He caught her palm and held it. “One shot, madam. Even if you are rightly offended.”
“I’m a respectable woman. So is my sister. Do not forget this.”
“What are respectable women doing at my residence without a proper invitation?”
She drew her hand away, and he loathed letting it go.
“I came to see Mr. Wilkinson.”
“Which Mr. Wilkinson?”
“Algernon Nathaniel Wilkinson.”
At least she didn’t say Soulden or even his changeable cousin, Nicholas. “Oh, A. N. Wilkinson, the late Lord Wycliff.”
“Oh.” Ruth looked down. “Oh.”
“He’s dead, Ruth. Let’s go,” Mrs. Bexeley said. “We need to go. Please send for a carriage.”
“No. Wait. He might know.” Ruth’s voice sounded softer than before. “I came to ask about his son.”
A fire lit in Wycliff. Ruth came to look for him but couldn’t tell he stood before her. His throat burned white hot. “The late Baron of Wycliff died two months ago.”
He stared down at this woman whose lips were close enough to kiss. “I’m now the head of the Wilkinson family. I am Lord Wycliff. I can help.”
“Then did you know Adam Wilky? Did Adam live here?”
“Yes, Adam lived here.”
A sigh left Ruth as if he’d answered some sort of prayer.
Mrs. Bexeley tugged on Ruth’s wrinkled skirt, a pale thing of pink and lace. Sweet and pale, not a choice he remembered his wife liking.
“Let’s go, Ruth.”
“Ester, did you not hear him? He knew Adam Wilky, and he said he lived here.”
Were those tears in her blank eyes?
Ruth turned and hugged her stiff sister.
Mrs. Bexeley patted her back. “But Ruth, that doesn’t prove the rest of your story. Whip man just said he knew him.”
The color that had birthed in Ruth’s cheeks drained. She looked as if she’d faint as she put distance between Mrs. Bexeley and herself. “Yes, why would you just hearing someone say I was telling the truth be enough? I need proof of Adam Wilky being a true person and undeniable proof of our marriage.”
“Proof?” he said, barely masking his curiosity, his hope. “Proof concerning Adam? You think he’s alive?”
“No. He’s dead.” Ruth folded her arms. “You know he’s dead.”
Her confident rebuke would be perfectly done if she had not swayed. She wobbled, then tipped forward.
He caught her before she fell. “You’re not…steady.”
Pressed in his arms, she smelled of sweet brandy and roses. Her heart drummed against his chest, and his pulse gave chase. It hadn’t forgotten the rush, the joy of holding her, the heady feeling of finding the one woman who gave him purpose beyond the rage.
Yet, Ruth knew him not.
Well, he’d never been a man who had it all. “You’ll stay, until you are less dizzy. I insist.”
