Renard
Someone knew? How? The letter said ‘make amends.’ She flipped the paper over, searching for an explanation, but there was nothing.
Was someone blackmailing him? Were they threatening to go to the authorities and spin some nonsense about Renard being culpable for the previous duke’s and duchess’s deaths?
Dizzy from the flash of thoughts, she flung the sheet off and scrambled into the dress Renard had unbuttoned and discarded last night in their fervor for bed.
None of this made sense. Surely, a duke’s word would give any constable pause? Ithadbeen an accident.
He’d told her to meet him at the tavern. Did that mean he meant to turn himself over to the authorities quietly to delay their names being dragged through the gossip pages?
Camille cursed at the unending row of buttons at her neck and left the top half of her dress gaping as she dragged on her boots. Forgoing corset and stockings—but having a mind to wrap a modest shawl around her exposed back—she ran out the chamber door, flew down the stairs, and ran into the foyer.
What a fine time to claim heroics. Stupid man.
She loved him. More than scandal, more than big houses, and ridiculous gifts. That dumb cousin of his could have the title, could take the whole of England for all she cared. She’d leave this house. She’d leave the whole country if it meant they’d be together and he wouldn’t be subjected to false accusations. But the idiot didn’t think to ask her how she felt about all this.
She’d have to teach him what marriage was between a man and a woman. No, she’d teach him whattheirmarriage would be, between him and her. Rules they could not only live with, but live by. Rules of love and trust, of acceptance andcommon sense, for heaven’s sake!
Camille raced out the door, not giving a damn for a different set of rules that came to mind when she took two hands to raise her skirts and ran in search of a coach-and-four.
*
The tavern’s mainfloor was empty when Camille arrived.
Expecting Scarlet to shuffle out from the back any moment, Camille poured herself a drink and sat at the bar.
She ached from riding in the carriage. By the time she’d been free of the damned thing, she been ready to have it chopped for firewood. Mind in chaos, she’d dismissed the driver with directions to head to the Lux Townhouse.
The long miles had left her mind open to imagine the worst-case scenarios at her leisure, and her imagination was vast.
Renard could be in irons by now, having turned himself over to Scotland Yard. He could be dealing with underhanded blackmailers in a dark alley. The man could have been put upon by highwaymen on his way to the damned city!
Finding her glass empty, Camille poured herself another shot of whiskey and contemplated hiring the ‘Merry Men’ for a city-wide search for a fair-haired man in need of a swift boot to the head.
How could he run from her, without a word?
The internal question didn’t sit well, knowing she had done the same less than a year ago.
She shook herself from her guilt. There’d be plenty of time to apologize to her husband,aftershe knocked sense into him.
If only his note had mentioned wherehehad gone. For all she could do now was sit and wait. Meeting at the tavern meant he must have been in London, but it was a big city, and any number of meeting places were barred to her, even with her new status as a duchess. Many admitted only men, for starters. Others wouldbe unlikely to believe shewasa duchess before the gossip rags started spreading the news.
Insufferable elite! What good was a title if it gained you nothing when in need?
Of course, there were the tried-and-true ways of gaining information, and spies were more reliable.
Camille called out Scarlet’s name.
Leaving her drink, she wove through the back rooms, finding the place quiet. Circling back to the bar, Camille noted none of the chairs had been taken off the tables since last night’s closing. No one was here. But the front had been open.
Had Scarlet forgotten to lock up last night?
Camille glanced at the clock. Manny and Scarlet would be in to open in less than an hour, if memory served, which it always did. Scarlet was lucky she’d been the one to stumble in and help herself to the bar instead of someone far more thirsty—or malicious.
Camille smiled with no small amount of smugness and relief at something to preoccupy her mind.
It would be nice to lecture her friend for a change. Camille went behind the bar and took up a rag and set herself to polish the glasses, eager for Scarlet to walk in and see her thus, waiting and full of advice.
