“Irene’s demeanor sort of puts things in perspective, does it not?” Lorelei said, watching the door latch softly behind their departure. She shifted her gaze to Ginny. “What of you, my friend? Do you wish to stay as well?”
“Thank you. At the risk of being an inconvenience, I would greatly appreciate staying. I could use the reprieve from the baron and baroness.”
Lorelei glanced over at Thorne where he and Brock were softly conversing, being careful to hide her elation. Despite the horrendousness of the current situation, her machinations for bringing Ginny and Brock together were coming along nicely.
Twenty-Two
L
oren sat atop his horse, waiting in the cold drizzle that had plagued London all day. Lady Maudsley had not returned home. Nor had her children. ’Twas an impossible, frustrating situation. Markov’s unpredictability was not only an inconvenience, but worrisome to the extreme. Despite the pounding rain, each passing day, the trees’ talk grew louder and more… insistent. He must be going mad if he believed trees talked. He shoved out the insanity. Time waned in delivering Lady Cecilia. How was he supposed to accomplish an abduction if he had no idea where they’d disappeared to?
God knows, if he had to stomach Baron Wimbley and his obnoxious wife another moment, he’d likely be putting a ball through his own head. He ought to do Lady Maudsley the favor of ridding her of her useless parents. Clearly, they thought to profit off forcing her into another marriage.
With a hard yank of the reins, he guided his horse home. He needed a new strategy. Something bold and drastic. Before he succumbed to the ensuing panic of lying in an open grave while mounds of dirt were shoveled atop waiting to steal his last breath. He was living a waking nightmare.
Twenty-Three
B
rock accepted his third brandy at Kimpton’s behest, sipping slowly. Lady Kimpton and Ginny had retired not long after the girls. His frustration mounted along with his desire. Following Ginny up to a guest chamber in his friend’s home was the height of impropriety, even if it might be a part of Lady Kimpton’s grandest plan. At least Ginny was not returning home to her manipulative family.
Only a stupid person ignored prior events in believing history would not repeat itself. And Brock was not stupid.
“You going to marry her?” Kimpton’s low rumble broke into Brock’s musings.
“That is the plan,” he muttered. “Is Pogue notifying the carpenter?”
“Yes. I’ll transport Lady Harlowe to Kent at first opportunity. She’ll want Corinne buried in the family yard.”
“Lady Kimpton will insist on accompanying you.”
Kimpton scowled. “I refuse to let her attend a funeral. You saw her. There is a reason society looks down on women attending such a thing. For once, I am in full accord with the sentiment.”
“Will you have a viewing?”
“I suppose that is something I’ll need to discuss with my wife.” He ran a hand over his face. “God, why?” he breathed.
Brock had no response. “Let’s just hope Pogue accepts your explanations of Lady Harlowe grabbing the bottle by accident in the cover of darkness.”
“Why shouldn’t he believe it? Hell, I almost believe it. I damn sure want to.”
A wry smile touched Brock’s mouth. “I’m sure your generous restitution won’t hurt.”
Kimpton smiled back. “No, just as I intended.” His brows furrowed. “And here I feel we are on the precipice of locating the missing viscount too.”
Shockingly, the viscount had slipped Brock’s mind, what with safeguarding lessons for Irene and Celia, and Ginny taking up his every waking thought. Along with the intrusions to his dreams by night, there wasn’t much more that would fit in the low capacity his head could hold.
“The baron told Ginny this afternoon that he’d invited a suitable gentleman for luncheon,” he said, deciding he’d heard enough talk of the death and its destruction.
“Suitable for what?”
“I’m sure he meant marriage,” he said on a disgusted huff.
A bark of Kimpton’s laughter erupted. It sounded strange after the past few harrowing hours. “They do realize she is a woman of maturity and, as a widow, answers to no one, don’t they?”
“In my observations, that is just a minor obstacle in their determined path.” The truth and grimness of his own statement struck deep. She’d told them to leave, yet they remained in blatant insouciance.
“Who was this, er, suitable gentleman?”
