Anne strode into her office, annoyed that Michael followed close upon her heels. She found Samuel seated at her writing desk. “Mr. Branton, good morning.”
Samuel crumpled his half-finished note. “Lady Wynters, thank God. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to convey this in a letter. I just received word that…”
Samuel paused as Michael squeezed into the room. She sighed. “Mr. Branton, allow me to present Lord Morsley, my childhood friend whom I know I have mentioned. Michael, this is Mr. Samuel Branton, who is a dear friend in addition to being my barrister.”
Michael pumped Samuel’s hand. “Mr. Branton, a pleasure. What Anne meant to say is that I am her childhood friend, and, as of last night, her betrothed.”
Anne turned to glower at him. “I already told you, the wedding is off. Must you keep telling everyone that?”
Michael gave her his full Obstinate Face. “Absolutely everyone.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back to Samuel. “What news, Mr. Branton?”
Samuel’s eyebrows were raised, but he chose not to comment. “Last night I went to Bow Street. The runner I’ve been working with, Charles Hoskins, agreed there was sufficient evidence to arrest Lord Gladstone.”
“Gladstone?” Michael asked. “What does Bow Street want with—”
Anne silenced him with a look, then turned back to Samuel. “Please continue.”
“I called at Bow Street this morning to see if the arrest had been made. It has not. By the time Hoskins arrived at the ball, Gladstone had left, and he has yet to return to his house.”
“Perhaps he moved on to a second entertainment,” Anne said. Although it made her nervous that Gladstone was still at large, it was common enough for men of his class to stay out all night. “A gaming hell or some such. Did Bow Street set a watch on his house?”
“They did, and at first I thought that seemed sufficient. I was just getting ready to leave when the news arrived that a body was pulled from the Thames this morning. It belonged to Nick and Johnny’s former master, Mr. Smithers.”
“Who,” Michael asked, “are Nick and Johnny, and who is—”
Anne held up a hand to silence him. Her heart was flying in her chest. “Could it have been an accident?” she asked Samuel.
Samuel shook his head. “The coroner’s report is pending. But I’m given to understand there were stab wounds.”
Anne started to pace the room. “He knows. He knows the net is closing in around him. Lord Scudamore must’ve warned him—” She turned and found Michael looming in her path. “What?” she asked, exasperated.
He looked slightly deranged; Anne had certainly never seen that eye tic before. “I demand to know what the hell it is you’re mixed up in, that involves Bow Street and a stabbing and dead bodies being pulled from the Thames, is what!”
Anne sighed. He was never going to let it go. “Fine. What happened is this…”
When Anne’s tale began with her going into Holborn to square off with a criminal who bought four-year-olds to send up burning chimneys and the unprincipled scum who would employ such a man, Michael’s blood began to simmer.
When she came to the part where she decided the best course was to question the prime suspect herself, his blood began to boil.
By the time she reached the not-exactly-startling conclusion that the type of man who sold children to their almost certain death did not scruple to commit murder in order to save his own worthless hide, steam was all but coming out his ears.
“So,” Anne said, “our first concern is Johnny and Nick’s safety. If Lord Gladstone is eliminating witnesses, he will surely target them next.”
“Our first concern,” Michael snapped, “is your safety and disentangling you from this mess.”
Anne ignored him. “It would be tempting to move them to an undisclosed location, but we have to assume this building is under surveillance. We’d have to think of a way to sneak them out. Then comes the question of location. I would bring them to my house, but I fear that’s too obvious.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Anne! They can’t go to your house.”
Anne rounded on him, hands clenched into fists. “And where would you suggest they go?”
“You said Bow Street is involved. Turn them over to Bow Street. They’ll know what to do with them.”
“Bow Street? What will Bow Street do with two young boys?”
“They’ll find an appropriate situation for them.”
Anne’s eyebrow twitched. “Perhaps with a charity that runs a lodging house for widows and orphans. If only we could find one of those!”
Michael leaned in. “Now see here, Anne—”
“I agree,” Mr. Branton interjected, “that your house is too obvious a location, and that we should assume this building is being watched. Until arrangements can be made for a safehouse, the boys will have to stay here.”
“I think you’re right,” Anne said. She crossed the room and leaned out into the hall. “Ralph, Joseph,” she called to the two footmen who had accompanied them, “would you come in here, please?”
Anne briefed her footmen on the situation. “For the time being, those boys need to be guarded around the clock.”
“I’ll do it,” Joseph offered. “I’m the oldest of seven. It won’t be no bother, watching over a couple of boys.”
