“Don’t let this one get away, Farcle. I’m counting on you.” Griston ducked out of the cab and pounded the side, sending it into motion once more.
Thirty-Three
Y
ou’re determined to create a scandal, aren’t you, my lord?”
“Only with you, my dear.” Brock swung Ginny into an expert turn. “Only with you.”
Unable to mask a grin, she shook her head. “Did you see my mother’s face?”
“I believe I did witness a throbbing vein at her temple. I thought it would burst.”
“You realize she’ll be your mother too, should we marry?” She’d truly died and gone to heaven. In Brock’s arms after all these years. His insistence they marry. Nothing could go wrong this night. Absolutely nothing.
“Shouldwe marry.” He snorted. “You think I should cry off, then? Not a chan—” He surveyed the perimeter of the parquet floor. “Good heavens. Lady Alymer is trying to get someone’s attention.”
Ginny spotted her and frowned. “She’s acting oddly. That isn’t like her at all. Perhaps we should see what she is about.”
Brock maneuvered them until they had stopped directly in front of her. “Lady Alymer, is there something—”
She grabbed Ginny’s left hand a little too enthusiastically, and Ginny flinched. “Oh, forgive me.” She didn’t let go, rather tucked it in the crux of her elbow. “I must talk to you both.”
Their escape lacked grace, with Ginny practically running to keep up. Maeve led them back out to the terrace. The first thing Ginny noticed was the lack of wind, then the lack of the jumbled and constant phrases that hummed earlier. She glanced over at Brock and noted the downturn of his firm lips. So he’d noticed as well.
“What is it, Maeve? Has your mother secured your next nuptials?” Ginny teased her.
Maeve led them to an isolated corner away from the few stragglers. “I heard Harlowe’s name mentioned.”
Her words paralyzed Ginny in place.
In the silvery moonlight, Brock’s expression stilled to carved stone. “Tell us everything.”
“I was… um… avoiding my mother, having just returned from the ladies’ retiring room. I had to maneuver around Welton, Wimbley, Shufflebottom, and Faulk. They were blocking the stairs. It was quite rude. Anyway, they were speaking of Harlowe, and Welton said he thought he recognized the viscount near the docks. The thing was, he said he couldn’t be sure it was him, because the man was too thin.”
Ginny’s stomach took a nervous dip, her eyes sliding to Brock. He hadn’t moved, not so much as a twitch of his finger, or a blink of his eye.
“What the devil was Welton doing at the docks?”
“That’s what Shufflebottom asked him, and sharply, I might add. Welton said he was meeting Maudsley”—her eyes shot to Ginny’s—“apologies, the new earl—at the earl’s invitation to tour his vessel. Then talk turned to how Harlowe had disappeared the year before, and that’s when Griston strolled in from outside. At first, I thought the two of you had followed him, because you appeared a little later.”
Heat crawled up Ginny’s neck, but no one was likely to notice. It was dark. “Go on.”
“Griston was outside while we were?” Brock said. His granite profile in the silvery light appeared pensive. “Then he walked in, and we were still outside.” He pinned Ginny with a message she could not decipher.
Brock pushed a hand through his hair. “I don’t suppose they happened to mention which docks?”
“I’m sorry, my lord. They didn’t.”
“Yes, that would have been too easy, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t understand,” Ginny said.
He didn’t answer her. He spoke to Maeve. “Lady Alymer, is it possible for you to compose a note to Kimpton telling him exactly what you told me? Tell him to meet up posthaste at Maudsley House.” His underlying urgency sent a shiver of alarm coursing through Ginny.
“Of course. I’ll speak to Lady Faulk right away.”
“Don’t mention this conversation to anyone.”
