“My lady?” she asked, her tone worried.
Owen ignored the girl. “Why do you look so distraught?” he challenged.
Adelia hesitated, glanced at her maid, and nodded. The servant resumed her seat.
“Just the notion your poor sister held that particular handkerchief in her hand while she died,” Adelia explained. “It’s extremely upsetting.”
He pondered her reasonable words. Of course! He had been foolish not to understand. After all, he was used to the morbidity of carrying around something that was most probably the murderer’s own. For others, it would still be a shock.
She glanced pointedly down at her arms, and he slowly released her.
“So you don’t know who owns this?” His hopes were dashed again, even before she answered.
She shook her head, her sparkling gaze returning to the kerchief.
He sighed. “I offer my sincere apology. I should not have raised my voice nor laid hands upon you, especially when all you’ve done is try to help me.”
“I accept,” she said in her same soft voice.
Good,he thought. He hadn’t ruined their burgeoning relationship. Whatever it was, he did not want it to end.
“I am going to continue to search for the handkerchief’s owner. I hope you will consider helping me.”
“I…I try to stay home as much as possible. I do not prefer to be out in society.”
“All the same, if you are at a dance or a dinner party, whether I am there or not, I would be obliged if you would continue to look for this anvil.”
She nodded and stood, evidently ready for him to leave. After his brief volatile behavior, something had changed between them. He could feel it. He’d disappointed her or perhaps frightened her. Quickly, Owen got to his feet, eager to repair the customary civility of the drawing room.
“If I have not already done so, I offer you my deepest gratitude. You collected a greater number than I had anticipated.”
“It may be surprising to some what a lady can keep under her skirts,” Adelia remarked.
From anyone else, Owen would think this a sexual reference, a coy come-hither statement. Not from this woman. Lady Adelia was obviously witty enough fordouble entendres,but being direct was more in keeping with her manner, whether asking for another kiss or an evening together.
Nonetheless, her statement about not wanting to make a marriage match essentially waved a flag of challenge in front of him, baiting him to pursue her, particularly as he’d always enjoyed success in that regard.
Owen knew she wasn’t really doing any such thing. He was deluding himself because he desperately needed something to focus on besides Sophia’s murder, especially in the face of this latest failure. Lady Adelia had always seemed standoffish, though that was too strong a word as it implied action. She was more the absence of being, managing to disappear in plain sight whenever she chose. And she chose to do so often.
Why?He had never asked a wallflower why she behaved thusly, assuming she preferred to be alone. Lady Adelia was reticent, to be sure, but he believed there was something beyond shyness that kept her glued to the wall. Obviously, she was a capable dancer and could spend an entire night in the arms of various suitors.
So why did she remain unattached and apparently uninterested?
He hoped to discover her reasons, and not merely because of her splendid curves.
“The ballet, then?” he heard himself offer. “Will you—?”
She was already shaking her head, stopping him.
“We discussed it before,” Owen pressed his case. “We can go to Covent Garden tomorrow night or the Albert Saloon if you prefer.”
“No, thank you.”
Because he hadn’t asked her in a timely fashion, she was now being difficult. He sent her his most winning smile. It had charmed many a lady right out of her stockings.
She bit her lower lip, but her stockings stayed put.
“I thought you wished to go.” He had a tone akin to pleading, which he’d never needed to use with a female. It irked him to hear himself.
