“I’ll keep you posted,” she said, turning to leave.
As the door clicked shut behind her, Malum sank back into his chair, hands resting on the arms. The silence in his office, something he normally valued, was unusually loud today.
He ran the back of his hand across his brow. Ernest’s mother was missing, Lady Melanie was gone from her window, and here he was, responsible for a baby. All while doing his best to put an end to Crossings’ diabolical trade.
Blast and damn.
Normally, Malum could bury himself in work for hours, drowning in numbers and distractions until the world outside ceased to exist. But not today. No, today, that wasn’t happening.
With a sigh of resignation, he ordered his secretary to cancel his afternoon meetings, ignoring the raised eyebrow that clearly asked if he was losing his mind.
He bypassed the public rooms, descended the back staircase, and waved off an overly eager employee offering to summon his carriage. The idea of being trapped in a box on wheels, stewing in his own thoughts, felt even more intolerable than his office.
Instead, he set off alone, his stride clipped and determined as he entered the secret tunnel leading to the discreet exit on Jermyne Street. It seemed, for today at least, the devil was taking the scenic route.
Ten minutes later,the unexpected warmth of the sun on Malum’s face did something absurd—it almost improved his mood. In a city like London, where the rain never seemed to miss a day, he’d nearly forgotten the peculiar magic of sunlight.
How quaint.
On a whim, Malum cut through St. James Park, his strides purposeful as he headed for No. 13 Regent Street.
A conversation with the second Rutherford daughter was overdue. If he owed Lady Melanie an apology, she’d have it. But first, his curious little neighbor had some explaining to do, and he found himself almost looking forward to hearing it.
Just as he resolved to pay her a visit, Malum rounded the path at the edge of the lake—and stopped short, his steps faltering.
A familiar figure was heading straight toward him.
Lady Melanie.
Only, she wasn’t alone today.
She was walking beside a slightly taller version of herself, likely the youngest of Rutherford’s sisters, while Lady Roland, their mother, followed closely behind, accompanied by the eldest sister, Lady Caroline Helton.
It wasn’t the encounter he had planned, and if not for Helton’s wife—whom he had met on a few occasions and would most certainly recognize him—he might have simply stepped aside, pretending not to see them.
He doubted Lady Melanie would have said anything about it.
But here they were, and aside from leaping into the nearby bushes in what would have been an embarrassingly undignified escape, he had no choice but to do the proper thing.
Malum pinched his mouth tight and inhaled a deep breath through his nostrils.
“Your Grace,” Lady Helton said, her voice steady as they all came to a halt facing him.
He inclined his head to the countess. “My Lady,” he replied.
Malum felt Lady Melanie’s presence without having to actually look at her.
Lady Caroline turned slightly, gesturing toward the older woman. “Mother, may I present the Duke of Malum?”
Lady Roland’s eyes widened, but she managed to incline her head graciously. “Your Grace, a pleasure to meet you.”
Malum nodded. “The pleasure is mine, my lady.”
“May I present my sister, Lady Melanie. Melanie, the Duke of Malum.” Lady Helton made the introduction as though it was the first time, even though both her and their mother’s expressions conveyed that she knew otherwise.
Here in Mayfair, an introduction couldn’t be acknowledged if it hadn’t been manufactured by Society itself. Even if they were, in fact, neighbors.
But this need for propriety did, fortuitously, allow Malum to get a good look at the woman who’d occupied far too much of his thoughts.
