Page 57 of An Honorable Deception
Somewhere that started with aB?Either the lady had a horrible memory and no care for her daughter’s location, or she was definitely lying.
A possibility that became even more compelling when her husband grunted. “You didn’t.”
“Pardon?”
“Youdidn’tsay where she’d gone. Someone asked at the club—she’s been missed, you know—and I had to say something about a tour of the south and that I didn’t know the stops, to avoid looking the idiot.”
“So sorry if my absent-mindedness embarrassed you, darling. Though her latest letter assures us she’s having amarvelous holiday,” she said, voice even. Then, “Who was asking? That handsome young Byron, perhaps? Or Lord Xavier? Iamsorry she didn’t remain long enough for him to join us for dinner. Oh—did you hear the Duke of Stafford’s grandson has finally returned from the Continent? Our Alethia would make a lovely duchess. We ought to see if we can arrange—”
“He returned with some Grimaldi hanger-on he means to pawn off as Lord Whitby’s long-lost daughter,” her brother said. “He obviously intends to position her there so he can marry her.”
“Whitby?” The lady sounded genuinely confused this time. “Who’s Whitby?”
“Recluse from Yorkshire. Earl, I believe. I caught a glimpse of the Stafford heir and the chit boarding the train—pretty thing. Can hardly blame him for the subterfuge.” Another clink of ice. “If Whitby falls for it, you’ll want to be sure to marry your girl off before she debuts. An heiress with that face, lost for years, found by a duke’s heir? She’s going to be the toast of Town.”
The lady squeaked a protest. “She can’t be any lovelier than Alethia.”
“I am the first to sing my niece’s praises. But her novelty will only last so long, sister.”
“Whitby,” Barremore said, his tone thoughtful. “Does he come to Lords? I really don’t recall him.”
Talk turned to gossip from the Sessions, and Lavinia crept away from the window. She didn’t need to know who Whitby was, or the rest. She’d learned what she hadn’t known she was looking to learn, information that both settled and weighed on her heart.
Lady Jane Barremore didn’t trust the men in her lifewith her daughter’s whereabouts. She knew something was amiss—and she’d lied to them about it.
Which meant the men didn’t know where she was now. Alethia was still safe, tucked away at the Tower.
Lavinia put her foot to the pavement with a lighter heart—and then would have screamed when a figure emerged from the shadows, had he not simultaneously clamped a massive hand over her mouth and hissed, “Shh! Just me.”
Althoughjustwasn’t the word she’d likely ever think about Yates again. She pried his fingers away and glared at him in the streetlight. “Are you trying to scare the life out of me?”
“I’mtryingto make certain you’re not lying dead in a gutter. Your light wasn’t lit at Hemming House, and you weren’t in with your father. I wasn’t about to knock on the door and ask him if you’d made it home safely and thereby admit I let you wander the streets of London alone after dark.”
Papa would certainly not be happy about that, but they had more pressing concerns. “She knows—Alethia’s mother. She knowssomething, anyway. She’s lying to her husband and brother about where Alethia is. Said she’s off in the south somewhere with a school friend.”
Yates sucked in a breath. Turned toward his house. And grabbed her by the hand. “First, I’m promoting you. Second, come on. Xavier finally stormed off in a huff, and we have planning to do.”
SEVENTEEN
The clock was about to chime midnight as Yates paced the study behind Lavinia and another collection of files, but this time he had no desire to force her to abandon her work and go to bed. For that matter, he’d abandoned his initial thought that she’d better stay at her own house tonight, given the lack of proper chaperone, and decided that since no one even knew she was in London, no one could get upset that she was here in his study.
Besides, Merritt was here. Respectable married man and all that rot. True, he was currently asleep in the armchair in the drawing room—hadn’t even noticed when they’d adjourned to the study—but even so. Ought to count for something.
As long as Xavier didn’t get spiteful, they’d be fine.
Lavinia lifted a hand, wiggled her fingers. “Griffin?”
Yates spun to the cupboard. “Cecil or George?”
“George.”
He pulled out the dossier, turned to hand it to her—and froze.
A man lounged in the doorway, looking perfectly at home, despite the fact that Yates had never seen him before. He looked to be about his own age, with the sort of unremarkablypleasant face that would be invisible in a crowd. Until he smiled. “No offense, mate, but you could use a maid. This place is a ruin.”
Yates smiled back. He’d locked every door and window when he came back in with Lavinia, set a few noise-making traps, and had told Neville to keep his ears out for a late-coming guest. Yet here he stood, nothing to have given him away. “Barclay, I presume?”
“Lucy passed along your ... invitation.” He straightened, and the lazy challenge on his face turned serious. “And what you did for her, before some lout could touch her in that place—there are no words.”
