“And just whereareyou off to?”
“As if you don’t know.” Curse her aggravation.
“Mrs. Metzger,” he said. “Peg is upstairs. If you would see to assisting her? All shall work out. I’ll see to it personally.” He gave the housekeeper a pointed look.
Mrs. Metzger nodded curtly and retreated. He picked up Lorelei’s cloak and held it out. “I believe I shall accompany you.”
A more strategic tactic was required to retain control of this situation. “Perhaps that’s just as well, my lord. It appears we’ve reached a misunderstanding regarding said guests.” His pained expression gave her a small measure of satisfaction.
Fourteen
T
he hunter’s cottage should not be too difficult to locate, if memory served. Edward had joined a fox hunt some twenty years before with the previous earl. Dense woods cooled the air sharply, along with restricting visibility, forcing him to slow his mount to a more sedate pace.
Kimpton had much to account for. Hoarding another man’s wife was… criminal. Perhaps rather than killing Virginia, he would attempt selling her to a pauper, a practice still popular in the lower classes. Alas, that would only complicate matters. He’d still be married to her. He’d just have to kill her. Cruel satisfaction settled over him.
“My lord!”
The feminine cry startled him. Edward pulled up his horse. He squinted into the growing darkness. The slight figure had one hand on a tree. She was bent over at the waist, panting. “Miss Elvins? Whatever are you doing in the middle of the woods, on Kimpton property, of all places?” He dismounted, and the fool girl threw herself into his arms. He set her aside and brushed off his coat. “Miss Elvins, you must remember yourself.”
“Oh, pardon, my lord, but they are bent on rushing me back to London.”
If Edward needed further convincing that Kimpton was hiding his wife, Miss Elvins’s presence cemented any lingering doubt. “I suppose my children are at the cottage?”
“No. No, of course not. Whyever would they be at a cottage?” she said. “They are at the manor house. I barely made my escape through the servants’ entrance.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. She was young, just not as young as he preferred. Her hair was a bit on the unfashionably red side and coming free from its hold. She was a fair bit of muslin. Energetic and a willing partner after her forced initiation, but she wasnothis equal. Her youthful appeal had already began to fade. “Miss Elvins—”
She grabbed his hand. “I knew you’d come for me, my lord.”
He snatched it away, watching with banal curiosity as the hurt filled her eyes. Inside, he felt nothing. Her convenience had waned. Fortunately, there were plenty more where she came from. Each one younger and fairer than the next.
Her spine straightened, and she stepped away from him. Something hard shifted in her demeanor, forcing a grudge of respect. “You will never find her,” she said.
Like a cobra, he struck fast, with no thought but his own need for an answer. He grabbed her hair and jerked her to his chest. “You forget with whom you speak, my dear.”
She had the audacity to laugh, though her breathless whimper gave away her fear. Still, she taunted him. “Never.”
He thrust her aside, slamming her head into the harsh trunk. She sank to the ground like a pile of soiled linen.
With a snort of disgust, he clambered onto his horse and set off at a swift trot. Dusk had fallen by the time he spotted the old Tudor house. The stone structure before him was larger than he remembered. A rounded tower stood at one end of the L-shaped building, its roof timbers reaching for the heavens. There were easily ten to twelve rooms. Edward grinned. The Kimptons’ ancestors had loved their hunting parties.
In the distance, a horse stomped its foot and snorted. Edward slid from his own mount and secured the reins on a branch, using the trees to cover his presence.
The servants’ entrance was an excellent place to start, he decided. Edging his way to the back of the cottage, he found an unlocked door and tapped lightly, then slipped inside. A brawling cry scorched his ears. Odd, Sarah had said the children were at the main house. And that cry sounded nothing like either of his daughters.
Edward bypassed the stairs leading to the kitchens below and made his way down a darkened hall, alert for any footfall. A second later, he stepped back into the shadows as, indeed, footsteps tripped down the stairs. He peered around a corner.
Mr. Quince stopped to speak to an older woman Edward he recognized as the countess’s lady’s maid. “He’s healthy?” Quince asked.
The white cap atop the woman’s head skewed at her brisk nod. “Got a set of lungs on ’im, he does.” She stood ramrod straight, and that’s when Edward caught sight of the squawking child at her breast. “’Tis all right, little man, we’ll set things to right.” Her brusque tone softened as she addressed the babe.
The steward darted back up the stairs, the woman close on his heels.
Letting out a sharp breath, Edward set a quick pace through the lower floor. A library here, a drawing room there. The morning room, dining room—all eerily quiet but for the sobbing infant’s cries throughout.
He happened on the back staircase and paused. The house had little in the way of help, he decided. The risks were in his favor. He darted up on stealthy feet. Most of the rooms were devoid of light altogether. Just a few uncovered windows that allowed in the waning twilight. No fires or candles burned. A pall of death seemed to hang over the atmosphere. Strange, as the child had clearly survived. Perhaps the mother had perished. He continued through the gloomy hall.
