Callum watched Henrietta leave, this time through the proper door. Her words echoed back to him as she charmed the footman who escorted her through the house. He didn’t regret showing her the hidden passage, given the mob of people outside his townhouse, it seemed even more prudent than when they’d first met.
The last person to know the secret passages had been Elizabeth, but Callum pushed those memories away. Now was not the time to indulge in memories of afternoons of pleasure and surprise visits from his lover.
He wanted those afternoons again.
By now, Callum had expected him and Elizabeth to be married, for her to carry their first child.
Stalking to the door, Callum slammed it closed. It didn’t block the recollections, nor did it help his control. He wanted to destroy the room, vent his rage, but held back. In all the time since her disappearance, Callum had only lost control once. He refused to do so again.
If he lost control, he doubted he’d ever get it back. He’d not have the wherewithal to discover Dervin, to continue to prove Darton’s innocence. To continue his search for her.
Now he returned to his window and looked over the gardens. Despite the restraint he struggled to maintain, he could hear Elizabeth’s soft laugh, how it turned to gasps of pleasures when they made love. The feel of her skin beneath his fingertips when he touched her, the press of her body against his.
And try as he might, Callum could not block out her cries of release when she climaxed.
Callum didn’t lash out against the window panes but struggled to not drown in the sea of emotion threatening to overwhelm him.
He’d met Elizabeth in Bath and had never enjoyed another’s company as he had hers. Before she left to return to her father’s house in London, Callum had vowed to marry her. He hadn’t much cared what his father thought of the match, but Elizabeth was from a prosperous family, well connected and respected. That had been enough.
Yes, it had been enough, for both his father and Elizabeth’s. The families had aligned well, and the excitement over the impending nuptials had been the talk of the ton. Until that one damnable day. That day lived in his memory as clearly as anything had.
Callum had just finished redressing Elizabeth, and he remembered how they’d laughed over his newfound proficiency with women’s clothing. They’d shared an afternoon of pleasure before Callum had needed to leave to meet with several business interests and review the estate books. The maid had rushed into the room, not even bothering to knock.
Neither had scolded her, all the servants in the house were issued strict instructions, along with extra coin to ensure their silence, not to disturb them. When the poor girl rushed into the room, she looked not only scandalized, but scared as well.
Barritt that was his name. Mr. Edwin Barritt had insisted on speaking to Elizabeth about her father but offered nothing further to the maid sent to fetch her. Using the rear stairs, Callum followed Elizabeth as she hurried through the house and entered the conservatory. He remembered trying to console her, reassuring her that her father remained in the best of health.
The look on Barritt’s face stopped Callum cold.
At first he had been certain Darton had died. In actuality, the truth had been far, far worse. Sudden death would have been far preferable given what happened to him and his family.
Told of Darton’s arrest, Barritt offered to escort Elizabeth back to the Darton townhouse, but Callum refused to leave her side. He knew Darton and doubted the man’s ability to perform any actions against the crown, let alone the treasonous ones he’d been arrested on.
In the weeks that followed, the full scale of what happened to Darton became glaringly apparent. The man was accused of treason for the sale of secrets to French Revolutionaries and embezzlement from the crown, as well as murder.
There were no more serious offenses to level against the man.
When the newspapers discovered this, Callum’s father, Edgar had forbidden him from seeing Elizabeth. Callum ignored the order and refused to abandon her, even if the gossips had already latched onto this news and had ruined Elizabeth’s reputation.
In the weeks leading up to Darton’s trial, Elizabeth suddenly vanished. Though the trial took a mere two days, Callum didn’t see her in the courtroom, much as he scoured the halls for her.
On the third day, Darton was executed.
Callum never found Elizabeth—none of her household staff knew her whereabouts, Barritt claimed he didn’t either, and after following the man for weeks, Callum believed him. She had simply vanished.
His father had been in rare form, and they’d done little but fight over the Dartons’ disgrace. Callum ignored every decree his father threw at him and continued his search for Elizabeth.
Callum turned from the window and with measured steps moved to his desk. He disliked drowning in memories; the good ones rarely lasted long before what came afterwards threatened. Anger and frustration pounded through him, but he had his emotions well under control once again.
Pulling out the papers from the Crown’s financial office, Callum methodically reviewed them once more. He’d spent a considerable part of his fortune bribing far too many people to get these, but he’d needed the physical proof to present in court. With these papers, however, Callum had mercilessly hunted down the true conspirators.
“Garrow and Dervin are well trapped,” he muttered, scanning the sheets once more though he’d long ago memorized their contents.
Granted, thus far Dervin had managed to evade both the Bow Street runners and Callum’s own hired men, but Callum was confident it was only a matter of time before he found the bastard.
He didn’t know what alerted him. Callum had been so wrapped up in the day’s happenings he hadn’t noticed the time. Perhaps it was the shadow of the sun across the gardens, or his internal clock, but he knew.
The one lingering presence of Elizabeth that remained in his life.
Quickly standing, he made for the rear doors. Once in the garden he immediately looked for the gates, where the heavy iron of them remained open. Looking from the gate to the low stone wall, he instantly spotted the single white rose. It’d been such a romantic gesture, one only a woman would have thought of.
Elizabeth had thought of it immediately after their return to London from Bath, and Callum was grateful she had. He’d caught the delivery boy once, but the lad hadn’t known a thing. The florist had long ago been paid to continue delivery of the rose, once a week, for two years. Half that time had already passed, but Callum didn’t dwell on that fact.
Slowly crossing to the rose, he picked it up and sniffed its delicate blossom. He’d given her a single white rose while they’d still been in Bath, and attributed her gesture now to that event.
Callum wondered, as he did every week, if he’d continue to pay the florist after Elizabeth’s payment ran out, if only to have her with him in this small way. He turned and scanned the street, but knew he’d not see her.
“I will find you,” he said to the empty street beyond.
Heading back for the house, Callum chastised himself for admitting to such thoughts. He would find her. And she would be here in this house where she belonged. With him.
Holding the stem, careful of the thorns, he reentered his study and set the rose on his desk. The maids were terrified of so much as approaching his desk since the first time one of them had cleaned up the fallen petals.
The rose kept him tethered to her and he would not lose that faint connection for anything.