It was as Owen expected, cramped and with the absolute absence of anything remotely resembling luxury, but it was clean. At least, there weren’t piles of soiled clothing or leftover plates of food. In fact, it was nearly as tidy as his bachelor townhouse, and he had servants to keep it so.
Furthermore, she seemed to have the flat to herself. He knew from his discussion with Lady Jane how many of these small lodgings had one or even two families in them, up to ten people sharing two rooms.
Fresh flowers in a jar added a dash of color, and as Miss Moore lit the lamps, the place took on a rosy glow.Almost comfortable,Owen thought, except he didn’t fancy sitting on the threadbare sofa. Besides, they weren’t there on a social call.
As if they were, Miss Moore offered to put the kettle on the small stove that created the entirety of her kitchen equipment along one wall. Owen shuddered at the idea, not wanting to offend her but also not wishing to look into a cracked, chipped, stained cup or be offered curdled milk with whatever dust passed for tea leaves.
“No, thank you,” Adelia answered swiftly. “Thomas, about the perfume, where did you get it?”
“You won’t believe it,” he offered.
“Probably not,” Owen agreed.
The young earl sent him a withering look before responding. “I found it.”
“Where?” Adelia asked.
Smythe shrugged. “That’s the strange thing. I found it in my pocket.”
Owen would have laughed if he weren’t beginning to feel infuriated with Smythe’s ridiculous tale.
“Which pocket?” Adelia persisted as if that mattered.
“One of my regular coats.”
Owen stared at him. “I would wager you are not referring to that monstrosity you’re currently wearing.”
Smythe glared back. “A mulberry-red wool one to be precise.”
“And you simply put your hand in your pocket and drew out the bottle?” Owen sneered. “I suppose a fairy creature slipped it inside whilst you weren’t looking.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Miss Moore spoke up. “Thomas offered it to me, but I can’t be wearing the likes of that. Lavender water is what I use.”
Owen glanced at Adelia. She was taking all this in with her usual aplomb, despite learning her brother had presented her a gift of perfume he’d already tried to give his mistress.
“That proves nothing,” Owen pointed out, taking a step toward Smythe. “Only that you somehow have my sister’s perfume. As for the truth, I don’t believe we’ve got to that yet. Now that Miss Moore is safely home, I insist you come with me to the police station.”
“The police!” Miss Moore exclaimed while Adelia moved closer to her brother.
“I am sure if we think this through,” she began, “we can figure out how it got into my brother’s pocket.”
“In any case, I am not going to the police station,” Smythe insisted. “I am taking my sister home.”
Owen shook his head. “No. You will not go to the comfort of Hyde Park Street and enjoy another night of freedom while Sophia’s spirit goes unavenged.”
“Lord Burnley, please,” Adelia began. “We can deal with this in the morning, can’t we?”
He had to steel himself against her entreaties. Owen had grown fond enough of her that her distress, visible upon her lovely face, caused him distress of his own. Nevertheless, he could not let that deter him from justice.
“Will you come easily?” Owen demanded.
“No,” Smythe answered, his face set in a mulish mien.
“Very well.” Without warning, for Owen was in no mood for a drawn-out round of fisticuffs, he raised his arm and punched the younger man in the face. Both the women shrieked, and Smythe toppled back.
The earl was not knocked unconscious as that had not been Owen’s intent, but Smythe was stunned by the surprise attack. In a flash, Owen dragged him upright and was resolved to get him outside and into the clarence without having to punch him again.
“Lady Adelia,” Owen said as he reached the door, “you will come quietly. All three of us will go in my carriage.”
