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“Oh…” she said.

“‘Oh’?” That seemed to be such a small word, considering her lofty accusation.

“Yes, well… I had not been certain I would be correct in my assumption. Or that you would admit to who you were so easily. So… oh,” she said, her voice a bit smaller than it had been just moments before.

“I am not encouraged to be an artist by my family. Instead, I am only to concern myself with leases and managing the affairs of my father’s estate in my brother’s absence and any support that may be needed. I should never actually be duke, since eventually, my brother will be married and have a bevy of children. I am merely a spare should something happen to my brother before then. I do not suppose you know how it feels to wait around for a family member to die—despite the unlikelihood of it happening before a spare is no longer needed—in order to become legitimate and useful.” He had not meant to sound so condescending, but he could hardly help it, given his selfishness was to blame for Rowan’s disappearance. As far as Abram was concerned, anyway.

He paced the floor for a moment, warning himself against continuing. With her, he could not resist. He wanted her to know of him, he found. “I am four and twenty years, and my father expects me to live my life waiting for something that will likely never happen. He is most displeased with my travels. Unhappy with my desire to paint. Finally, he is ashamed of my… my predilection for enjoyment.” He dared not explain that part to someone as gentile as Miss Orris Gray.

“Mr. Fa—that is, Lord Abram, I am sorry about your relationship with your family. And also that your friend is missing. I am, however, here to help you find him. I know that my brother-in-law has forbidden my sister’s and my help, but I came anyway. Partly because my conscience will not allow someone to suffer a loss in my presence, but also because… you seem like a nice person. I hope you will allow me to aid you in your quest.”

Abram turned to face her. She was such a tiny person to have such a big heart. “The viscount would murder me if anything were to happen to you. I hope you are aware that your brother-in-law is a dangerous man, for all his finery and gentile mannerisms around his family. He is quite different when not with your sister and the rest of you.”

“Samuel is a kitten. A large and overwhelming kitten, but a kitten nonetheless.” Orris snickered. “He would not hurt anyone.”

“He would not hurt any one of you. Suffice it to say, I do not require assistance. If all else fails, I shall send for my father’s guard. They will find him in no time at all. Now, you must go, lest someone catch you. I am not sure how you escaped your home, but I am returning you this instant.”

“No. I am not going, Lord Abram,” she said, crossing her arms once more.

“Please,” he said, standing to walk her out. He wished she would stop using his title, though he did like the sound of his Christian name on her pert lips. And he knew it would be far too forward of him to demand she drop the ‘Lord’ before it. “Someone could see you. While this area is not Mayfair, many people of the beau monde frequent bachelors’ apartments and the types of establishments necessitated by those who like to stay in these areas.” He hoped she understood the double meaning of his words.

When she only stared at him, blinking, he assumed she did not.

“You mean bawdy houses and gambling dens,” she said plainly.

He was utterly flabbergasted. “What would you know of such places?”

“It is hardly any secret. Besides, I had a friend who told me about them,” she said, rather smugly.

“Miss Gray, please. Allow me to accompany you home. I shall ensure no one sees me once we reach your mother’s property,” he promised, holding an arm out for her to allow him to escort her.

Repositioning herself, she continued to stare at him. She did not move an inch. In fact, she planted her feet in a wide stance, indicating there would be a fight on his hands to get her to leave. Though the candlelight was dim, he could still see the determination in her eyes. “Look at me. Am I dressed like a ‘Miss Gray’? You may as well call me ‘Orris.’ Might as well get used to my presence. I will not be put off. I can help you. Please let me do so.”

Was he dreaming? There was no way this polite woman had shown up under the veil of night to demand he accept her assistance. And to think, he had worried he would have been too forward to ask her to drop the title with him. “Then you may call me just ‘Abram.’ In fact, I’d prefer you do so.” He took a deep breath. “But I cannot allow you to stay, Orris. You are a lady. You have no business crawling the streets at any time of day or night looking for someone who may very well not want to be found.”

“If he left of his own accord, why would the room look like a pugilist match happened in here?”

“Regardless of what happened here, this mess is all the more reason I do not want you involved. What would I do if something happened to you?” Abram had not meant to call out his interest in her. He hoped she had not noticed.

“Abram, last season, my sisters and I hunted down a murderer. If this was a kidnapping, it is far less dangerous. Allow us to help you. I am sure they will want to assist. I shall even talk Samuel into letting us ladies help more. You do not know your way around London. And we have connections. If your friend is still in the city, we shall find him.” She stepped closer to him, her eyes pleading. He had never met anyone so determined. He wondered whether she should be presenting arguments in Parliament rather than wasting her days waiting for suitors to discover her brilliance.

“Orris, I am sure this is inappropriate, but if your brother-in-law agrees to this, and to helping to keep you safe, I will accept any assistance you may provide. Only with appropriate chaperones present, and during the day. That is my final offer,” he said. There was no way he would endanger her.

“Deal,” she said. Though the fire did not dim in her eyes, he hoped there was some sincerity. In her acceptance.

“Now, let us take our leave. I need to get you back home before someone discovers you or their clothes missing,” he said, crossing the room to the door. “How on earth did you steal an entire livery? Your butler—” Abram opened the door and immediately tripped over something at the threshold. Something that had not been there mere moments before.

“Oh, my Lord,” Orris exclaimed.

There was a note pinned to the torn jacket. Abram bent down, then gathered the man up in his arms. There was no sound.

Abram stared at the lump of flesh at his feet. The man’s face had been beaten to a pulp. His clothes were filthy, dirt and grime covering every inch of his person. Even through what appeared to be a grotesque, blood-coated mask stretched over his features, Abram knew. There was no need to look any further. His friend had been dropped there. And he was either dead, or well on his way.

“Rowan,” he called out, jostling him in the hopes he might be revived. Nothing. Not a gasp or moan, even a whisper.

Abram pulled the note from his friend’s body and read the hastily scrawled message. It read, simply… YOU ARE NEXT.

Chapter Fifteen