And he was playing a fool’s game, he realized.
In time, Hardesty would let him know what he wanted. All Matt had to do was stay vigilant.
“Your Grace, we are so happy to have a moment of your time,” a matronly woman in a red velvet turban said. She was accompanied by several other ladies of her same generation.
“I’m happy to be present for you,” Matt said, perfunctorily. His mind was on determining his next step.
“I’m Lady Ralston and these are my friends Dame Honora and Mrs. Simpkins. We are presiding members of the Mayfair Literary Society.”
“How nice for you,” Matt said.
“We are hoping you would agree to read for us from your bookLove Fulfilledat our next meeting. We are proud to have a copy.”
Matt swallowed a sound of frustration. This was the second time today that his very bad poetry had been mentioned. He did his best to tell them no in a polite way and made his escape. He knew if they cornered Minerva, he might have to honor their request—but he was not going to agree easily.
He was also beginning to realize how fruitless it was for him to search for Hardesty, a person he knew nothing about. He could quiz the servants, but he would have to go through all the footmen, since he had no idea which Minotaur had delivered the note.
Ready to leave the Evanston rout, he searched out his grandmother. Minerva was surrounded by friends. When he suggested they leave, she informed him she was enjoying herself.
“Then may I leave?” Matt was not in the mood to wait. He needed to talk to Willa.
“Go on, go on,” Minerva said. “But send back the coach. I promised Lady Cahill a ride home.”
“You may have it. I’ll walk.” The distance was not far. “Also, if presiding members of the Mayfair Literary Society approach you, tell them I don’t do readings.”
“I will,” was the breezy reply.
Given permission to go, Matt didn’t say his good-byes to his host and hostess. Diana Evanston was presumably in the study waiting for him, and Matt had no desire to look her husband in the eye. He set his hat on his head and left the house.
The night air was cool. The considerable traffic on the street grew sparser the closer he traveled to home. Matt wasn’t one for the affectation of a walking stick. He passed several gentlemen carrying theirs. They twirled them, and several saluted him with them. A few acted as if they wished to engage him in conversation. Matt kept walking, his mind working on what he would say to Willa. What hewantedto say.
He turned the corner onto his street. Lamps burned by his front door. He prayed Willa was home. Since she’d left with her mother, she might not be.
And that would be the test, wouldn’t it? If Willa chose to return to his home, then there was a strong chance for them. If she hadn’t—?
Then he’d find her. And he would make her listen to him—
A thickset man stepped out from the shadows. He wore a heavy coat on such a pleasant autumn evening and a hat pulled low over his eyes.
“The Duke of Camberly?”
Matt stopped. Since he was taller than most men, few ever picked fights with him. He also knew how to hold his own. “What do you want?”
“Mr. Hardesty sent me,” the man said. He slurred his words the way those born around the docks spoke.
Curling his gloved hands into fists, Matt asked carefully, “What does Hardesty want?”
The man reached inside his coat.
Matt half expected him to hand over another folded note. He thought about overpowering the man and dragging his carcass to his house. There, he’d do what he must to squeeze information about Hardesty out of him.
But the man surprised him. Instead of a note, he held his fingers out as if they had ahold of something. Matt couldn’t make it out in the dark.
“Go on, take it,” the man said.
Matt held out his gloved hand. The man dropped a thick curl of rich brown hair into his palm. “Your wife wants you to come with me. If you don’t, she will be sorry.”
“What have you done?”
