Page 7 of Swindled By a Spinster
CHAPTER SIX
Meandering down a dark alley, Torrance made his way through town toward Phoebe’s residence. With plenty of time before he was to meet the woman who preoccupied his thoughts, he chose to make his way by foot rather than travel by coach.
No longer worried or preoccupied with thoughts of a mission, he casually clasped his hands behind his back and let his imagination run wild. An image of Phoebe standing next to him as the Crestwood’s master of ceremonies announced their arrival filled his mind.Baron and Baroness Kilman…Bah. What nonsense! The Crestwood ball was a fortnight away and he’d already been rejected by Phoebe…twice.
His skin on the back of his neck prickled and he turned to scan the empty alley. He was being paranoid. Overly sensitive. No longer an agent for the Home Office, he had no reason to believe danger was right around the corner. Unable to quell the alarm bells that were now ringing in his ears, he turned back around and exited the alley to walk along the gas-lamp-lit streets in a slow but even pace. Years of training as an agent snapped his mind into focus. With better visibility, his nerves calmed and Torrance immediately assessed the situation. The streets werefairly empty with the occasional hack passing by. Nothing to be alarmed about. Marching with his hands at his sides rather than behind his back, Torrance walked another two blocks before looking over his shoulder. A shadow ducked behind a hack parked in front of White’s. There was no longer a doubt—he was being followed. But why and by whom?
Altering his destination would be the wise choice. He should lure his tracker away from Phoebe and head toward his own dwellings, except his intuition screamed at him to continue with his original plan. Debating over what to do or second guessing oneself almost always placed an agent in danger. He reminded himself once more that he was no longer an agent. He was a baron being trailed by a stranger. Mayhap it was merely a pickpocket. After all, it wasn’t uncommon to hear of gentlemen well into their cups being easy prey on the well-to-do streets of St. James. The absolute rules that had been drilled into his head by Archbroke had Torrance turning back toward his townhouse.
Only a few blocks later, when he was confronted by two burly men, did he realize that he’d fallen directly into his stalkers plan. A cloth bag slipped over his head as he was wrestled to the ground. Bloody hell, he was being kidnapped. A hard blow to the head produced flashes of light before him and then darkness fell.
Phoebe pacedalong the garden wall. Where was Kilman! She was going to wring his neck for making her worry. Stopping at the end of the path, she raised onto her tiptoes and scanned the area for at least the hundredth time. Her nerves had had enough. Flat footed, she placed her hands over her face. Now was not the time to cry, but there was no holding back the moisture that had threatened to spill down her cheeks all evening.
Kilman was late. He was never late to anything. Not once in all the years she’d known him had the man not arrived early. He made it a point to arrive to all his appointments, whether a social engagement or official business for the Home Office, with enough time to either survey the area in advance for danger or to observe the arrival of the other party. Any well-trained agent knew it to be unwise to dally about, which was partially the reason she could never be an agent. Phoebe was perpetually running to catch up, often falling behind her peers no matter how hard she tried to keep up. She was late for everything. Late to debut. Late to bloom into womanhood. Late…
At the susurrus of slippers on the hard dirt packed ground, Phoebe whirled around to come face to face with Letty.
Her maid came to a stop and bent at the waist to catch her breath. “Kilman is missing.”
“Missing?” Phoebe couldn’t believe the news.
“Lord Archbroke is attempting to gather as much information on Kilman’s last known whereabouts. Lillian’s brother, Lord Foxton, was dispatched to find you. Danny and Lord Foxton are waiting for you in the receiving room as we speak.” Letty grabbed her hand and together they ran back into the house through the rear service entrance.
Once inside, Phoebe lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “It’s likely Lillian will find her way here. Have Danny watch out back and you monitor the front.”
Letty nodded and dashed off without questioning Phoebe, which was a first.
Phoebe made her way through the dark house, treading carefully so as not to give away her approach. The rumble of male voices came from her papa’s study. Her papa and his friend were probably playing hazard or some other card game. She froze in the hall, unable to move past the room that she knew to avoid at all costs. Ever since Kilman had pointed out that herpapa’s so-called friends gave her peculiar looks anytime she was near, she purposefully evaded being in the same vicinity as any of them.
Kilman. Where was he?
Her pulse raced until she heard his calming voice echo through her mind.Walk fast. Even if one of those old foxes call out to you, don’t stop. The man might be missing yet Kilman still remained with her and she was ever so grateful. She hoped she would get the opportunity to tell him so in person. Inhaling a deep breath, she propelled herself forward. Once she was safely past her papa’s study, she took in a calming breath and continued to creep closer to the room where Lord Foxton, a once renowned rake, awaited her.
Phoebe’s lips curved into a smile briefly as she recalled the rather entertaining Season when Miss Alice, now Countess Foxton, an agent for the Home Office, had put the poor man through the wringer before agreeing to marry him. The amount of patience Lord Foxton had exhibited warranted him a knighthood. Her smile fell away—Kilman was forever patient with her. Always explaining and reexplaining the many regulations placed upon agents and why she should not balk at the multitude of rules she was expected to adhere to. Following others' expectations had never been one of Phoebe’s strong suits; however, pretending to adhere to them was. Pushing her wayward thoughts to the back of her mind, she pressed her ear to the wood panel of the door.
Silence.
With no clues as to who or how many people were inside, Phoebe straightened and rolled back her shoulders. Her gaze fell to the flicker of candlelight at the threshold, the only indication that someone was inside. Argh. Why was she stalling? She wouldn’t find out details about the search for Kilman byremaining rooted to the spot. Her hand shook as she released the latch and pushed the door open.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the candlelit room.
When the trio of figures standing by the unlit fireplace turned around, Phoebe came to an abrupt halt. “Lord Archbroke. Lord Foxton. Lord Harrington.” Egad. Why in the blazes had Letty not informed her that Archbroke himself was here? She shook her head. Her maid had simply followed the man’s instructions as she had for years—without question.
Phoebe directed her gaze to Lord Harrington who had been the agent she’d had the most contact with apart from Kilman. “He’s gone missing?”
“Not by choice. We suspect he was kidnapped,” Lord Harrington answered and then asked a question of his own. “Do you know of his whereabouts?”
“Yoususpectmeof orchestrating a kidnapping?”
Lord Archbroke ran his hand through his graying mane and kneaded the back of his neck. “Of course not, Lady Phoebe. We simply want to know when was the last time you saw him.”
She forced a smile and replied, “Earlier this eve, my lord, at the musical. However, he left before the festivities began.”
“Why did he leave?” Archbroke snapped.
The interrogation had begun, but if Kilman was in danger she needed to cooperate.
Phoebe walked over to the winged back chair facing the fireplace and asked, “You don’t mind if I sit, do you?” Kilman would have rolled his eyes if he’d been present. Sitting while the men stood could be perceived as taking a submissive stance. However, Phoebe had witnessed more than one occasion in which Lady Theo commanded the room from a seated position. If she could emulate her mentor’s confidence she might be able to turn the tide of the conversation in her favor.
