“When did he come by?” Flint asked the innkeeper.
This took some head scratching. “Yesterday morn.”
“You haven't seen him since?”
Mr. Brown shook his shaggy head. “Not since he headed toward the big house.”
There was only one big house in the area.
“In that case,” Flint said, nudging Felicity toward the door with a hand to her back, “I'd say we should get back and see if anyone at the house has seen him. Thank you, John.”
The pub owner was frowning now. “We'll keep an eye out 'ere as well, will we?”
“I'd consider it a favor,” Flint said.
Before Felicity could argue, Flint had tossed her up atop Charlie.
“You haven't seen Teesdale since you left the Lassiters?” he asked, vaulting into his own saddle.
Felicity was still gathering her reins and settling her skirts. “No. Why?”
“I have.”
Which was when he changed direction. They weren't going back home. They were going to Gen's house, where his own houseguests had decamped.
* * *
Felicity hadno idea where they were headed until they got there. She might have had a chance to ask, but once Flint heard the name Teesdale he seemed to have forgotten that she didn't know how to ride. It was all she could do to stay on Charlie as thy pounded over fields and down roads.
It might have been better that way. It gave her far less time to fret over the fact that she was about to once again meet the Siren looking as if she'd been dragged through a hedgerow backwards. She would have also wondered just what Bucky Brent wanted with her. He hadn't been a memorable man. He'd been mostly teeth and ears, his time divided between hunting with Eddie Lassiter and discussing philosophy with Eddie's father. Since Felicity had nothing to add to either pastime, they rarely crossed paths.
Except that time Eddie Lassiter had backed her against the third-floor wall demanding she tell him why she wouldn't ride with him, and Bucky had tried to intervene.
The house they approached now was a tidy Queen Anne comprised of red brick and gleaming windows. The garden was perfectly proportioned and groomed, classic geometrics in evergreen. Not one flower marred the smoothly sculpted lines of the bushes that stretched out before the house. Felicity thought the scene might have been a symphony of harmony. It struck her as sterile and over-controlled.
And she thought that before the front door opened to reveal the siren in all her pink and blond glory, smiling as if she had just learned her lover was coming home.
Flint was off his horse and heading toward the stairs before Felicity could even complain.
“How lovely!” the siren caroled, clapping her hands. “I see you're out getting fresh air.”
“Is Bucky here?” Flint demanded.
Felicity wasn't sure exactly what she was supposed to do. Were they staying? Were they to leave again if Bucky wasn't here?
Mrs. Dent-Hardy blinked, making it look like a slow dance. “Why, no. He left this morning. Why?”
Flint stopped in his tracks. “Damn.”
Now both women were blinking at him.
“Bracken?” their hostess asked. “Are you disappointed you can't introduce your fiancée to him, or should I call out the militia?”
He shoved a hand though his already-mussed hair and sighed. “Sorry. I thought he had some answers for me.”
After another odd pause, the Siren looked up at Felicity and smiled. “Well, if it isn't a national emergency, perhaps you could convince Miss Chambers off her horse and into the house for a bit of tea.”
Felicity flushed. The flush blossomed when Flint spun around and cursed again. “Sorry.”
