He made a face. “I would prefer to show you. All the same, you can stop worrying over your brother.”
Adelia nodded. And since she could think of nothing else to say to Mr. Beaumont, she said no more.
After about five minutes, Mr. Beaumont unexpectedly spoke, “You would never consider me as a suitor, would you?”
She managed to stop herself from visibly shuddering.
“That is an in…inappropriate topic,” she told him, “given our close…close confines and lack of chaperone.”Drats!Her nervousness was on full display.
He shrugged. “After all I’m doing for our company, and knowing how I can grow it and make it prosper, especially when my hands are not shackled by your brother’s control, what is your response?”
Hating feeling trapped and pressured, not to mention fearful of reprisal, Adelia suddenly realized she felt precisely the way she had in the company of her late father. She didn’t think placating Mr. Beaumont would work, nor telling him how he made her skin crawl. Thus, she settled upon the truth.
“I have an understanding with someone else. My heart is already engaged.”
“Your heart, eh?” Mr. Beaumont said. “But not a formal engagement as yet? Lord Burnley is dragging his feet. No doubt, he thinks it best not to ask untilafterhe sees your brother hang.”
She caught her breath at his crude words and the terrible image they evoked. And he knew far too much about her relationship with Owen for her liking.
Mr. Beaumont cocked his head. “Your viscount paid me a visit, practically begging me to come up with more nefarious deeds to pin upon the earl. I cannot see how you could give your heart to a man who wants to destroy your brother.” His tone was gruff with disapproval.
“I suppose it is a good thing then that you have discovered a way to save him.” She wondered if Mr. Beaumont was truly angry. Or mayhap, he was only hurt at being rebuffed. Recalling his previous disclosure about Thomas and Lady Sophia, she decided to let him know he wasn’t dealing with a fool.
“I believe you told me you saw my brother with Lady Sophia Burnley because you hoped to frighten me into letting you take control while Lord Smythe was incarcerated.”
He said nothing to that, regarding her with a blank stare.
“I am grateful you didn’t tell the same tale to the police or to Lord Burnley.”
He nodded. “I hoped only to prove my loyalty,” he said. “I suppose I went about it all wrong.”
An understatement,Adelia thought, wishing she’d told someone about the engineer’s lies. However, he said he’d told Mr. Brassel about an alibi.
“Now that the earl will be released,” she told him, “everything will go back to normal. He’ll be grateful for your assistance.”
“And what about you?” Mr. Beaumont asked, leaning forward. “Will you be grateful, too?”
“Naturally,” she said, feeling uneasy.
Luckily, prior to any further discussion, the hackney came to a halt. Cab drivers rarely jumped down to open the door, and thus Mr. Beaumont was quick to push it ajar and climb out, offering her his hand.
She was loath to take it but did so, thinking to snatch it back as soon as her ankle boots touched the paving stones. Unfortunately, before she could do anything except regain her balance, the engineer had tucked her arm through his, close to his body, and led her inside a tavern. She’d only had time to see its sign, The Pig and Whistle, hanging crookedly from a piece of iron.
When Owen had taken her from pub to pub looking for Thomas, he had not taken her into this one. As Adelia’s eyes became accustomed to the gloomy interior, Mr. Beaumont tugged her toward the staircase on their immediate right. She dug in her heels as best she could, aided by the stickiness of the ale-spilled floorboards.
He released her, turning in surprise. No one else in the place even lifted their head from their mugs of beer and large glasses of gin.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “And where is Mr. Brassel?”
“He is upstairs, hopefully with the detective by now. Detective Sergeant Garrard, I think was his name. Is that right?” He turned from her and headed up the stairs.
She supposed if he knew Mr. Brassel and the detective, he could not be lying. Glancing again at the establishment’s sad guests, thinking one of them might become animated at any point and demand her reticule at knifepoint, she followed him.
At the top of the stairs was a short hall with three doors. The one closest to her was partly open. With a prickling of alarm, Adelia had the appalling notion Lady Sophia had also been there and met her horrendous fate.
Losing her nerve, she was about to dash back down the stairs when the door at the end opened, and what could only be a harlot popped out, wearing a sheer robe, thick red lip coloring, and far too much rouge.
Adelia froze, staring at her, plainly able to see the woman’s breasts and her womanly parts through the ridiculous gossamer gown. The harlot was giggling, perhaps drunk. An instant later, a man stepped out after her, still sliding his arms into his coat.
