“The King’s Theatre.”
Thanking the man, Florian rushed back to his waiting carriage and gave the driver directions before climbing in. The carriage lurched and began rolling forward. Staring out at the starting rain, Florian tried to think of one single way in which Blaire’s actions might be acceptable. And failed. The physician had turned his back on his duty without bothering to inform anyone, which was unforgiveable.
When the carriage pulled to a halt minutes later, Florian leapt from the conveyance and entered the theater. Without breaking his stride he marched across the foyer and took the steps two at a time. He was furious—absolutely livid—so much so he feared the blood vessels next to his eye might pop if he did not calm himself soon. But doing so was going to be damnably difficult. So he hastened onward until he found the box he sought and tore open the door without knocking. The second half ofThe Marriage of Figarowas already underway, the soprano and baritone of the singers rising and falling in waves.
Not pausing to listen, Florian bent close to Mr. Blaire’s ear and spoke with the chilling venom he felt in his veins. “Where have you been?”
The man did not even deign to look him in the eye, his attention fixed on the stage below. “Out of town.”
“Where?”
Blaire’s wife, who sat beside him, served Florian a disgruntled look. He tilted his head in her direction and swiftly apologized for the intrusion before returning his attention to one of the best physicians in St. Agatha’s employ. “Well? You were supposed to check on the ship and did not do so. I just received a letter from Haines postmarked three days ago. In it, he asks for assistance that should have arrived if you had been doing your job.”
Blaire’s face turned a brilliant shade of red. “It comes down to money, Florian. Mr. Mortedge offered me the sort of salary a man like me cannot walk away from.”
Florian’s head began to spin. He’d been wrong to doubt his instincts. MortedgewasBartholomew. He had to be, because no one else would go to such lengths to ruin Florian’s plans for St. Giles.
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
Blaire frowned. “It happened so fast I barely had enough time to pack. Mortedge needed me to accompany him on a business trip. He suffers from terrible pain because of his gout.”
For a second, the idea of reaching out and strangling the man presented itself until Florian managed the resist the urge. “People have probably died because of you,” he hissed.
“I’m sorry,” Blaire muttered.
“The devil you are,” Florian clipped.
Straightening, he glanced out over the crowded theater, his gaze drawn directly toward a spot on the far side where Lady Juliette sat staring back at him. He deliberately held her gaze, allowing her presence to bolster his strength before telling Blair, “I hope I never have to speak with you again.”
The insufferable man muttered something which Florian did not wait to hear.
Instead, he exited the box as swiftly as he had entered it and made his way along the hallway and toward the stairs. Heart hammering on account of his rage, not only with Blaire and Bartholomew, but with himself for not realizing sooner this had happened, he clicked his heels angrily against the marble floor as he went. Christ, what a fool he was to entrust such a vital task to another. And Haines... What the hell would he say to him when next he saw him? No apology was good enough to suffice.
“Florian!”
He almost turned on his heel with the intention of fleeing in the opposite direction the moment he saw her. Dressed in a golden gown and with her hair loosely fastened at the nape of her neck, Juliette looked like a dream. Which was not a good thing at all if he was going to continue resisting her charms.
“What is it?” His tone was harsher than he’d intended, brought on by his anger and his increasing need for her.
Slowing her pace, she approached him more hesitantly. “I saw you arguing with someone and came to see if you were all right. You look extremely distraught, Florian.”
He gritted his teeth and glanced around. The hallway was empty, so they could speak privately, but he feared the moment someone appeared and spotted them there together without a chaperone. “You should not be here, Juliette. Your reputation is at stake.”
When she stubbornly remained where she was, he caught her by the hand and urged her toward an alcove where sofas provided theatergoers with a comfortable place to relax during intermission. Entering ahead of Juliette, Florian ensured the space was empty before pulling her inside and away from the immediate gaze of anyone who happened to go in search of the retiring room.
Once inside, Florian released her hand and gestured toward the sofa. “Would you like to sit?”
“Not especially.” Her eyes were wide with unappeased curiosity. “Will you tell me what happened?”
Florian puffed out a breath. “The man with whom you saw me speaking is Mr. Blaire.”
“The physician you charged with checking up on the quarantine ship.”
“Yes.” He felt all the muscles in his face contract with displeasure. “Except he did no such thing. Instead, he went to work for someone else. I received a letter from Haines earlier this evening, informing me of Blaire’s absence, except several days have already passed since he sent it, which means any number of things could have happened by now.”
“Good Lord!” Juliette’s concern was visible. “He asked for help, didn’t he?”
“He did indeed, except none has been provided.” Conscious of the failure for which he was responsible, Florian pushed his hand through his hair, scattering his locks while accommodating himself to the situation at hand. “I have to go to him at once.”
