When Magnus arrived in London that evening, he wondered whose carriage was waiting in front of the town house. No sooner had he mounted the stairs and entered the foyer than he had his answer from Dodson.
He was not prepared to receive Miss Snow, however. His thoughts, since leaving his country estate, remained on Hartley and his eldest daughter.
Striding to the parlor, he had every intention of delivering an apology and explaining that he had no time to speak with anyone at the moment. At least, until he was greeted with the worried faces of Miss Snow, his grandmother and his mother.
It did not escape his notice that there was one person notably absent.
“Where is Miss Hartley?”
Miss Snow stepped forward, wringing her hands. “I was hoping she would have returned by now.”
“What do you mean? Why is she not here?”
“I never should have let her go alone. But she insisted. And you know how stubborn and self-assured she can be.”
He did, indeed. But that did not stop the impatience and alarm sprinting through him, tightening the muscles and tendons along his neck and shoulders. “Where did she go?”
“To find her father. Apparently, he’d sent her a note, stating that he was in London on a matter of business, but she was worried and asked for my assistance to find him.”
“That man,” his mother said beneath her breath. “He can never leave well enough alone. And now his daughter is off gallivanting around after him as if she had no more sense than her father.”
“Geraldine, I am sure that Miss Hartley wouldn’t do anything reckless.”
Magnus heard the worry and doubt in his grandmother’s voice, and he didn’t bother to explain all the other wholly reckless things Verity had already done.
He wished he’d have throttled her when he had the chance. Wished he would have done a thousand things. But that point was moot. “Miss Snow, why did she think you would know how to find him?”
“Well, not me precisely. A friend of mine, of sorts. He knows how to find people. I don’t know how he does it.” She turned toward the writing desk then returned holding a missive. “This came addressed to you a short while ago. Forgive me, but I opened it without thinking. I thought I recognized the—”
“That’s not Verity’s handwriting,” he said, paying no attention to what he’d revealed in that statement as he scanned the single line written on the page. An address. Turning the page over, there was only one name—Longhurst—in the same slanted scrawl of the letter he’d received at his estate.
He lifted his head and regarded Miss Snow. “And how do I meet this friend of yours?”
“That won’t be possible, I’m afraid. Not even I have met him.” After that confusing declaration, she proceeded to explain the nature of her acquaintance with a certain Mr. Dashing. Then she reached out and laid a fretful hand on his arm. “You have to help her. I would never forgive myself if anything happened.”
If anything happened to her, he’d . . .
Magnus couldn’t finish the thought. An icy wave of dread washed over him. No solution came to him. His mind was blank. He simply couldn’t imagine a world without that vexing creature in it.
“Fear not, Miss Snow,” he heard his mother say when he turned to the door. “My son never fails when a task is set before him. He always does his duty.”
And yet, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t thinking about his duty to his family as he strode to his carriage. He was only thinking about Verity.
This couldn’t be correct, Verity thought as she looked at the abandoned building. There was no sign of anyone here.
She’d taken a hackney to this narrow lane, not far from the wharf. The blackened brick facade was covered in layers of sea salt and chimney smoke, the windows dark like vacant eyes. But this was the only chance she might have to find her father before it was too late. What else could she do but dare to enter?
So, under the gray shroud of twilight, she stole inside.
With the door open, there was just enough light for her to see a row of lanterns hanging from a hook. Most were empty of oil, the metal rusting through. A few held tapers, more than half gone, but there was just enough wick left in one of them to light it with the flint and steel hanging at the end by a thin rope.
All at once, a chill, briny breeze slammed the door shut behind her with a boom. Her startled shriek pierced the sudden stillness.
Her hands trembled as she lit the lantern. Holding it aloft, the wavering light revealed a vast, open space littered with paper, boxes and crates, with debris scattered about as if it had endured a frenzy of activity, much like the parlor rug after opening presents on Christmas Eve.
There was a separate room off to the side, lined with a bank of interior box windows with a view of this larger area. Her careful footsteps echoed to the rafters. The corresponding delay of those hollow thumps made it seem as though she were being followed. And followed so closely that she should be able to feel the stalker’s breath on the back of her neck.
She turned around to check, several times, but there was no one around.
Even so, her mind whispered:
here lies verity hartley
beloved daughter and sister
and idiot who went into a deserted building because a stranger told her to
She swallowed. “Drat, you foolish girl. What have you gotten yourself into?”
“I’d say that’s an excellent question,” a voice growled from the doorway.
A strangled yawp left her. She whipped around, nearly sputtering the candle in the process. And then she saw him, dark and forbidding, and striding directly toward her.
“Longhurst!” She splayed a hand over her rabbiting heart. “You scared me half to death.”
He stopped when they were toe-to-toe, his breathing erratic, his jaw clenched. “That saves me half the effort, then. Though, I’m not certain if I should strangle you or shake you to finish the job. Devil take it, Verity! Have you lost all sense?”
“I refuse to acknowledge that insult. You may keep your unsolicited opinions to yourself.” She sniffed with indignation. And yet, as she held his fiery glare, she had to admit that she felt braver now that he was here. “If you have come to berate me, then you might as well leave. I have an errand to see to and you are only standing in my way.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you.”
Even though the words were spoken through gritted teeth, there was something about them that made her heart quicken . . .
Until she remembered that he had actually left her a few days ago!
She put one hand on her hip while the other held the lantern. “Oh? And yet, you can go wherever you please without so much as a by-your-leave. One minute, you’re ravishing me in the library, and the next you’re scampering off to your estate. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I had to go. I have a duty to my family and you were making it too complicated.”
