“I didn’t like my father.”
“I’m sorry about that.”
“He was horrible to my mother and me.”
The thought of Challoner hurting this serious little boy and his lovely mother enraged Monty.
“Henry, I want to promise you something.” Monty moved to stand before the boy. “Now we are friends. That means if you ever need anything, then you can come to me. Now I know your mother will always be around, or your aunt and uncle, but for any reason if you need me, then here is my address.” He handed over a small white rectangular card with his details on it. “Do you understand?”
The boy looked up at him and then nodded, taking the card.
“Excellent, well, I will bid you good day.”
“Goodbye, my lord.” Henry left and had soon disappeared around the side of the house, head lowered, walking slowly and not running.
Monty looked up at the window behind him. Iris was not standing in it, but he felt she was watching him from somewhere inside the house.
How had she and Henry suffered at the hands of the late Lord Challoner? And why did he want to know the answer to that question desperately? What was the deal with Renton, and why was he now worried about her when he had enough to worry about in his own life?
Suddenly after years, there was a chance he could find who had killed his parents. For now, he must focus on that.
Walking out to the street, he started toward his town house, waiting for a hackney to appear.
“I say, is that Lord Plunge looking fierce?”
He found an open carriage carrying Mary’s mother and sister. Both were looking at him open-mouthed.
Damn, he’d forgotten his hair wasn’t styled, and he hadn’t worn heels. He schooled his expression into a suitable Plunge look.
“’Tis a beauteous day, dear ladies.” He bowed deeply, waving his hand before him.
The ladies acknowledged him, and he saw a speculative look in Phillipa’s eyes.
“What has you here, my lord?” Phillipa demanded. She was natured nothing like her sister. Opinionated and spoiled, it was hard to believe she and Mary came from the same family.
“I am taking air,” he said when nothing else came to him.
“Were you visiting Lady Challoner?” Phillipa asked.
“Indeed. It is lovely to catch up with a dear old friend.”
“Why did you have that fierce look on your face?” Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, like she could see he was not telling her the truth.
“I was squinting. The sun is awfully bright today.” Monty could feel himself starting to sweat as she continued to study him.
“Have you styled your hair differently, my lord?” Phillipa then asked.
“My valet, you know, he took ill, and I was forced from the house like this!” Monty put a quiver in his voice.
“Well, I for one like the look,” Lady Blake said. “Now we must go, Phillipa, or we will be late. Drive on, Brantley,” she then ordered.
Phillipa watched him until they disappeared, and he had a terrible feeling she was seeing him in a different light, and, in fact, his name had just been added to her prospective husband list.
“Not bloody likely,” Monty muttered. Looking up and down the street, he searched for a hackney. You couldn’t set foot out of your house usually without one approaching. However, not today.
He walked with his head down and hoped no one noticed him or wanted to talk.
“Help!”