“You must never leave them unattended,” Anne said.
“Joseph can bunk here,” Ralph suggested, “right in the same room with the boys. Another of us will stand watch outside the door at night when he’s asleep. We can take it in turns.”
“Perfect. We’ll also need extra security for the front door.”
“I know some likely fellows,” Ralph said.
“Are they trustworthy?” Anne asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Most of them are my cousins.”
“Good. Get them in place as soon as you can.” Anne turned to Mrs. Godfrey. “Please speak to Nick and Johnny. They need to understand that they’re not to go outside until this has been taken care of, not even to play in the alley.”
“I’ll go at once, my lady.” Mrs. Godfrey stood, and Joseph followed her out.
Mr. Branton rose. “I should be going, too. You mentioned that Johnny and Nick thought the house they were taken to was near a kiln. I have a contact over at the Exchequer—I’ll ask if he can do a little digging, see if Gladstone owns any property that would fit that description.”
“An excellent thought,” Anne said.
“A needle in a haystack, most likely, but we’ll leave no stone unturned.” Mr. Branton bowed over Anne’s hand, paused, then grabbed Michael’s arm and pulled him toward the door. “Walk me out, Morsley.”
As soon as they were a little ways down the hall, Mr. Branton stopped, spinning to face Michael. “I’ve heard enough good things about you that I’m trying to give you the benefit of the doubt,” he hissed. “But you are making it exceedingly difficult.”
Michael glowered at him. “You cannot expect me to be pleased that my future wife is tangled up with a bunch of murderers.”
“I can tell you this much—she’s not going to be your future wife if you keep barking orders at her and treating her like a child. Aren’t you supposed to be the person who knows her better than anyone? Do you truly believe she will respond well to such an approach?”
Michael pictured Anne’s eyebrow twitching furiously. “No,” he grumbled.
“No, indeed. Now, I suggest you get back in there and channel that anger in a better direction.”
“And what direction would that be?”
Mr. Branton gave him a hard look. “Help her win. And for God’s sake, take a calming breath the next time you find yourself tempted to open your mouth.” He spun on his heel and strode off down the hall. “Good day, Lord Morsley.”
Michael returned to the room to find Anne putting the finishing touches on a letter. She stood, ignoring Michael as she folded the letter, then turned to her footman. “Ralph, shouldn’t you be seeing to that extra security?”
Ralph shifted uneasily. “It’s just—I don’t like to leave you unattended, m’lady. Not with someone out there dumping bodies in the Thames.”
Michael decided Ralph was his favorite of Anne’s footmen. Anne, on the other hand, did not seem to share his appropriate concern for her safety. “Harold will provide sufficient protection.”
Ralph frowned. “Please, m’lady.”
“I will watch over Lady Anne,” Michael said.
Ralph started to perk up, but then paused, noticing the withering glare Anne was directing at Michael. “That won’t be necessary,” she said.
It was worse than he’d thought if Anne was so mad at him she would rather put herself in danger than endure a quarter hour of his company. Michael decided to heed Mr. Branton’s advice and took a slow, deep breath. He crossed the room and took Anne’s hand. “Let me at least see you home,” he said quietly. “I know you’re furious with me. I even understand why. Honestly, I don’t blame you.”
She was still frowning, but he could tell she was softening. “I don’t know, Michael.”
“I meant what I said earlier, about wanting to apologize. Please, Anne?” He held her gaze, bringing a hand up to frame her face when she started to look away. “Surely you know that I would never let anything bad happen to you.”
He watched the warring emotions in her eyes and held his breath.
Anne gazed up at Michael, mesmerized. It was downright unsporting of him to be looking at her like that, with those jade-green eyes and that beseeching expression. What chance did a girl stand?
And, as annoying as it was to admit, his suggestion that he accompany her home was probably the wise course. Besides, she’d have to talk to Michael sooner or later. It wasn’t as if she was going to stay mad at him forever.
He was her best friend, after all.
“All right,” Anne said.
Anne led him out to the carriage. They were clearly going to have it out, and she didn’t hold out any great hope that Michael would wait until they’d reached the relative privacy of her town house to do it. Surely enough, before Ralph had even closed the carriage door, Michael claimed both of her hands. “I’m sorry, Anne. I’m so, so sorry. I know I sounded dismissive this morning, and… and… generally awful. I didn’t mean to, I just… when you said you wouldn’t marry me after all, I couldn’t think straight, and it all came out wrong.”
