Page 39 of The Misfortune of Lady Lucianna

He shook his head.

“You did not read of it in the Gazette?” Torrington’s brow rose in question.

“If I had, I now know not to believe a word of it,” Roderick said with a shrug. “Likely, Lady Lucianna did not see it as her place to share.”

Roderick was loath to admit that, in fact, they’d had scarce moments alone to discuss anything more serious than the matters transpiring between them.

“My father’s wife kidnapped Edith and absconded with her to her family’s Southend home, determined to toss us both over the cliffs to our deaths.”

He waited for Torrington to laugh at his joke, but his expression remained serious.

“Your mother did—“

“Not my mother,” he corrected. “My father’s third wife.”

“Why in heaven’s name would anyone wish to harm Lady Edith?” Roderick inquired, suddenly feeling the need to pace himself.

“She thought Edith and I had spied her with her lover,” Torrington turned his attention back to the window—and Lady Edith’s copper stare—and Roderick feared the man would fall silent, but he continued. “But, with Lady Lucianna’s and Lady Ophelia’s assistance, I rescued her…and then Lady Lucianna rescued all of us from scandal with her story about a carriage accident and my gallant appearance to save them from a night stranded along a deserted country road.”

“What happened to your stepmother?”

“Oh, she has since retired to the country and will never cause Edith harm again.”

“I would suspect her lover has noticed her disappearance,” Roderick prodded.

When Torrington didn’t immediately answer, Roderick turned toward him, fearful he’d insulted or angered the man, but Torrington only nodded to the window. “It doesn’t appear as if Lord Abercorn is pining away for his lost lover.”

“Abercorn?” Roderick didn’t even attempt to suppress his shock. “Your stepmother’s lover was Abercorn?”

“Afraid so,” Torrington nodded in confirmation. “And to make matters even more scandalous, my stepmother, Esmee, was once my betrothed…until she took a liking to my father’s title and decided not to wed me and wait to become a marchioness instead.”

“And I thought society eyed me with concern,” Roderick mused. “If I keep you by my side, I never have to fear they are staring at me.”

Their chuckles were cut short by a loud crash and two female screams.

“Bloody hell!” Torrington shot into action, not pausing a single second to see if they could deduce what had caused the commotion. He was already running toward Abercorn’s front door—with Roderick close behind.

Within a few yards, Roderick passed Torrington, his feet pounding down Abercorn’s cobbled drive. It didn’t matter who saw him thundering toward Abercorn’s door.

They’d taken their focus off the women for only the blink of an eye.

And something had gone seriously wrong.

Roderick didn’t bother to knock or await the butler’s answer. He gasped the door latch and pushed. Thankfully, the door was unlocked, or Abercorn would have returned to the foyer to see a splintered, used piece of wood that could no longer be confused as a door.

The entrance was dripping with candles, and the sconces were lit along the three halls Roderick glanced down. It was a bit odd for only an afternoon social call. Even the chandelier above held the maximum candles, glowing brightly and gleaming off the polished floor.

“What are you waiting for?” Torrington shouted, knocking Roderick on the shoulder when he continued into the foyer and turned left toward the salon the women had been shown to. “They are this way.”

Bloody hell, but Roderick knew which direction Lucianna was in. Even if he hadn’t been watching from outside, he was drawn to her. Her very essence called to him. She was a siren—his very own siren.

Torrington flung one door open, but the room was empty.

Roderick hurried past the man and opened the next door with a bit less force.

“Lucianna?” Roderick stepped into the room, taking in the sight surrounding him.

Lucianna still sat on the lounge, but Lady Edith stood near the window, her hands clutching at her throat. Lady Ophelia trembled, eyes wide as she fanned her face, the color having drained from it. But he didn’t spy Lord Abercorn as his narrowed stare surveyed the room—though it was possible the offensive color scheme played tricks on his eyesight.