"Oh, there's just a conspicuous absence of Theo," Emily informed him blithely. She wasn't about to tell Stoneridge that her sister was roaming the streets of London unaccompanied.
The earl turned to his butler, raising an eyebrow. "Since when, Foster?"
"I couldn't rightly say, my lord." The butler had been covering for his young mistress since she was a small girl and slipped easily into the accustomed role, without questioning why he should be doing so on this occasion.
"An hour? Two?"
"Perhaps half an hour, my lord."
"Is there something strange about that?"
"We were engaged to drive out together," Emily said, "Theo doesn't usually forget engagements."
"I see." He shrugged. "Well, I'm certain she'll be back soon. What do you think of that claret, Edward?"
"Excellent, sir." Edward's mind was whirling as foreboding became conviction. He knew exactly what had driven their engagement from Theo's mind. He knew where she had gone, unaccompanied and presumably in a hired hackney.
He put his glass on the table. "Emily, I must ask you to excuse me. I… I've suddenly recollected a most urgent appointment, with… with my tailor." Under Emily's astonished gaze he pushed past the butler and almost ran from the house.
"Now what in the world is going on?" Stoneridge demanded of his butler and sister-in-law, both of whom were looking confused.
"I couldn't say, sir." Foster bowed and left the library.
Emily regarded her brother-in-law somewhat nervously, but she could think of nothing to say. She had the feeling she should improvise some reasonable explanation for Edward's odd departure, but she wasn't a quick thinker at the best of times, and under Stoneridge's penetrating gray gaze she was completely tongue-tied.
"Tell me something, Emily," Stoneridge said, deceptively casual. "Does Edward often recollect appointments in that fashion?"
"Occasionally," Emily mumbled.
"Mmm." He stroked his chin, frowning. "But would I be right in thinking that those occasions generally have something to do with Theo?"
Emily's quick flush was answer enough, although she tried to think of some disclaimer.
"So just what did he suddenly guess my wife was up to?"
Emily shook her head. "I don't know."
"But you'd agree with me that he'd suddenly had a flash of insight?"
"Possibly. They… they're very close. They always have been." She was beginning to feel like one of Rosie's pinned butterflies and thought bitterly of her fiance and her sister, who'd abandoned her to this seemingly gentle but nerve-racking interrogation. She didn't even know what she wasn't supposed to say.
Sylvester strolled across to the window, where Edward had been standing a minute earlier. Maybe the position would bring him the same inspiration. Lady Belmont's barouche stood at the door, the coachman dozing on the box, his docile carriage horses standing quietly in the sunshine.
"May I ask where you were going with Theo?"
"To call upon Mrs. Lacey," Emily said, happy to answer this unproblematic question. "Edward was going to invite Jonathan to accompany him to Tattersall's tomorrow. He's intending to purchase another riding horse and thought that Jonathan might meet some useful people."
Another instance of Edward evincing family solidarity, Sylvester reflected. And presumably he'd just gone hotfoot to Theo's assistance?
Prickles of unease ran up his spine. Why would Theo need assistance?
And then it came to him, crystalline in its clarity. Could she have taken Edward into her confidence about the visit to the Fisherman's Rest?
What did he mean, could she? Of course she would have done so. About that and all her private speculations – whatever they might be. Not for one minute did he believe that just because he'd refused to discuss his own plans, Theo had ceased to speculate. She'd yielded to his silence easily… too damn easily. He could see the obstinate set of her mouth, the lift of her pointed chin that always meant: You may believe what you wish, but I have my own ideas.
Theo had returned to the Fisherman's Rest.
He'd told her as clearly as he knew how that he would not tolerate another such reckless excursion, and she'd taken not a blind bit of notice of him. But it was his own fault. How the hell had he ever been fool enough to trust that Theo would obey orders?
The strength of his fury astounded him. By disobeying his direct injunction and interfering in his private affairs, she had recklessly put herself in grave jeopardy. Without a moment's reflection she had plunged alone into the rat-infested sewer that was Dock Street, where the desperate face of poverty informed the brutalized souls of its inhabitants. They would kill her for her kid gloves and toss her body into the Thames without a qualm.
And as if that weren't enough, she was wading hip deep into the quicksand of Vimiera and right into the path of a dangerously desperate man.
"Emily, permit me to escort you to your carriage," he said abruptly, turning toward her.
Emily quailed before the blazing countenance. The scar that she thought she'd become so used to she barely noticed it anymore stood out, a livid white line. The cool eyes were now liquid fire, and his mouth was a taut line.
"There's no need," she said. "Foster will escort me."
He ignored her words. "Come."
Emily rose immediately. What had Theo done to cause this terrifying transformation? On the whole, these days Emily was quite at ease with her brother-in-law, but at the moment she thought he was the most frightening man she'd ever met… even more so than her grandfather in one of his rages.
She practically ran ahead of him out of the library and out of the house. His large hand under her elbow almost lifted her into the barouche so that she felt as fragile and vulnerable as a leaf in the wind. She'd seen him handle Theo in this way, lifting her in and out and on and off things with a brisk lack of ceremony that her sister never seemed to mind. But Emily wouldn't repeat the experience for all the tea in China. She sat back with relief as Stoneridge ordered her driver to move off and her brother-in-law's black countenance retreated.
Stoneridge turned back to the house, running up the steps, his clipped voice giving orders before he'd reached the hall. "Foster, have my curricle brought round again. But not the chestnuts, they've had a long run already."
"Yes, my lord." The butler kept his expression impassive before his employer's tightly reined anger, but like Emily his mind was filled with furious speculation.
Five minutes later Stoneridge was on his way to Dock Street, driving a team of roans, forcing from his mind the dreadful images of what might even now be happening on Dock Street as he drove at breakneck speed through the narrow streets, oblivious of the stares and curses from startled pedestrians as they leaped out of the way of the white-faced man with the livid scar on his forehead.
Neil Gerard stared at Jud O'Flannery's disfigured countenance. His ex-sergeant was grinning, revealing his one black tooth. "Cat got yer tongue, cap'n?" he inquired with mock solicitude.
"I don't know what the devil you're talking about." Neil tried to sound angry and contemptuous, but it came out more as a bluster, his fear slippery beneath the bold front, like ice under snow. He could feel the eyes on his back as Jud's customers drank their ale and regarded the scene at the bar counter with squint-eyed curiosity. His gaze fixed on the tavern keeper's massive fists, curled loosely on the counter. A pelt of dark hair covered the backs thickly and sprouted over the knuckles.
One blow from those fists would put a man under the table with a broken jaw. The grip of those fingers would squeeze the life out of a man in a minute. And one flick of his eyes would bring the group of ruffians to their feet, moving across the tap room toward Neil Gerard.