The carriage lurched into motion. “I know you were upset, Michael. But still, I cannot believe you would disparage my work in such a fashion. You know how many hours I put in, and how much the Ladies’ Society means to me. It’s almost all I wrote about in my letters—”
“I never read them,” Michael burst out.
Anne gasped. And to think, she had supposed him to be her best friend! She tried to jerk her hands free, but Michael refused to relinquish them.
“What do you mean, you never read my letters?” She felt a tear streak down her cheek. “It’s bad enough that you never wrote back, but the fact that you couldn’t even be bothered to—”
“I couldn’t bear to read them,” Michael said, clinging fast to her hands. “I…” He made a sound of disgust. “I’m explaining it all wrong. I’m doing every bit as badly as I did this morning.”
Her voice broke as she replied, “There is no need to continue, as I cannot imagine anything you could say that would excuse—”
“I love you.”
Anne mouth sagged open. Her eyes flew to his face, and… and he looked sincere. But that couldn’t be right, how could he possibly…
“I love you, Anne,” Michael said, his voice shaking. “I always have. Ever since we were fourteen.”
“No, no you haven’t,” Anne sputtered.
“I have. I swear I have. I—”
“But… but…” Anne shook her head. “There was something that happened. When we were fifteen. It was the day before you went back to Eton. We were having a picnic, and…” She rubbed her forehead. “You probably don’t even remember it.”
Michael’s mouth had fallen open. “Did you just suggest that I don’t remember the most erotic moment of my life prior to last night?”
Anne gaped up at him. Her brain was utterly confounded. He might as well have been speaking Urdu because none of this made sense, none of it made any sense at all. “But you… you leaped off me, and you said you regretted it! That you would never want to kiss me—”
“I never said that!” He looked affronted.
Now Anne was annoyed. “You most certainly did! You said you would never, not in a million years—”
“I said that I never meant to insult you! That, in spite of what was going on inside my trousers, I wasn’t going to violate you in the middle of a field!”
Anne was back to blinking at him. “Your… your trousers? What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t mean to have such a coarse response. But I was fifteen, Anne. Even today, well, you were there in that boat. You saw about how well I can resist you. I’m sure you can understand that at fifteen, there was absolutely no chance I could find myself lying on top of the girl I desperately loved without having an… an ungentlemanly response.”
Anne’s spine went ramrod straight. “Oh! You’re saying you had a… an…” She gestured vaguely toward her groin.
He gaped at her. “You mean to tell me you didn’t even notice?”
Anne’s cheeks were positively aflame. “I was fifteen, too, Michael. A very innocent fifteen. I didn’t understand there was anything to notice. I mean—” She swallowed. “At fifteen, even if someone had come along and pointed out exactly what was going on inside your trousers, I wouldn’t have understood what it meant. I thought you were trying to explain that you would never be interested in me. In that way.”
“Oh my—” Michael tilted his head back and gave a wordless growl. “I glanced down and you had your eyes squeezed shut. You were cringing, you were stiff as a board, and I suddenly realized that I was pinning you to the ground. I thought I must have terrified you, especially given, well, what happened to Bridget.”
Another tear coursed down her cheek. “I wasn’t terrified. ‘Nervous’ would be fair. I closed my eyes because… because I thought you were going to kiss me.”
A look of pain crossed his face that was so acute, she could hardly bear to see it. “God, how I wish I had.”
A silence fell. Anne felt about as disoriented as if the carriage had lurched into a ditch and turned onto its side. Michael loved her? And had done so ever since they were fourteen? This flew in the face of everything she’d believed.
Anne frowned. “Wait, Michael, if you were in love with me, why didn’t you say something before you left for Canada?”
“I did. I proposed—”
“No, you didn’t!” Suddenly she was furious. She’d been having trouble enough believing him, but now Michael might as well have been telling her that left was right, and up was down, and one plus two equaled four. “I feel quite certain I would have remembered that.”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m explaining this all wrong. I tried to propose, would be more accurate.”
“What do you mean, you tried to propose? It would seem that one either does or does not issue a proposal. There isn’t any middle ground!”
“I—” Michael broke off, glancing out the window. He released Anne’s hand to knock on the roof of the carriage. “Harold, take a right up ahead. Take us to Astley House.”
“Yes, my lord,” Harold said.
Anne peered out the window. They’d been driving past Cavendish Square and Astley House was already coming into view. “Michael, why do we need to visit my parents’ house?”
The carriage pulled to a halt. Michael’s face was set into grim lines. “You’ll see.”