He hadn’t moved, but something in his face—or was it his stance?—told Amelia he would not be put off by a couple footmen. Her mind whirred, and she turned and instructed her coachman, “Please take the carriage back for Mr. Blakewood.”
He nodded, and she could see understanding in his eyes. She wanted Graham here as soon as possible. The tiger leaped to the back, and the coachman cracked the whip, taking off with a jolt.
Mr. Chase watched and turned back to her. “I’ll wait for him, your fiancé, if you’d like. But I will speak with you both tonight.”
Amelia stood at the top of the steps with the safety of the light of the front hall and the two men at her back and made one more attempt at subterfuge.
“He won’t be returning here. The hour is too late for company.”
Mr. Chase smirked. “Lying is not becoming, my lady.” He peered around the empty street. “I know he stays here with you.”
Amelia stiffened. “What is it you’re after?”
“The truth.”
Amelia’s heart pounded. He was suspicious, but he couldn’t know anything, not really. If he did, he seemed like the kind of forthright man who would call her on her bluff immediately. Maybe it would be better to let this play out. “You may come inside and warm up in the drawing room.”
The butler stiffened. “My lady?”
“We’ll let him ask his fruitless questions, and then he’ll be on his way. I’d rather not have to see him tomorrow.”
Mr. Chase casually climbed the steps as Amelia turned and went inside and directed that tea be prepared. The butler led Mr. Chase to the drawing room while Amelia went upstairs to change out of her rapidly disintegrating dancing slippers and put away her reticule. She would not look into her brother’s room. Somehow she feared Mr. Chase would know. Graham would be here soon, she reminded herself.
After changing slippers and removing some of the more painful pins from her hair, Amelia entered the drawing room. Mr. Chase was seated comfortably next to the tea tray.
“Mr. Blakewood should be here soon,” she reminded him.
“You have a lovely home,” Mr. Chase replied. He spoke with confidence, as if he’d already inspected all of it.
“Thank you, would you like tea?” She poured him a cup and then herself, and they sat in silence studying each other. A footman stood beside the open door, and Amelia knew two more had been roused and stationed in the hall.
“Do you enjoy your work?” Amelia asked.
“It has its moments of excitement. Mostly, I just troll the gambling floor and listen for snippets of useful gossip.”
“Is gossip ever useful?”
“It is to my employer, the Widow.”
“Ah, yes. I hear she is always veiled. Is that true?” Her interest in the mysterious widow was enough of a distraction to calm her nerves. This could be her chance to learn more about the Widow of Whitehall.
“She is, but it only reaches her chin. She isn’t shrouded like a ghost.”
“And she is, in fact, a widow?”
He nodded as he took a sip. “Have you not yet visited the Den? I do think you’d like it.”
“And why is that?”
“You seem like a young woman with an interest in things that are not the typical pursuits of fine ladies. I’ve heard you’re excellent at cards, for instance.”
“I’m not certain whether I should be insulted or not.”
“Don’t be. I think you’d enjoy the chaotic energy of the Den. Many women of your station attend. There is a ladies-only entrance and there are ladies-only tables. Quite safe. But I know your esteemed betrothed would certainly wish to accompany you, as well.”
“Do you gamble, Mr. Chase?”
His face hardened. “No.”
