“Please do.” Adrian made his way to the parlor, paused for a couple of breaths, and entered the room.
Harlowe sat by the fire, a drink in one hand, a book in the other. Hearing Adrian’s footfalls, he sent a look toward the door and promptly snapped his book shut. “Forgive the intrusion, but I received a missive from Chief Magistrate Hastings earlier, informing me of your wife’s disappearance.”
A snort of displeasure was all Adrian could muster. “He had no business sharing those details with you.”
“Considering I am the closest thing Samantha has to a parent,” Harlowe replied, his voice gruff, “he probably felt I deserved to know.”
“And I am of the opinion that you do not,” Adrian clipped, already dismissing the man as he strode to the sideboard. He grabbed a tumbler, pulled the stopper from a carafe, and poured a measure of brandy. “As far as I know, you played a part in her abduction. That is how much I think you care about her.”
“I can accept that even though you’re entirely wrong.”
Adrian snorted his disdain, picked up his glass and turned to face his unwelcome guest. “You sent that other agent of yours to kill her.”
“I asked Hazel to find her and bring her home because I was worried.”
Every muscle in Adrian’s body drew taut. He gritted his teeth. “Clearview isn’t her home. It stopped being so when you chose that ridiculous mission of yours over her well-being.”
“Had I not done so, you probably wouldn’t have married.”
True. Maybe. Too angry to respond in the moment, Adrian took a sip of his brandy, then said, “You can ease your conscience however you wish, but let’s not pretend that you wouldn’t have killed her had Hazel succeeded in bringing her back to you. Her betrayal put you at risk. It put your project and even the nation’s safety at risk.”
“We’ve since come to an agreement, she and I. Upon my honor, I’ve no intention to harm her.”
But he had, and Adrian wasn’t sure he could ever forgive that for any reason. Never mind the fact that he’d asked her to give up her innocence in order to gain the information required to ruin Adrian. The bastard had not only pushed her to whore herself, he’d brought in a bawd to teach her the ins and outs of bed sport.
“You should leave,” Adrian seethed.
“I can help,” Harlowe argued. “I want her found as much as you do.”
“Do. Not. Pretend you have any affection for her.” Good God, he was going to hurl his bloody glass at the bastard’s head.
“To suppose I don’t would be absurd. Let’s not forget that I raised her.”
“To serve your agenda. To yield as a weapon when you saw fit. To die, if need be.”
“Have you ever considered the alternative?” Harlowe stared at him with stubborn determination. “What do you think would have happened to her if she’d stayed in that orphanage? If I’d not rescued her from that awful place? I provided for her, educated her, and ensured she was well taken care of. With my help she was able to purchase St. Christopher’s and rid it of Mrs. Hasham so the children left behind would not have to suffer her ruthless governance.”
“You are not the hero you’re trying to turn yourself into,” Adrian said, his voice dangerously low.
“No,” Harlowe agreed, “but let’s not pretend I’m an absolute monster either. You know as well as I that your wife would not have amounted to anything had I not taken her in. Her best hope would have been of becoming a maid, but it’s far more likely she’d have had to make do as a cotton-mill worker. Or worse. As for the rest of St. Christopher’s children, more might have died in Miss Hasham’s care. At least now they’re being properly educated with a chance of seeking decent employment later as governesses and tutors.”
It infuriated Adrian to know how right Harlowe was. Whatever disastrous conclusion Samantha’s life with him had led to, it would without doubt have been worse for her if he hadn’t brought her to Clearview. Worse for Adrian too since it was unlikely their paths would have crossed.
Even if they had, she wouldn’t have been the same woman — his perfect match. It was her training that made her so. Besides which, he was almost embarrassed to admit that he wouldn’t have married her if she’d been working class. And her station in life was all thanks to Harlowe.
Blast him.
“You may not want to agree,” Harlowe said, in response to which Adrian frowned, “but you know I’m right.”
“Even if you are, there’s nothing you can do,” Adrian told him wearily. “I’ve no idea where she’s being held.”
“I trust you’ve already searched the place from which she was taken?”
“Of course.” Adrian downed the remainder of his brandy in one big gulp and set the glass aside. “I’ve also asked everyone I can think of to aid me in the hunt. Hopefully something will turn up later today or at some point tomorrow.”
Harlowe dipped his chin, his gaze on the floor. “She’s a strong woman and she’s been through tough situations before. There’s a chance she’ll get out of this on her own.”
“Finn O’Leary will never allow that to happen.”
