“Very well,” the detective agreed. “Tomorrow.”
“And don’t forget Lord Smythe,” Owen reminded Garrard while keeping his gaze locked on Adelia’s. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her, not ever.
“I shall go see about the earl’s immediate release.” The detective departed.
Adelia sagged against him. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“You did it,” he reminded her.
“Whitely, will you give the Westings our regrets. Lady Adelia and I will not be attending dinner.”
“Of course,” his friend replied. “And you’re welcome,” George added wryly.
“I think I had it well in hand by the time you showed up,” Owen pointed out.
“True, but it’s nice to have everything tidied up and a detective on hand. When I found Lady Adelia was not at home, I decided the police had best come with me. Saves doing a lot of explaining later.”
“True. And I am grateful,” Owen told him, sparing him a glance. “You’ve stood by me through all of this, and I’ll never forget it.”
“You can name your first son after me,” George quipped before addressing Adelia. “I am very glad to see you relatively unharmed, my lady.”
“Thank you,” she said, but her gaze remained on Owen. She smiled at him, reached up, and cupped his cheek. “It’s finally over.”
For her, it was. If only his parents’ hearts could be repaired so easily.
Chapter Thirty-One
Adelia awakened inOwen’s house, in a sunny guest room. Despite a slightly painful lip and bruised cheek, she’d slept better than she had in weeks. She smiled to herself as she recalled everything that had transpired. Although she hadn’t seen him yet, she knew Thomas had been freed and, undoubtedly, was awaiting her at home. Oddly, she had no ardent wish to rush back to Hyde Park Street, feeling entirely at peace right there in Owen’s home.
She stretched her arms overhead.
“You’re awake.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, popping up from the pillow to see Owen—her fiancé!—sitting on a winged chair by the paned window. He was clad only in pants and a dressing gown, which was hanging open, revealing his bare chest. No socks or shirt were visible.
“Were you there all night?” she asked, unable to look elsewhere than at the expanse of male skin she’d never seen before.
He grinned. “I tried to stay away. I got you settled and went to my study for a glass of brandy. I even tried retiring to my room, but I kept worrying you would need something, maybe laudanum or water. Or that you might awaken frightened to be in a strange place.”
She started to laugh, sitting up and leaning back against the down pillow. “Do I seem such a ninny to you?”
He stared at her, his gaze intense.
“No.” Standing up, he approached her bedside. “Truthfully, I couldn’t rest with you being so close, not unless I watched over you.”
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked.
“In that chair? Are you mad, woman?”
She laughed again and watched him swallow, his jaw with its shadow of a beard tensed.
“Every time you laugh, your…um…that is….”
Adelia couldn’t recall him ever stuttering. Instead of embarrassing as her speech affliction always seemed, she thought his stutter was endearing. Until he gestured with his chin, and she looked down.
The thin, fine lawn of her shift, which was all she currently wore, allowed the pinkish color of her nipples to show through.
“Oh!” she exclaimed again, grabbing for the sheet and yanking it up.
