Cloaked in Danger (4 page)

“And Papa? What was he doing?”

A corner of John’s mouth lifted. “Toasting to every single thing in those chests and telling stories—a lot of them about you.”

“Me?”

“The adventures he took you on. The mischief ye caused as a child.”

Nostalgia coated her throat, making it hard to speak. “Anything else?”

“‘E talked ’bout the Mrs. and the babe.” John’s words were losing form with each syllable, his head sunk further into the pillow propping him up. “After we found the caverns, tha’ very night, all ‘e could talk about was comin’ home to ‘is family. With Mrs. Whitney being with child and you in London, your father believed it was time to settle home for a while after that.”

Her heart contracted. Her father had planned this to be his last expedition? Had he been less diligent? Not as careful as usual?

And if he planned on staying in London, did that mean she was stuck here, too?

The desire to know more warred inside Aria with the need to let John rest, regain his strength. One of her father’s investors had been there. Had caused the destruction.

She just needed a name.

“John?” she said softly. His breathing hitched, and hers halted.

When his eyes slid open, gentle accusation flared in their depths. “Shame on ye, girlie. Takin’ a’van’ge of me.”

She could barely make out the words, but understood the context.

The game was up.

Aria shoved aside the guilt. She had new information. If the bastard John had referred to had been in Egypt, he couldn’t have been in London at the same time.

And every man on her father’s list was in London right now.

It was a small space to share with the man who had attempted to murder the two people she loved most in the world.

The hand that landed on hers made her jump.

“Stay out, Sprite. Please,” he pleaded.

Before she had to answer, his breathing grew steady and even and the hand over hers slackened.

Aria pulled in a long draft of air and slowly exhaled, trying to ease the tension curling like bad milk in her stomach. She pulled the blanket up around John’s chest and leaned down to place a gentle kiss against the gristle of his unshaven cheek. As she did, a tear dropped to his face, and she quickly reached up and realized she was crying.

With a last look at him, Aria left the room and clicked the door shut. In the corridor, she leaned back against the door and let the tears fall.

He meant so much. They’d been a team, the three of them. He had been there for her since she was a little girl. Constant. Sure.

Sprite. Scamp. His multitude of nicknames had been one of the many games started upon that very first trip after her mother’s death. Uncle John had wanted to keep her mind off her sadness. The more she’d hurt, the sillier his nicknames became.

She supposed she could take heart at that. He hadn’t started making up words as nicknames yet, so somewhere inside, John still held hope.

As long as he maintained that, she would continue fighting for answers.

“How is he?”

At Emily’s soft words, Aria quickly scrubbed her face and inhaled a long breath, giving her time to tuck away all the emotions. When she turned, she aimed for serene and calm, but all she felt was exhaustion.

“He’s resting.” She stepped away from his door.

Emily stifled a yawn. “And did he provide any further information?”

“The man responsible was in Egypt at the time Papa disappeared.” A yawn of her own escaped. “It gives me a focus. It should be simple enough to find out who on Papa’s list was not accounted for during the time it would take to travel there and back.”

Including the two men she had met tonight. The duke, and the Lord of—no. The Earl of Merewood.

His face flashed in her mind, that breathless moment he’d been inches away from her, as he’d lain atop her. A wave of prickly warmth washed over her. Would it have been so awful if she had kissed him? For all her adventures, she’d never been kissed, and he’d tempted her in a way no one ever had. Now, it was as if her body had woken up from a long sleep. She was acutely aware of every tingle and twitch she felt when his handsome, aggravating face came to mind.

Which was entirely too frequent.

In other circumstances, maybe she could have enjoyed the feelings he brought out in her. In other circumstances, she would have gladly done more than enjoyed. Reveled. Indulged. Those feelings were definitely worth a ruined reputation....

She shook her head, and after bidding Emily good night, headed to her chambers. Foolish thoughts. She had no want of his title, his wealth. His life.

She had no want of him. He had nothing to offer her but heartache.

Aria closed her door. Most important, his name was on her father’s list of investors. That was all that mattered.

