Oh, that precious trust destroyed and she had only herself to blame.
She reached out tentatively, hoping to set her hand upon his arm in order to mollify him.
“Don’t,” he warned.
She dropped her hand to her side. “Will you at least let me–”
“No.” His gaze bore straight into her soul.
Indeed, his precious trust was lost.
Could she ever reclaim it?
CHAPTER 11
AMBROSE WAS FURIOUS.
He had sent those three home for their own protection, done all he could to make certain they would be delivered to safety, and how had they repaid him? By kicking him in the teeth. Purposely ignoring his warnings and traipsing off on their own to abloodytavern, no less. “Is this how little you think of me, Adela? What if Octavian had been more seriously hurt because of your actions? Or Marigold harmed? What kind of example are you setting for that girl? Do you think the blasted book is worth risking any of your lives?”
Perhaps he had come on a little too strong, for Adela looked ready to burst into tears. “You are right,” she said in a ragged whisper. “I put everyone in danger with my foolish actions and do not expect you ever to forgive me. How can you when I’ve betrayed you and forever lost your trust?”
The tears now began to flow. “I wanted so much to find that book for you, it blinded me to all reason. My behavior was inexcusable. Do what you must. I know I have bitterly disappointed you.”
He sighed and took out his handkerchief to dab at the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Adela, I am not calling off our wedding.”
“I would not blame you if you did. I have behaved deplorably in front of Dr. Nordberg and your brothers. You went out of your way to engage him for the lecture, all as a great kindness to me, and I raced off halfway through it like a crazed madwoman. I must appear so ungrateful to you.”
She now turned to Eloise. “And to you, as well. I cannot seem to get out of my own way. I’ve ruined all your efforts to turn me into a proper lady. But that theft eats at my soul. It is such a precious book and my heart will never recover until it is properly returned undamaged.”
Ambrose dabbed at her cheeks again. “Adela, forget about the book.”
“How can I? But I will go about finding it with far more care from this moment forward. No more running off like a thoughtless peahen.”
“We are getting married at the end of the week. Just think about the wedding plans, will you? Leave the search to my Bow Street men. Despite appearances to the contrary, they do have the matter well in hand. They will question the man now in the magistrate’s custody and trace the payment. We’ll soon know to whom Runyon meant to sell the book. They will also tear apart The Red Drake tonight.”
“But they must keep their eyes on Runyon at all times. Did I not tell you he is as sneaky as they come? Do you know yet whether he showed up at the lecture hall? Or whether he had the book? And what happened to your Bow Street men? If he was at the Huntsford Academy to make the exchange, then where were they? Did he give them the slip?”
Ambrose put his hands on Adela’s shoulders. “Stop. Are you going to pepper me with questions as we stand at the altar and take our vows?”
She sighed. “Are you certain you still want to marry me?”
He nodded. “Never a doubt.”
She cast him a fragile smile. “Even after today?”
“Yes, Adela. Even after today.”
“I don’t deserve your kindness or forgiveness. And I am devastated to have lost your trust. This hurts me more than anything, yet I have no one to blame but myself.”
“You haven’t lost my trust.” He couldn’t believe he was now consoling her when he ought to be ranting and raging at her. Chasing after that stranger had been foolish in the extreme. The man carried a veritable arsenal on him and could have used a gun or knife to stop her. As if this was not bad enough, she then compounded an already dangerous situation by sending her friends into that tavern on their own.
Well, they had gone in willingly but this did not absolve any of them.
Bluestockings were supposed to be clever.
One would never guess it by their reckless actions.
Yes, he was frustrated.
