After a bit, his breath evened out. “Let’s get out of the city. Go to Spixworth. I need to assess the house. That is Nathan’s entailment after all.”
Maeve was not about to leave the city until she’d exhausted all avenues of locating Melinda for Penny. “I can’t leave London. Not until we find Melinda.”
“Dammit, Maeve.” But his voice was one of resignation, not anger.
Someone tapped at the door.
“Blast!” Panic roared through her. She was destined to die of humiliation.
A growl of a laugh erupted from Brandon. Still holding her, he stood and set Maeve on her trembling legs. He turned her around and set her corset to rights. The brush against her breasts might have been intentional, and she shivered with insatiable need. He swooped her dress from the floor and tossed it over her head.
Good heavens, she still had her slippers on. She felt as if her skin would peel away.
Brandon went to the door and glanced over his shoulder to her.
Maeve dropped into the chair, hiding behind one of the wings.
It was Rory. Maeve couldn’t make out what he was saying, but his usual gruffness was tinged with tension.
“Wait for me at the stable. I’ll be fifteen minutes.” The door shut.
Maeve couldn’t move. A band manacled her chest. He left? Hurt pounded through her.
She wouldn’t rail at him. She was not some clingy green girl. She heaved in a deep breath to steady her—not nerves—she was not prone to nerves—anger. To tamp her anger. How dare he take her in achair, then desert her.
Rory had the horses saddled and ready by the time Harlowe met him at the stables. “What do we know of the child?”
“Not much.” Harlowe swung his leg over and kicked the beast lightly in the flanks. “Penny is only five. She doesn’t even know how old her sister is. Just that she’s taller than herself. And that her name is Melinda. She calls her Mellie. Oh, and her hair is lighter than Penny’s.”
“I been scoutin’ the area ’round Trotter’s. Ain’t seen no girls hangin’ about. But the boys, I seen. I think they might be willin’ to help. Coin talks.”
“I’m prepared.”
The ride to Soho Square took less than ten minutes under the crisp, clear night. Harlowe didn’t hold out much hope, yet welcomed the respite from being closeted in the house of late. Dragging himself away from his new bride had taken every ounce of fortitude he possessed. He had high hopes for his unexpected marriage, and now he could sleep at night knowing they were under the same roof. Even if Penny did manage to have him relegated to his own chamber most evenings.
“There.” Rory’s rasp brought Harlowe out of his musings to his surroundings.
“Stay the course,” Harlowe said softly. “We don’t wish to frighten them away. You do the talking,” he added. “Being a toff and all, I might scare them off.”
A quick smile along with Rory’s nod met Harlowe as they slowed their horses.
“Ho, there, boys,” Rory’s voice lifted over the cold night air.
Harlowe counted four, but there were likely another couple hiding about.
“We’re looking for a gel,” Rory said.
“Wot’s it worth to ye, guv?”
“Depends on wot ye can give us. Wot’s yer name, boy?”
Harlowe was stunned at Rory’s ability to modulate his dialect to match the tallest boy of the group who acted as their spokesperson.
“Me name’s Benny.” He chewed on a piece of straw then spat it out on the ground. “We seen a girl ’angin’ about. I ask ye again, wot’s it to ye?”
“Her sister’s a missin’ ’er,” Rory said.
“’Ow do we know ye ain’t workin’ for Jervis?”
