Finding someone in London when one hadn’t the slightest inkling of where that person may have gone was never an easy feat. On Christmas Day, it was nigh impossible. But Lion was determined as he approached yet another hotel in search of Addy.
After racing to York with all haste and inquiring everywhere he could, he had discovered—too late—that Addy, her aunt Pearl, Alfred, and Dandy had boarded the final Christmas Eve train bound for London. He had watched it departing in the distance, carrying her away from him. Dejected, he had turned back to Marchingham Hall, catching up with his empty carriage halfway there.
Fortunately for him, the trains were running on Christmas Day as on Sundays. Which meant that he had managed an early train out of York after wishing his sisters, aunt, and uncle a happy Christmas. Now, he was cold, his shoes and feet were wet from slogging through the streets, and he still had yet to locate Addy. But she was here, somewhere in this vast assortment of streets and buildings.
All he had to do was carry on.
He stopped at the front desk, where an unsmiling young man greeted him with a pointed look at his wet shoes. The establishment was a fine one, and it was true that Lion had tracked rather a lot of grime across the marble entry.
Still, he proffered a slightly soggy calling card. “The Duke of Marchingham looking for Miss Adelia Fox, her maiden aunt companion, and her dog.”
For a moment, the gentleman simply stared at Lion, and he feared he would yet again be denied. But then the fellow nodded. “Room fifteen, up the stairs and to your left.”
Finally.
Addy was here.
Relief surged inside him as he forced a polite smile for the other man’s benefit. “Thank you, sir.”
Lion crossed the lobby, narrowly avoiding a collision with a matron who had enough feathers on her hat to cover an entire flock of birds, and took the steps two at a time. His feet flew until he reached the correct floor and turned left, following the numbers on doors until he stopped before fifteen.
He had scarcely slept last night, tossing and turning and wondering how the bloody hell he could fix the mess the both of them had made. If she truly had a fiancé, she had a great deal of explaining to do. She was also going to have to throw the poor chap over. Because Lion didn’t think he had been wrong about the way Addy felt for him. He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn’t have come to him that night if she were in love with someone else.
Whatever had happened to send her fleeing to York and then London, he would have an answer for it. He simply had to. Because he couldn’t lose Addy. Not when he had scarcely had her to begin with.
With a deep breath, Lion knocked on the door.
His raps were instantly greeted by loud barks, and he found himself grinning. That would be Dandy. He’d recognize her anywhere. Fortunately, he had managed to remember to bring pocket cheese.
The door opened a crack. “Who is it?”
Ah, the protective, elder Miss Fox.
“It is Marchingham,” he said as a little black snout appeared, poking out of the gap. “Hullo there, Dandy,” he said softly, extracting a small hunk of cheese from his pocket and offering it to the hound, who slurped it up eagerly and swallowed it whole.
“You are not welcome here, Your Grace,” the elder Miss Fox announced, and closed the door.
He heard whining and scratching on the other side, and he didn’t blame Dandy one whit. He felt the same. But he wasn’t going anywhere until he spoke with Addy directly. He knocked again, this time with greater insistence.
“Addy?” he called. “Addy, are you in there? I must speak with you.”
The door opened, and this time, it was to reveal vibrant green eyes that were red-rimmed and filled with sadness. “Go away, Marchingham.”
It was as if someone had landed a blow directly to his midsection. “I’m not going until I can have an audience with you.”
“Well, I’m not speaking with you, so you’ll have to speak to the door.”
She moved to close it, but he wedged his wet shoe on the threshold, keeping her from shutting it. Dandy was there, her brown eyes gazing up at him entreatingly. He removed another small piece of cheese from his waistcoat pocket and offered it to her.
The French bulldog snatched it from his fingers at once.
“Go away, Marchingham,” Addy demanded. “And stop attempting to bribe Dandy with pocket cheese.”
“I’m not bribing her. She likes me.”
Addy’s eyes narrowed. “She likes cheese.”
“Do you like me, Dandy?” he asked.
