Harlowe left the Martindales’ without a specific destination in mind. He couldn’t face his sister or her husband or Maeve Pendleton, Lady Alymer, another minute. He had to get out of the stuffy ballroom before he suffocated.
With no desire to return to his sister’s house, he guided his horse through Hyde Park. The cold night matched his insides, the realization hitting him square in the chest. He wanted to marry Maeve Pendleton.
Only, she deserved better.
Yet she enchanted him.
And he adored her.
He’d known her a matter of days. How was this possible? Back and forth his vacillating thoughts went, from harsh reality to a rose-colored future. A branch snapped nearby. Harlowe slowed his horse, his skin prickling with precipitous awareness. He leaned low over the base of his horse’s mane just as the blast sounded and the ball lodged in the bark of the closest tree.
Harlowe kicked his mount into motion, holding on for dear life. Fifteen minutes later, his pulse pounding, he found himself back at Rowena Hollerfield’s almost empty house on Cavendish Square. After stabling his mount the half block away, he made his way to the house at the servants’ entrance as not to terrify Agnes, his own pulse pounding erratically.
The door was locked, and he tapped lightly.
It took a few moments for her voice to sound through the heavy oak. “Who’s there?”
“Lord Harlowe, Agnes. Let me in.” It took every ounce of his control to sound calm.
Heavy drops of rain plopped on his shoulders by the time she wrenched it open. “Is aught amiss, m’lord?”
“No. I’m going to stay here tonight.”
“Are ye turnin’ me out, yer lordship?”
“No, Agnes. I appreciate your adeptness at keeping the house in working order. Is there a runner about for me to send off a message?”
“Just Stephen, m’lord.”
Blast.“All right. Never mind. Don’t worry breakfast for me. But you best prepare the house for occupants.” The idea just hit him, not yet fully formed. Nothing to worry over, he was quick thinker on his feet. Er, leastways he used to be. He was almost positive.
She dipped a short curtsey and disappeared down the stairs.
Harlowe flipped the lock on the door and made his way to Rowena’s office beneath the stairs on the ground level. It was much too small, reminding him of the windowless hold on the ship he’d been tossed in and left for dead. But he had questions, and this room seemed the most likely place to find them. He lit a candle and raised it above his head. It was devoid of dust. Agnes seemed to have kept the ground level of the floor in tiptop condition, ignoring the upper levels.
It made no difference to him.
The top of the desk was now devoid of papers. He went around and sat down, then pulled out drawers. Just the usual strips of papers, receipts, and the like, dated the year before. Mostly for clothes for her and Corinne. He found a couple of books on the household accounts, but they hadn’t been updated in over a year either. Agnes likely couldn’t read. He wondered briefly how she’d managed to keep food on the table for herself and her two charges, and he surely couldn’t forget about the newly painted door.
He spun around in an American swivel chair, checking out the space behind him. A cabinet door to his right was ajar. Harlowe pulled it back and found a safe that wasn’t closed all the way. He poked around inside and found a few more papers that didn’t appear to have much significance. He pushed the door to, not latching it, since he had no notion the combination should he happen to have need of its contents.
He took a moment, letting the notion sink in that this was now his house. That he had servants of his own, young though they were. And resilient. He best not forget that.
He wondered how Maeve would take to living in a famous courtesan’s highly fashionable abode. Shaking his head with a small chuckle, he surmised she wouldn’t care a fig what anyone thought as long as she didn’t have to live with her mother.
The enclosed space began to suffocate him. He took the candle and went toward the stairs to find a place to sleep but was stopped by someone tapping at the door. No one knew he was there, and his instincts for danger kicked in. He went to the door. “Who goes there?”
“Rory, milord.”
Harlowe let out a relieved breath and opened the door. “What are you doing here?”
“The Kimptons and Lady Alymer returned home. I figured you must o’ come ’ere, and decided to check.”
Harlowe stood back and let him in. “Excellent. There wasn’t anyone one but a boy to send a message so I opted not to. Come in. I was just about to locate a place to sleep.” He secured the lock on the door and as they walked up the stairs, he relayed the information of the shot in the park.
Rory let out a savage oath. “Ye’ve no idea who it could be?”
“None.” Just thinking about it had Harlowe’s pulse spiking.
