“I’m fine. You’re the one that sounds out of breath. Making fun of women too taxing? Release me.”
Forcing himself to move, he lifted her atop the desk. “Sit, until I am convinced you won’t tumble down the stairs. Since I am to put you in one of my carriages, I think it necessary you comply.”
Mrs. Bexeley came close and tried to catch Ruth’s hand. “Let’s take a moment. I can’t watch you fall again.”
Ruth folded her arms, leaving Mrs. Bexeley’s palm in the air. “I’m sorry to be such a bother.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s this crazy man.”
“I’m not crazy. I’m handling business, but the wee one is right. You could tumble again. Now explain to me what your proof business is with Adam. As I said, I am Lord Wycliff, Adoniram Wilkinson. I know, such a horrid, pretentious name. I never use it.”
That was true. It was why he’d gone by Adam and had given everyone that name so the gossips could never tie him to the fights he’d found himself embroiled in. He’d never wanted to distress his father.
Wycliff walked around to the other side of the desk and glanced toward the mirror framed above the sideboard.
Did he look so different?
He wasn’t gaunt anymore. His hair was cropped low to not show the kink of his curls. Passing was the root of his power, the only reason he was alive, but his Ruth knew that.
“I’m waiting, ladies. Which one of you shall go first? Should I toss a coin?”
If Wycliff were a bigger man, he’d let things be. Ruth couldn’t find Adam. His world was no safer. His uncle and his ilk were still dangerous.
But a man who loved as deeply as Wycliff wasn’t capable of giving up. He’d never relinquish an opportunity to win Ruth back. Never. Not even if she wore another man’s ring.
Chapter Eight
Remembering Adam
My sister could fuss, make eyes at me all day, not that I could see her doing it. I was not leaving Blaren House, not yet.
I heard a chair move behind me. I assumed it was Lord Wycliff sitting at his desk.
Ester was a small pacing blur and could hold her breath and turn blue as she did when we were younger, but nothing would make me go. I wouldn’t budge, not without the truth.
Dizzy, head pounding, I could only see blurs and shadows.
Yet, I knew this Lord Wycliff stared at me.
I felt his gaze upon me, hot and heavy, making me wonder if I was properly dressed or how dirty I’d become after falling.
No shrinking from this light. Wycliff was the key to the proof I needed.
“Ruth, the man we came to see is gone. Let’s do the same.” Ester’s blurry pink dress moved in front of me again, back and forth—frown in focus, frown out of focus.
“Please, Ester. Stop.”
Lord Wycliff put his boots on the desk next to me, close to my hip. Hessians, I imagined, with something that swung when his feet shifted. A tassel dangling mid shaft. Fashionable, expensive boots.
A tang of polish hit my nose. The man might be crazy with a whip, but he did possess some fastidious habits…like Adam.
“What is it you’d like to know of the Wilkinsons or Adam?”
The graveled voice, low, hoarse sounding—grated. I didn’t know why. It just did.
I rolled the shiny gold band my father had bought to perfect my widowhood. “Did you know Adam was attacked on his way to London from Scotland four years ago?”
It was the longest sigh I’d ever heard, but then he said, “Yes. I know. Adam was coming from Gretna Green.”