Chapter Four

The next morning, Adam entered the corridor to the low hum of male voices, likely all suitors waiting for his ever-fashionably late sister, Cordelia, to show. He mustered the strength not to turn on his heel and head back upstairs. This did nothing to improve the pounding on both sides of his head.

But neither a headache nor the lack of sleep that had induced it was reason enough to shirk his duty. So what if he’d been unable to stop thinking about Miss Whitney?

Which was ridiculous. In other circumstances, maybe, but she had fixed her sights on Ravensdale, and the devil be damned if her goals hurt one of his sisters.

His sisters were all that mattered.

And since Cordelia would possibly marry one of the men waiting in the parlor, Adam would be damned if she got a chance to blink at one until he was satisfied the man was good enough.

Adam spied his butler. “How many?”

“Six, my lord.”

“Six?” He sighed. “Has Lady Cordelia been informed?”

“Three times.” The butler’s put-upon expression mirrored Adam’s sentiments exactly.

Couldn’t they have started with one? Even two would have been acceptable. But six? He glanced at Higgins. “There is coffee?”

“Yes, my lord.”

Adam studied his inscrutable expression. “Truly?”

“Coffee, as you wish.”

“I will not find tea in the pot?” Adam believed he’d put a stop to the blatant disregard for his preference. But one never quite knew with Higgins.

“Not today.” Higgins walked toward the study. “It would not do to challenge your abject authority in front of suitors.”

“Heaven forbid.” He could obviously expect tea tomorrow, the day after, and every day until he surrendered. Or drowned in it, which seemed the more likely option.

Finding ways to spar with Higgins always lifted his mood, and with a lighter step, Adam veered into the parlor and surveyed the young men he had the task of browbeating. At least there were some perks to this.

Silent, he moved toward the sideboard where his coffee awaited, and the boisterous conversations came to a halt. Adam poured, took a sip, and turned back to lean against the sideboard.

Six faces, ranging from portly to babyish to—

Coffee spewed from his mouth. “Halton? What are you doing here?”

The man stood, shoulders back. Unapologetic. “I am calling on Lady Cordelia.”

Adam’s cup clattered to the sideboard. “She is forty years your junior.”

“She invited me.”

“She—” Adam stopped. Of course she had.

His sister, ever aware of the best match she could make, would not give a fig for the man’s age. She would not care what she looked like to society.

She was the epitome of ambition.

Adam glanced at the other five, and though none overly impressed him, they were at least born in the same decade as his sister.

Cordelia’s voice echoed in the corridor.

“If you gentlemen will excuse me.” Adam headed to the staircase to cut off her path as she descended the stairs. Every strand of her dark hair was perfectly coiffed, her trim figure set off by the flattering yellow gown. Her face held a haughty aloofness the men would trip over themselves to conquer.

“Adam, do get out of my way. I mustn’t keep them waiting any longer.” Her hand flicked at him as if swatting at a bug.

“The Duke of Halton, Cordie?”

“He’s a perfectly eligible candidate for marriage.”

“By eligible, you mean his accounts and his title.”

She lifted a shoulder. “Of course. I asked around. I know what he is worth.”

“And that is all you care for? Money?”

“No, the title is important, too. Do not pretend to be shocked. Marriage is not about love, dear brother. It is about power. Who has it and who wants it.” She glanced at the open doors. “He has it. I want it.”

He imagined most guardians or parents would be thrilled with Cordelia’s attitude. Find the largest pile of money, with the biggest influence and gain, and send her away.

Except that very thought went against everything they had been raised to believe.

Adam looked for some indication in her face to explain how she could think so differently from the rest of their family. “Our parents loved each other. Don’t you want an inkling of what they shared?” Years after their father’s passing, their mother still spoke of him with love.

Cordelia’s expression remained fixed, her eyes shuttered. He couldn’t see past the blank stare. “I want what I want.”

“Halton is not an option.”

She crossed her arms. “You said it would be my choice, Adam. Mine.”

“And I thought you would use that choice wisely. Halton is old enough to marry Mother.”

“Which only means I would achieve a measure of freedom that much sooner. He has an heir and a spare—he doesn’t need children. Either way, as his wife I would have the wherewithal, and the ability, to do what I wish.”

