“Richard is in the library in a conference with Mr. Danielson at the moment. They should be out directly. In the meantime, may I offer you a glass of Madeira?” Mrs. Mannion suggested, sitting in the chair next to his.
He inclined his head in acquiescence while his eyes roved the assembled company, feeling the tension in the room.
“Jonas,” Mrs. Mannion said when the butler arrived in response to Adeline’s summons, “please bring in the refreshment tray, then see if you can inform my husband of Mr. Wilmot’s presence.”
“Mr. Wilmot,” Hugh drawled, pulling the man’s attention away from the nervousness in the ladies, “possibly you can help us. I understand you employ and are well acquainted with these ruffian river men. Maybe you can help us identify the four that attacked Trevor and me to see that they’re brought to justice.”
“Perhaps, though it would serve no purpose,” he grated, his voice the sound of stone on stone.
“Well, truthfully, we’re not concerned for the river men. We’re more interested in who hired them,” he said coolly, ignoring the concerted gasps from the ladies.
“Hired them?” asked Wilmot, his eyebrow twitching. “Surely you’re mistaken. That Nongela they serve in the saloons makes brave-hearts out of cowards.”
“No, Wilmot, I’m not mistaken. Those men were hired and were after Trevor,” he said crisply, all vestiges of the London fop that he’d maintained before Mr. Wilmot in the past, falling away. His tawny gaze pierced Mr. Wilmot, issuing a silent challenge.
“Trevor?” asked Adeline weakly as she rose unsteadily from her chair, leaning heavily against the quilt frame.
Wilmot’s brow twitched on seeing Adeline’s pale complexion. Vanessa scowled at Hugh, realizing with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach just how determined Mr. Wilmot was.
The man shifted slightly in his chair and studied his fingernails for a moment before looking back at Hugh. “Interesting,” he said noncommittally.
A small sound, like a groan, escaped Adeline’s lips as she crumbled to the floor, pulling the quilting frame over on top of her.
Chapter 15
“Adeline!” called Vanessa and Amanda, running to her side.
Hugh rose clumsily to his feet, cursing his stupidity. As quietly as she sat at her sewing, he had forgotten Adeline’s presence. He grabbed the side of the quilt frame, pulling it off Adeline while her sister cradled her head in her lap and her mother chafed her wrists. With black annoyance, he noted Wilmot had not moved but was watching them, a smile playing upon his lips.
“Let’s get her to the sofa,” he said to Vanessa as he bent down to pick Adeline up.
“Yes, yes,” she said distractedly, relinquishing her position.
“Careful, Mr. Talverton,” Mrs. Mannion said.
A sharp stab of pain pierced his ribs when he picked up Adeline, and he staggered slightly as his head spun for a moment.
Suddenly the door opened, admitting Richard Mannion and Trevor Danielson.
“Hugh!” cried Trevor, swiftly crossing the room as Hugh gently placed Adeline on the sofa. He knelt by her side. “What happened?”
Hugh flopped down into the chair Vanessa had vacated, his long legs splayed out before him. He heard the jumble of explanations around him as everyone moved to speak, save Mr. Wilmot, who still sat quietly in his chair. Adeline was coming around, her moans adding a counterpoint to the noisy exclamations of her family.
Hugh’s head was pounding again. He ran his hand across his brow. “Your intended discovered the attack was not an accident.”
“What?” Trevor demanded, glancing in Mr. Wilmot’s direction. That gentleman’s brows merely twitched, and Hugh again cursed his forthright tongue. He must be more muzzy-headed than he knew.
Russell Wilmot slowly uncrossed his legs and rose to his feet. “I think, under the circumstances, I shall take my leave of you all. Richard, I’ll call upon you tomorrow,” he said sharply.
Mr. Mannion nodded, his iron brows lowering over his eyes, his face rigid. “I shall expect you around ten?”
Wilmot paused, taken aback by Mannion’s ready agreement. “Yes,” he said, considering, “ten it is.” He bowed to the rest of the company who stood in their places like a silent tableau, then turned to leave as Jonas entered with the refreshments.
His exit heralded an explosion of speech from the room’s occupants. Hugh sat slumped in his chair, letting the exclamations and remonstrations lap over him like the ocean’s tide. He sat apart, his head aching, yet feeling they were approaching the end of the maze and the resolution of their travails.
He looked up at Vanessa, arms akimbo, as she listened to her father’s explanations. Her face was a study of astonishment and dismay. She fairly sputtered her indignation, her face showing heightened color on her cheekbones in contrast to her pale complexion. She was beautiful in her unique style. What had he dubbed it last week? Was it such a short time ago? Did people fall in love in that short a time? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he felt as if he’d known her all his life. She had a vitality he’d never seen in a woman before, and she exerted a pull upon his senses he’d never experienced. He hoped her solicitous attitude was in some measure a sign of the depth of her regard for him. He’d faltered badly with his behavior at the Chaumondes’. He could not believe he was so blind as to think what he felt for Vanessa wasn’t love. To deny the tug upon his senses that sent his blood pounding in his head was ludicrous. He wanted nothing so much as to enfold her in his arms and claim her lips once again.
Vanessa suddenly swung around to face him. “And you, Mr. Talverton, need to repair immediately to your bed.”