“Well, you at least could have left me with a note. Instead, you left me with your mother.” Who, as it turned out, wasn’t altogether too terrible. But that was beside the point. Still holding fast to her pique, she squared her shoulders and turned toward the attached room. “And you aren’t the only one with a fierce loyalty to family. I have a duty to mine as well.”
“To what? To get yourself killed?”
She rolled her eyes as she stepped through the open doorway. Inside, she saw a drafting table in the center, a pair of desks against the wall and a row of open and untidy cupboards, still littered with paper and ledgers. There were even half bottles of ink, desiccated quills and pencil stubs. It was as if a stage were set, waiting for the workers to return to the production.
“I’m looking for my father. Which, I presume, you know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”
“And if you hadn’t found him, but someone else altogether, what was your plan then, hmm? Use your family’s gift and talk yourself out of danger?”
She didn’t care for his tone. “You clearly were not paying attention to my acting ability. Regardless, that is why I brought this.”
She lifted a cobalt-handled blade from her pocket with a measure of arrogance, her brow arched in challenge. His own brows flattened.
“A letter knife? Really?” Reaching out, he seized it from her hand and coasted his thumb along the edge. It didn’t break the skin. In fact, it didn’t even leave a mark. “It’s about as sharp as a loaf of bread.”
“So? It’s pointy.”
“Well, that makes all the difference. Any man will quickly surrender if he is threatened to be pricked to death!”
Not appreciating his sarcasm, she snatched her intimidating weapon back and stuffed it in her pocket. Spotting a set of stairs in the far corner, she marched toward them. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m no longer glad you found me. By the by, how did you? I purposely kept the address from Anna so she wouldn’t follow.”
“A missive arrived addressed to me.”
“For you? That’s rather mysterious,” she murmured, lifting her skirt to set her foot on the first tread.
He stayed her with a hand surrounding her upper arm, and she hated the way her body reacted with a tingle of gooseflesh at his touch. “Which is why we will be leaving.”
“Not before I check upstairs. My father might have been here earlier and I need to find out where he has gone before he does something foolish.”
“Like father like daughter.”
She shrugged out of his grasp. “He isn’t guilty of the crime that you’ve accused him of.”
“I know you want to believe that,” Magnus said, his tone gentler. Something troubled crossed his expression. “And, for your sake, I wish it were true. But there is a reason that he’s in London at this particular time and I’m trying to protect you from learning the truth.”
“You don’t know the truth, Magnus.”
He took her hand, his gaze imploring in the lamplight. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
She felt the honesty of his words warm her heart and her fingers threaded with his. She wished she could explain everything, but those weren’t her secrets to tell. “Family is all I have. Even when we don’t see eye to eye, they still mean the world to me. And I must do whatever I can to help my father, no matter the sacrifice.”
“Believe me, I know about the sacrifices we make for the good of our family.”
He sounded defeated, resigned. And as she gazed into his eyes, everything started to make sense. It wasn’t only about duty for him. It was about family.
“Your mother told me about Rowan, and that you’re doing your duty in order to ensure stability for him. Is that part of the reason you’re marrying Miss Snow?” When his brow furrowed, she squeezed his hand. “I’m not judging you. After all, you and I are similar. Recent events notwithstanding, I’m usually the sensible one in the family. And those of us who are born with cooler heads and reasonable hearts are often called upon to make a sacrifice for those we love. We shield them and we safeguard them to the best of our abilities. That is why I know you will understand that I have to do this for my father.”
Any gentleness in his countenance vanished beneath his swift glower. “No. We are leaving here this instant. No more arguing.”
She jerked her hand free of his and marched up the stairs. “What gives you the right to tell me what to do? As you have so kindly reminded me, I am nothing more than an unwelcome guest beneath your roof. But that fact will be remedied in two days. Therefore, you are free to dismiss any notion that you are responsible for my welfare.”
“That is where you are wrong. To my recollection, you never formally rejected my proposal. Therefore, we are still betrothed and you are very much my responsibility.”
She nearly tripped.
Her lips parted on her next argument, but her mind was trying to remember everything she’d said that day by the river. The problem was, her wits had been rather scrambled and nothing had been clear in that moment, or ever since.
“I’m certain I did,” she lied and stormed up the remaining stairs.
“You didn’t.”
“Well, I release you now. We are no longer betrothed.”
“That doesn’t count. One cannot make any formal declarations when one is angry.”
“You just made that up!” At the top, she narrowed her eyes, finger pointed. “You are trying to create some arbitrary rule in order to control me.”
“To keep you safe. There is a difference.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” she said, then turned and stalked down the narrow corridor and through the doorway on the far side.
He was hot on her heels, incensed. “You vex me to no end.”
“Good!”
“You could drive a perfectly reasonable man to madness.”
“Then I finally have a talent in which I can take immense pride.”
“Damn it all, Verity! Do you think I wanted to lose my head over a woman like you?”
She gasped and spun around, her heart pausing midbeat. “Did you just admit to having—”
Longhurst didn’t hear her. He was too preoccupied with his rant. “Spend every waking moment thinking of you? Even at my estate I couldn’t escape you. Not to mention the dreams. Those bloody dreams. I hate what you’ve done to me!”
She was so busy staring at him in stunned stupefaction that she paid little attention to the way he slammed the door to punctuate the last sentence.
Not until a corresponding gust of air blew out the lantern and they were suddenly pitched into darkness.