Adam hated to think his sister was that shallow, but the proof glared at him with impatience. “I will not marry you off to a man who will—”

“Hurt me as Blythe’s first husband did? For heaven’s sake, give me some credit. I am not so naïve. I won’t be swayed by charm and romance. And one family secret is enough.”

Her words were a slap, and Adam stood, shocked into a lack of response.

Regret softened her features. “Adam, I—I did not mean it. I—”

“It’s the truth. So allow me to learn from my previous mistakes. I let Blythe marry that man. I will not let it happen again. And without my approval, I guarantee Halton will not propose a match.”

Anger flushed her cheeks, and her lips had thinned to a white strip. Cordelia turned on her heel and moved past him. Seconds after she sashayed into the room, a shower of effusive compliments erupted.

He’d known keeping this particular sister in line would be difficult. Of all his sisters, she was the most headstrong, stubborn and unlikely to bend simply because he demanded it.

He rolled his shoulders to loosen the tension pulling inside of him, but the memories flashed through his head anyway. The vivid, horrifying image of running up the stairs at his sister’s country home and seeing Blythe held at gunpoint.

By the husband he’d allowed her to marry. Thomas Ashton.

Protecting his family was all that mattered.

Which brought him back to Ravensdale.

And Miss Whitney.

To his everlasting annoyance, he couldn’t stop thinking about the hot burst of energy he’d felt upon meeting the troublesome Miss Whitney. Or the way his blood had surged when she lay beneath him.

Or his flash of fury at the idea that she and Ravensdale were involved.

“Adam?”

He snapped his head around to see his younger sister—and at the moment, his favorite for her uncomplicated and non-troublesome manner—stepping off the base of the stairs and walking toward him with a half smile.

He cleared his throat and gave himself a mental shake. “Lily, how is your morning progressing?”

She moved to stand in front of him. “Perhaps better than yours. You looked so fierce.” The chatter from the front parlor caught her attention, and she sighed. “I left my journal in there. I had hoped to snatch it before Cordelia’s suitors arrived.”

“No need to wait. Cordelia has them well in hand, I imagine.”

“How many are there?”

“Six.”

A mischievous curve tilted Lily’s lips. “And how many do you think will still be there after an hour with her?”

“May I hope for none?” Adam chuckled. “She can be quite charming when she wants to be.”

“Yes, she’s focused on finding the best possible match.”

“—my future brother in law,” Cordelia’s voice broke in. “You do know the Duke of Ravensdale, don’t you?”

Silent laughter shook Lily’s shoulders. “I do not imagine Blythe’s betrothed would approve of Cordelia appropriating his name for her own benefit.”

“Likely as not,” Adam replied with a lightness he did not feel. He had come to grudgingly tolerate Blythe’s happiness with Ravensdale, and to have that threatened now...

“Blythe loves the duke,” Lily said softly. “Isn’t it time you accepted that?”

“You sound like Blythe.” Adam was momentarily surprised by her understanding. For all her fifteen years, she was so quiet most of the time it was easy to forget how intelligent, how aware she was. “I have accepted him.” Blythe had told him to fake it.

“Keep practicing that. If you say it enough, you might convince someone.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” He raised an eyebrow in mock horror.

“A bad one, at that.”

“I ought to lock you in your rooms.”

“Would you please?” Her expression turned earnest, though the humorous glint in her eyes matched her amused tone. “If you lock me in my rooms, Cordelia won’t be able to find me when her suitors have gone. She’ll want to catalog the assets of each and every one, and that could take hours.” She shuddered. “You’d be doing me a favor.”

“Then I think your punishment ought to be accompanying me into the lion’s den. You did say you wanted your journal.”

“You don’t want to go in there alone.”

“Can you blame me?” It was one thing to reign supreme as the man of the house, lording over lowly suitors vying for his sister’s affections. It was quite another to be in the room with said sister while the men fawned and pretended Cordelia was filled with sweetness and light.

Especially given it was entirely too early for a drink.

He slanted a pleading look at Lily. “Have pity? If nothing else, you could sit in a corner, pretend to write in your books and catalog some of your own thoughts about Cordelia’s suitors. I would appreciate another opinion.”

