting someone. You act as if you’ve committed an unforgivable sin. Out of all the things you wish to pile upon your shoulders, the one you are responsible for is your own happiness.”
Before he could respond, heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor. Ravensdale strode into the room, following by one of the footmen they had sent out to watch for any word of activity by Wade.
“Wade is on the move,” he stated.
Adam stilled. “Where?”
Ravensdale looked at his companion, who stepped forward. “He arrived at his offices at the dock a few hours ago, stayed a moment, and then left. James and I followed him to a chapel on the outskirts of Westminster.”
“A chapel?” Adam’s overloaded brain tried to figure out... “Bloody hell. He’s going to try and marry her.”
“How can he if she’s not willing?” Blythe asked.
Adam didn’t even want to contemplate that.
“James is following him now,” Ravensdale said.
“So now we wait for James to return. If Wade leads him to wherever he’s hiding Aria, you can get her before then,” Blythe said.
The expressions on the other men’s faces matched Adam’s thoughts. “If James isn’t spotted. If Wade doesn’t realize he’s being watched.”
“And if he is aware? What...” Her words faded along with the color from her cheeks. “Oh my God. Michael, you have to send someone after him.”
“We don’t know where they are,” he replied grimly. “All we can do is wait.”
“No, we can go to that bloody chapel and find out what is going on,” Adam replied. “I am not sitting by and waiting any bloody longer. Charlie, with me. Blythe, get Mr. Whitney.”
An hour later, they pulled their horses next to a small chapel James had directed them to. A moat of green grass filled with dandelion and weeds surrounded the tiny building, shaded by an outer perimeter of trees. The building itself boasted dirty, peeling walls that might have once been white. The door was built of a sturdy wood, but scuffed and worn with time and unkind elements, and fronted by a stoop and a set of five stairs.
Adam slid from his horse and strode to the stairs, taking them two at a time. The pain had become a constant, but it had nearly drowned in the rush of blood that pulsed inside at a breakneck speed and kept him on alert. The heavy wooden door opened with ease, and he strode inside. The church smelled of musk, and the altar of worship, with candles, a podium and a Bible, stood clean and reverent at the head of the pews. His footsteps sounded like cannon fire against the slated wood floor. “Is anyone here?”
A door next to the altar opened and a man of average everything—age, height, weight, looks—appeared. He wore the somber uniform of a vicar, his white collar nestled against a clean-shaven neck. He held two white unlit candles in his hands. “I am Father Mills. How may I help you?”
“A man was here this morning. Patrick Wade.” Adam walked toward him, aware as he did that the door opened behind him. The footsteps of his companions echoed in the room. “What did he want?”
Father Mills’s eyes had widened slightly at the mention of Wade’s name, but he moved quickly into a gentle, calm expression. It never wavered. “I cannot help you, I’m afraid. What a man wants with his church is private.”
“Mr. Wade has abducted my betrothed, and we fear for her life. Her name is Ariadne Whitney.”
The vicar frowned. “Abducted, you say?”
“She is in grave danger. The man who has her is capable of terrible things.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
Whitney shoved forward. “She is my bloody daughter! This bastard attempted to kill me in order to clear the way to her. If you know something, you must tell us.”
Tense and still, the man gave a careful perusal of each of their faces, his fingers worrying the smooth texture of the candles in his grasp. Finally, his shoulders loosened, and he nodded. “He wished to plan his wedding.”
Adam smothered a curse. “When?”
“Tomorrow.” He held a hand up. “I know ’tis unusual, but he offered a generous donation to the church, had a wedding certificate, and I could not see the harm in accepting it. He spoke of his bride with love, and I assumed...”
“What information did you he give?” Whitney asked. “An address? A location? Anything?”
Father Mills shook his head. “Nothing. He simply provided payment and scheduled for tomorrow at two in the afternoon.” He looked to Adam. “What can I do to help?”
“Thank you, Father,” Adam said without answering his question and turned. They had what they came for. Now, they waited for Charlie to return with Wade’s whereabouts.
