Chapter Two
“Iam Lord Langdon. That is Lord Stanton.” Simon, Viscount Langdon, stared down at Mrs. Adare’s heart-shaped face and fought the wave of remorseful heat that threatened to give away his guilt. He’d kept his identity vague on purpose. Yes, it was wrong to trick her into believing he was Stanton, but something about her direct manner intrigued him. His curiosity got the best of him, something that had not happened in an exceedingly long time.
Langdon offered a formal bow while studying her face. He took in the dusting of freckles across her pert nose and tried to ignore the steeliness in her vivid green stare. Contempt rested there, along with hurt. “We are both located in the same county, but we have yet to meet.”
“My lord, pardon my intrusion. I needed to speak with you about Upper Waverly,” she said, directing her attention to Stanton. The look she flashed Langdon was chilling. He couldn’t in good conscience blame her for her distaste. He had tricked her, except he had only done so to help.
Hadn’t he?
She turned her head, her dark hair visible beneath the drab brown bonnet. “Since Langdon owns an estate in the same vicinity, this will affect him as well. I—”
“Stop.” Stanton held up a staying hand, none too pleased by her presence. His outright hostility was unusual for him. A thoughtful man, Stanton was contemplative and slow to anger, yet animosity oozed from him. “I am well aware of why you’re here and I fail to see what you hope to accomplish by bursting into my home without invitation and demanding to see me without an appointment, Mrs. Adare.”
Slender shoulders stiffened, the action jutting her breasts out. “I had to do something. The situation is only getting worse. Please, I need help.” Her voice caught on the last word, confirming Langdon’s suspicions that she was not used to asking for help.
“You have reported your findings, Mrs. Adare. Now it is time for you to leave. I have a full schedule and you’re not on it.” Stanton’s defensive stance lessened a touch, despite his words. He offered Langdon a curt nod. “Idle will see Mrs. Adare out. Langdon, come into my studio. We can talk there.”
He exited through a door leading to his art studio. Mrs. Adare made to follow, outrage radiating from every pore of her rigid frame.
“You will only make it worse.” Langdon stepped in front of her and crossed his arms to block her from going any further. He had been under Stanton’s command while still in the army and had known the man for years. His current association with Stanton was complicated. In addition to his duties at the home department, Stanton was the grand marshal of the Tenet Club. Langdon’s current role as a guardian—a select branch of the tenet that investigated crimes committed by the nobility—meant he still fell under Stanton’s purview, but his work was independent of his majesty’s government. “Don’t fret, I will speak to him. Perhaps he will reconsider.”
“I don’t have the luxury of time. People are being hurt by this. As a landowner, you’re equally culpable for the safety of the village.” The accusation was back in her tone, along with vulnerability.
“I am not familiar with the village or its inhabitants since the estate was newly acquired and I have yet to take up residence.” His father had started the purchase before his death, and Langdon had finished it. Until recently, the estate was in shambles. Between the skills of a talented architect and his sister, the house had received a well-deserved renovation. “Let me makes some inquiries as to the validity of your claims.”
“If you’re not willing to take my word on this, our conversation is at an end.” A hint of a quiver bowed her lips.
The tiny sign of weakness cemented his decision. “I will talk to him.”
“Mrs. Adare.” Idle approached and sneered at her. He was on the thin side with a rather hooked nose. Langdon never warmed up to the chap. He was a bit too full of himself. As Stanton’s clerk, he welded a lot of power.
“Thank you,” she said with little conviction.
Langdon watched her retreat. She was petite and deceptively delicate, with a backbone made of steel. She reminded him of another woman who had betrayed him in the worst way. He had made a grave mistake in trusting Maria, who had lied about her husband’s abuse to trick him into becoming her lover, and was ultimately responsible for having him thrown into a Spanish prison. His biggest mistake was allowing himself to become emotionally involved with her. He had been a green youth driven by his physical desires and she’d chipped away at his ability to trust his own judgement. He turned on his heel and went into Stanton’s studio. He had learned his lesson with Maria, and he had no intention of letting his guard down again.
Mrs. Adare had sought Stanton to assist her with a crime. She was not a love interest, but an assignment. His mind spun over what she’d shared. As a guardian, he investigated other members of the nobility. Because of their status, the upper crust rarely faced punishment for their actions. The Tenet had a way of ferreting out the transgressions and giving their victims some vindication, while making the lord or lady pay for their abuse.
His mentor had donned a paint-splattered smock and was at his easel, a long-handled brush in hand. Langdon took a moment to study the depiction of a cherubic angel looking down on the baby Jesus while he gathered his thoughts. His guardian instincts had kicked in and he smelled something afoot.
“That’s an unusual subject for you,” Langdon said.
“Yes, I prefer landscapes.” Stanton set the bristle onto the canvas and made small, delicate strokes. “It is a replica of an obscure Russian painting Idle asked me to paint for him. He hired someone to do a watercolor, but he prefers oils.”
“Mrs. Adare had a compelling story. Do you know if it is true?” Langdon asked.
Stanton released a derisive snort. “She is a pain in the arse. Were she not related to Farnsworth, I would have had her thrown out on the street for her impertinence.”
Langdon raised his brow, taken aback by Stanton’s loss of temper. Something definitely was off, and he was resolute to find out what. “Does he or his father know about her suspicions?”
“Farnsworth, yes. As for his father, I don’t believe so. He has stepped back from his executive position at the Tenet since the new child was born and is merely an average member now.” He loaded his brush with dark umber paint, the lines around his mouth pinched. The topic of conversation had placed him in a bitter mood.
