Ambrose betrayed me... for coin. Everything that happened between us was a lie.
She realized she was shaking. With rage—with other emotions that might annihilate her composure if she didn't leave that very instant.
"Involve me in any otherethicalendeavor, and I vow you'll answer for defamation," she spat.
She left the office. With each step, her emotions receded. No anger, no pain—only numbness that seemed to well from her soul. That had merely been biding its time, waiting for her foolish happiness to wither and die.
Lugo met her at the carriage. He must have read her expression, for lines of concern carved into his broad features as he handed her up. "My lady, what will you do?"
"What I should have been doing all along. I'm going to find Rosie on my own." The truth echoed hollowly in the cabin. "Make haste, Lugo, for we have a journey ahead of us."
31
It was nearingmidnight by the time Ambrose jogged up the steps to Marianne's townhouse. He let himself in with the key she'd given him. As he strode into the dark foyer, anticipation simmered in his veins: this evening, Willy Trout had delivered Marquess Boyer's secret. As it turned out, Leachhadhelped the marquess to cover up a scandal; it did not involve Primrose, however, but a pair of twin footmen.
Which narrowed the field of suspects down to one: Pendleton.
Like any investigator, Ambrose had a sixth sense that told him when a development showed promise, and his instincts told him they were turning a corner with the case. He could not wait to tell Marianne, to see the hope light her eyes. After all she had survived, she deserved happiness. Such was his optimism that he allowed himself hope as well. When he returned Primrose to her and he could finally tell her the truth, might she forgive his deception?
Could there be some sort of future for them after all?
In his haste toward the stairwell, he nearly bumped into one of the maids.
"Dear me, you gave me a fright!" The girl's hands flew to her chest.
He remembered to remove his hat. Raking his hand through his fog-dampened hair, he said with an apologetic smile, "Alice, isn't it? I do apologize. I have an important matter to discuss with Lady Draven."
"Her ladyship is not in, sir."
Ambrose frowned. Though he knew Marianne's reputation for carousing, as far as he knew she'd curtailed late night activities to spend time with his family. In truth, it had touched him to see her rub along so well with his brother and sisters. Who'd have thought that the haughty Baroness Draven would enjoy games of charades and hide-the-slipper? Seeing her smiles, genuine and unguarded, had only fueled his reckless dreams.
"When do you expect her back?" he said.
"I'm not sure, sir. It might be days," the maid said.
"Days?"
He had not even realized that he'd raised his voice until steps came down the hallway.
"Is that you, Ambrose?" Emma rushed into the anteroom. She wore an old flannel robe, her hair hanging in a braid over her shoulder. Their father hobbled behind her on a cane.
"Is something amiss?" Ambrose said. "Why are the two of you still up? Where is Marianne?"
"Father and I were just discussing the situation over hot milk. Come, Ambrose," Emma said quietly, "or you'll wake the others. It took quite some coaxing to get Polly to bed this eve."
Growing more uneasy by the moment, Ambrose followed her to the drawing room. The instant the door closed, he said, "Tell me what is going on."
Emma and his father exchanged glances.
"Marianne left this evening. She wouldn't say where." Emma tugged nervously on her braid. "But she took an awful lot of luggage, and Lugo and Tilda went with her."
Ambrose stared at his sister, his mind reeling. "She saidnothingto you at all about where she was headed and when she would be back?"
"She said she was... bored," Emma admitted in a small voice. "And in need of diversion."
"I don't understand." Ambrose rubbed his neck, trying to think over the mangled morass in his head. In his chest.
Bored? In need of diversion? What the bloody fuck is that supposed to mean?