There would be no bloody wedding.
Chapter Thirty-One
“Would you cease that incessant pacing?” Ravensdale snapped hours later, even as he jumped from the chair he sat in to pace in the other direction. “Damn it, he should have been back hours ago.”
Adam continued his direction around the couch in the parlor. For the twentieth time, he looked outside again at the dimming light as afternoon settled into evening.
Charlie had not returned.
The sick feeling in Adam’s gut told him he wouldn’t.
Adam increased his stride. They had no idea where to look for the man, and Adam felt about as useful as a fish flopping about the bottom of a fishing boat. They’d sent a handful of men out to Wade’s home, his business, his local haunts. But who knew how many properties the man actually owned. The initial checks into his background had proven resources and wealth far beyond what they expected. The man’s wealth easily rivaled that of any member of the ton. Though Adam had no doubt that every shilling had been earned through blood and crime.
Even knowing that, they’d found nothing that would lead them to Wade. To Aria.
“Damn it!” Adam yelled. “We have no choice. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
“At least you know Aria is alive,” Blythe said softly as she entered the room with a tray full of food. Adam paid little mind; he had no appetite.
Ravensdale stopped his pacing right in his path. “Go eat, you idiot. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.”
“Shut it, will you?” Adam muttered, hating that he was right. Without ceremony, he reached for some of the cold meat and cheese on the tray.
Blythe turned back toward the door, and then stopped to peer back at him. “Adam, how long are you going to keep Mr. Melrose waiting? He’s been sitting in the parlor for hours.”
It had completely slipped his mind, Adam realized. He rotated his neck, hearing the cracks amid the painful stretches. “Fine. I’ll get this over with.”
Reaching for another handful of food, he followed Blythe out into the corridor and veered into the open door of the parlor. Melrose sat on the couch, back stiff and hands gripping his legs. Lily sat in a chair across from him, and Hypatia stood sentry over them both. Faces were grim, and no one looked particularly happy.
Good.
“Melrose,” Adam said, pulling his attention. “I have sent a note to my solicitor, who will meet us in two days hence to discuss the betrothal contracts, dowry, and whatnot. I assume that will give you time to inform whomever you
must? Your father, perhaps?”
Melrose looked distinctly uncomfortable at that. “In regards to my father, do you think it possible to leave out the circumstances surrounding this betrothal? If word doesn’t get around, of course, might we proceed as if—”
“As if you actually had proven a gentleman and courted only one of my sisters?” Adam snapped. Hypatia cleared her throat, and Adam bit off the words he really wanted to say, ones wholly unsuitable for mixed company.
For the first time since he’d entered the room, he really looked at his sister. Her hands were clasped in her lap, fingers rubbing together. That in itself was unusual, as he recalled very few times when he’d seen her without a quill and paper in hand. But what sunk his heart was the resignation that weighted her down. She slowly lifted her gaze, as if feeling his perusal and the sadness in them shattered him.
“It would be best if this could be kept from a scandal,” Adam agreed. He glanced at Melrose. “If you are agreeing to consider this a mutually desired betrothal, then that is how we will proceed. Lily?”
She nodded, not once looking at Melrose. “Very well.” Then she stood up. “May I go upstairs now?”
Adam nodded, but Melrose said, “Lily?”
She paused and in that moment Adam saw the pain she fought to hide. Then with a large breath, she squared her shoulders and turned to face the man she would marry. “Yes, Mr. Melrose?”
The formality threw him, but he stood as well. “I should like to call upon you tomorrow. If I may.”
She gave a curt nod, but didn’t say anything before nearly fleeing from the room. She left, crossing paths with Cordelia, who strode in, fire in her eyes, looking beautiful and mutinous. She completely ignored Melrose.
“I have selected a husband,” she announced.
Dear God, please strike me now. He was near his breaking point.
Hypatia stepped forward. “We can discuss this later.”
“There is nothing to discuss.” She whipped around, her fury directed at Adam. “I have chosen him, and you will agree to it.”
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