“Of course.” Alice was fairly sure that could turn out to be a lie, but right then it wasn’t.
Her staff then left her alone with tea and scones, which she steadily worked her way through as she thought up and discarded plans. Spreading a map of London across her desk, she traced the streets until she reached Marylebone Lane.
Alice would have to be careful. If Jackson spotted her, he might flee, because she knew he’d seen her that day Charles had come home, as she’d seen him.
Taking Ezra would draw attention as he was so large. She just needed proof that this was he, and then she could decide her next move. Perhaps she could stand outside the address and watch it for a while? No one need know, and then she’d come back to the townhouse.
The sound of a carriage stopping made her look out the window. The door opened, and Lord Stafford stepped down and then walked up the path to her door. She didn’t want to speak to him. Not after what they’d shared in that carriage, and him betraying her.
A knock had Alice moving to the door and opening it.
“Lord Stafford is here to see you, my lady,” Phipps said.
“Tell him I am not taking callers, please, Phipps.”
He bowed and left. Alice moved back to the window and watched Lord Stafford leave. Reaching his carriage, he stopped and looked up to where she stood. She knew there was no way he could see her, but she drew back, heart thudding. Only when sheheard the clop of hooves seconds later did Alice draw in a deep, shaky breath.
Chapter Twenty-Three
In the dayssince Jamie had kissed Alice again, he’d called at her house twice. Both times her butler had said she was from home, and he couldn’t tell if that was the truth or not, as the man’s expression gave nothing away.
He’d then sent three notes stating he needed to speak with her. She’d ignored them. She’d also not attended any society events.
Two things gnawed at Jamie. The first was fear that Alice was out there somewhere in the dark, searching through the most dangerous corners of London in her relentless search for clues about Jackson. The second was harder to name, a dull ache lodged beneath his ribs. He told himself it was simply because he hadn’t seen her lately, which was absurd. They’d never spent enough time together for her absence to hurt this much. Yet it did. The truth was simple: Lady Alice Smythe had come to matter to him more than he cared to admit. And for now, that was enough. Whatever the future brought, he’d face it after Jackson was found. Right now, he had to ensure Alice was safe.
Jamie then did something he had absolutely no right to do. He’d paid a man to watch her movements. She’d maim him if she found out, but it was the only way he could be sure she wasn’t doing anything rash.
God’s blood, what has become of me?
“I fear you’re not concentrating, my lord.”
“I fear you are correct and at this rate, you will be trouncing me soundly, Fletcher.”
Jamie had found out from his butler, Radley, who knew through one of the maids, Ginny, that Fletcher, his footman, was in fact an excellent chess player. As Jamie loved chess, he’d instantly challenged the man to a game. That was two years ago, and they’d been playing often since.
“Well then, if I may say, checkmate, my lord.”
“If it wouldn’t be very wrong of me, Radley, I’d terminate your employment effective immediately.” Jamie sighed. “Forgive me. It seems I was preoccupied this evening. I promise to be more alert next time.”
“I shall look forward to it, my lord.” His footman rose and put the pieces back in their box before leaving.
It wasn’t late, but late enough that he should be heading out the door to a social engagement, but Jamie found little excitement in the prospect. He wanted Alice, and he wanted to find Jackson. Both were consuming him.
When Radley reappeared, he was still exactly where he’d been, staring at the chessboard.
“A Mr. Jonas has arrived, my lord, and wishes to speak with you, Lord Stafford.”
Jamie was out of his chair so fast he tripped, but managed to right himself. He was then running out the door, past his butler. Taking the stairs two at a time, he arrived at the front door in seconds.
Mr. Jonas had once been a Bow Street Runner and now worked privately for anyone who needed him. He wore beige and gray, and to Jamie’s mind was in perfect employment, as everything about the man except for a spectacular moustache was bland. He stood just inside the door, hat in hand, looking around the walls to where Jamie’s austere ancestors hung, casting disapproving glances down on Jamie.
“Good evening, my lord,” Mr. Jonas said, bowing.
“Good evening. What news do you have for me, Mr. Jonas?”
“I was watching Lady Alice Smythe’s house as you directed, and thirty minutes ago she left it alone. If I may be bold, she appeared secretive. I followed, and she climbed into a hackney. I was able to hear the address she told the driver.”
“How did she appear secretive?” Jamie asked instead of giving voice to the anger Mr. Jonas’s words created.