Pleasure dawned on her face. “Truly?”

He nodded. “Truly.”

She lifted her chin and faced the doorway. “I shall eavesdrop with the best of them.”

Adam chuckled as they entered the well-appointed parlor. Cordelia sat in a high-backed chair, her flock of men on the edges of the surrounding couches, leaning forward.

As their attention wavered to Adam, the gentlemen quickly stood. Cordelia remained seated, giving the intruders her back.

“Gentlemen.” Lily tried to slide away from him, but Adam stretched out his hand and grabbed her arm. He made quick introductions. The last one, Mr. Robert Melrose, was a bit of a surprise. The third son of a marquis, he was heir to nothing. Both of his brothers stood in good health. Melrose knew the title, estates and fortune would never be his.

Mr. Melrose stepped forward. “Lady Lily, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“My pleasure, as well.” With a brief acknowledgment toward the others, she retreated to a corner of the room, grabbed her journal, and bent her head as if completely absorbed by her task.

Mr. Melrose stared after her a moment, then returned to his chair.

“Lord Vanderwyne, I do believe you were in the middle of a story,” Cordelia said with a slanted glare at Adam.

Lord Vanderwyne perked right up. “Yes, of course, Lady Cordelia. As I was saying, the wheel of the phaeton had completely unhinged itself, and there I was, alone and unattended. I hadn’t the foggiest notion of what to do.”

Cordelia had to be faking that intent interest, because truly, what was so hard about a carriage wheel? It fell off, it got fixed. You went on your way. Story over.

The Duke of Halton also looked rather pained to be sitting in the room. Adam couldn’t imagine how the man could stomach it, sitting here, three times the age and at least five times the consequence of some of his so-called competition.

Adam imagined his coffee contained something stronger and turned to the indolent Mr. Melrose. Did the man resent his place in life? Or worse, did he lounge about without a care in the world for his family or finding a way of becoming his own man?

As Adam casually studied Melrose, the man’s gaze slid to the corner of the room.

Lily.

Adam’s back stiffened. There was nothing untoward in the glance, other than that it was surreptitious. But God forbid Cordelia should catch an idea that one of her beaus felt even a passing fancy about her younger sister.

God forbid one of Cordelia’s beaus should feel a fancy—passing, fleeting or any blasted kind—for Lily.

It would mean war in the house.

“Mr. Melrose, how is your father?” He offered the man a pointed stare. It went unnoticed.

“Jolly good, as a matter of fact.” He smiled benignly, his focus direct again. “Took a recent trip to Bath with my mother, and they were both quite restored by it.”

“I have not yet ventured to Bath. I hope to plan a trip this summer.” This was spoken almost like a timid question by the young—possibly younger than Cordelia?—Earl of Marbleton.

“Oh, you must visit Sydney Gardens,” Lord Vanderwyne said. “It truly is elegance personified.”

“Oh yes! And the labyrinth!”

Cordelia appeared pleased at the turn of topics, since this one lent nicely to gauging the spending habits of the men present.

Adam set his empty cup down. “So shall we go down the row, one at a time, and you can ensure me of your intentions toward my sister?”

Cordelia gasped, but before she could open her mouth, Higgins stood in the doorway.

“My lord, there is a visitor.”

Adam jumped up. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”

The minute he hit the door, Higgins handed him a card. “A Mister Calebowe to call.”

The man in question was of an age with Adam’s mother, elegantly dressed without being fussy, with a shock of silver hair. He turned upon Adam’s entry.

Mr. Calebowe inclined his head slightly. “Lord Merewood, I am here to call—”

Adam moved toward him. “I am afraid you are too late, sir. There are suitors aplenty today. If you leave your card, I will be sure Lady Cordelia gets it.”

“There must be some mistake, as I—”

Adam let out a sigh of frustration. “My sister has plenty of visitors at this time and—”

“I am not here to see your sister,” Mr. Calebowe interrupted, blinking a few times.

Adam frowned. “Then what may I do for you?”

“Franklin?” The name was half-whispered and Adam turned to look at his mother, who clearly knew the man.

And was also clearly shocked by his arrival.