He understood why she’d run from the idiot, but why had she hidden from him afterward and then, obviously, fled the building? What was it about that man that had frightened her so? What, or whom, was she hiding from? There was only one way to find out.
“I need an audience with Mrs. Dove-Lyon.” Hugh approached Hermia with his request. “It’s urgent,” he added.
To his surprise, Hermia answered with a knowing smile. “It’s about time, Mr. Warsham. The Widow of Whitehall is expecting you.”
“She is?” Hugh said.
“Follow me.” Hermia escorted Hugh up two flights of stairs to Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s study on the second floor, where the veiled widow greeted him from behind her elaborately carved mahogany desk.
“Mr. Warsham. I’ve been expecting you. Do take a seat.” She gestured to a cushioned red velvet chair positioned across from her desk.
Hugh sat.
“I believe I know why you are here,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.
“Yes, I imagine you know exactly why I’m here,” Hugh said tightly.
“Are you certain you want her name, Mr. Warsham? Because if you feel resentful about being tricked into meeting a beautiful young lady, you can leave this office and continue as you were before.”
Hugh hesitated. She was right. He was here of his own free will. The choice was entirely his own. And yes, he wanted her name—it frightened him just how much. He cleared his throat and remained seated.
The Black Widow chuckled. “Just as I thought,” she said. “And who can blame you? She’s a charming young lady and, as you will soon discover, breathtakingly beautiful as well. A true rose.”
Hugh shifted in his chair. Clearly, the widow wasn’t going to hand over her name. She was going to make him pay. It was all part of her game.
“How much?” he asked.
She cocked her head as though she’d misheard him.
“Money,” he said, losing patience. “How much money do you want to reveal her name?”
Mrs. Dove-Lyon threw back her veiled head and laughed. “How sweet of you. But you needn’t worry. I have already been paid a handsome sum for my part in this arrangement.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Warsham,” she said, standing up and reaching for a decanter of brandy and two glasses, “all I ask of you is that after I reveal the young lady’s name, you listen to my full explanation of the situation, whilst keeping an open mind and heart.”
Hugh’s chest tightened. His veiled rose had said something similar. What in the world was going on?
Mrs. Dove-Lyon filled the two glasses with brandy and carried one over to Hugh. “The young lady’s name is Miss Charlotte Rose,” she said, handing Hugh the glass.
At first, Hugh did not register that anything was amiss. All he could think was how lovely the name sounded to his ears.
“She’s the daughter of Sir Benedict Rose,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon said.
Hugh’s hand tightened around the glass as the realization dawned on him. “You don’t mean—”
She nodded before retrieving her brandy and retreating behind her desk.
“My God!” he groaned. “Was she sent to make a fool of me? Or to harm my father in some way?’
“On the contrary, she was brought here to help both her father and yours.”
Hugh snorted. “By whom? Her mama? Why would Lady Rose care to help my father?”
“Lady Rose’s concern lies with her husband just as your mother’s concern lies with your father.”
“Mymother? What does she have to do with anything?”
