Page 88 of Seducing a Stranger
He looked up at the uncertain note in Argent’s voice before he’d been able to read the note. The Stags of St. James…a case growing colder by the day.
The very investigation that’d started this entire thing.
“What about it?”
Stoic features arranged themselves carefully, as if Argent knew he was treading on unstable ground. “I interviewed a man recently who intimated one of the Stags of St. James had regularly lain with a high-born, dark-haired beauty. He said she was a, and I quote, ‘Good girl.’”
Good girl…as in…Goodegirl?
Morley went very still, carefully examining the effect the information had on him.
It wasn’t his Goode girl. He knew that. He trusted that. His wife had told him it had been a discussion between her friend and her elder sister that’d sent her looking for a stag in the first place.
“Prudence has a sister with dark hair,” he said. “She’s married, but could have used her maiden name for such purposes. She and her husband, William Mosby, the Viscount Woodhaven, were sent to Italy by the Baron.”
Agent’s brows made a slow decent as he pondered this. “How does a Baron send a Viscount to Italy, one wonders? Even if he is a son-in-law, I can’t see a man like Woodhaven being easily told what to do.”
“ImpoverishedViscount,” Morley clarified, rifling through some papers to find the slim file he’d made of Woodhaven on a whim. “Honoria’s dowry and monthly upkeep is all that keeps them afloat, I’ve gathered.”
“Honoria?” Argent echoed, his voice sharp as a blade in the close office. “If she’s in Italy…how can your wife be meeting her at a row house in Gloucester Square?”
Morley’s skin flushed hot, though his blood felt like ice in his veins as he looked down to scan his wife’s hastily scrawled message.
Darling,
My sister has sent a carriage and request for my help. It seems Honoria is ill-treated by William, and has decided to leave him. I’ll be at her residence at Gloucester Square to help her pack and figure out a new temporary living situation. I don’t imagine I’ll be late for dinner, though I warn you we might have a third guest at, what I’ve come to view as, our rather sacred suppers. I apologize in advance.
Yours,
Prudence
His thumb brushed over the wordDarlingbefore he stood, buttoned his jacket, and retrieved his hat. A slick of unease oozed between his ribs and he knew in his gut that he needed to go to his wife.
Puzzled by the strength of the instinct over such a trivial note, he stopped to inform Argent. “Their stay on the continent wasn’t supposed to be indefinite, however…” He rubbed at a queer weight lodged beneath his sternum. “Something’s not right.”
It was all he needed to say to receive a grim nod from Argent. “I’m accompanying you to Gloucester Square, obviously.”
They arrived a miraculous half hour later, after galloping through the streets as if the whole of London was Rotten Row.
The house was handsome, but not what one would expect of a Viscount, and Morley could only imagine what a blowhard like Woodhaven thought of his diminished circumstances.
Morley unceremoniously shoved past a sputtering butler intent upon denying them entrance, and found Honoria in a dimly lit drawing room, squinting down at a book with a glass of wine in her hand.
It wasn’t even half one in the afternoon.
Dark, raptor-keen eyes lifted, advertising that the woman was not yet in her cups.
“Chief Inspector,” she greeted blithely before snapping the book closed and gathering the voluminous, cream-colored skirts of her dress to stand.
Morley was given to understand it was widely accepted that Honoria was the great beauty of the Goode daughters, but he couldn’t bring himself to agree. There was a sharpness to the symmetry of her features that he’d never prefer to look upon. Too many pointed angles and dramatic lines. He much preferred his wife’s pleasant, ethereal comeliness.
“Do come in. I haven’t been able to properly meet dear Prudence’s husband. Please,” she gestured to a piece of furniture that must have been expensive half a century prior, “sit down and I’ll ring for tea.”
“Where is Prudence?” he queried, eschewing her civil offer. His hand couldn’t seem to release the door latch. He wouldn’t relax until he set eyes on his wife.
“Certainly not here.” Her features were smooth and cool as tempered glass.
Morley’s heart stalled. “Then where? Where did the carriage take her?”
