Page 78 of What a Scot Wants
He nodded, making his decision. “Vickers, get a man from Bow Street here. And send for the police as well.”
“The police, Your Grace?” Vickers repeated, alarmed.
Ronan considered a moment as he exited the sitting room. It might be premature. But Imogen wouldn’t have left Aisla with no word if all was well. “I want everyone looking for her.”
“Ronan, wait.” Aisla followed him down the stairs to the foyer. “Where are you going?”
He took his jacket and hat from the butler, the pit of his stomach a brewing storm of anger, worry, and suspicion. “To speak to someone who might ken something.”
“Who?”
“I’ll explain later.” There wasn’t time to tell her everything about Silas Calder. “Where is Niall?”
“At the boxing club. Gentleman Jackson’s, I believe. Why?”
“I need him here. Stay. Tell the Runner and the policemen what ye ken, and that I’ll return shortly.”
And before Aisla could ask another question, Ronan rushed through the front door, slamming it closed behind him. He caught a hackney on the street, too impatient to wait for his own carriage to be prepared and brought around to the front of Dunrannoch House.
That bastard Calder had something to do with this.
He’d been furious the night before at Imogen’s home, forced to retreat with his fortune-hunting tail between his legs. And from what Ronan had learned from Imogen about their past, he suspected the man was more than a little obsessed with her. And that he was not the sort to give up easily.
Ronan was now grateful he’d left Kincaid Manor only minutes after Calder the night before and that he’d had the foresight to direct his driver to follow Calder’s hackney. At the time, he’d only wanted to make sure the man actually returned home, rather than circle back to Kincaid Manor. He gave the hackney driver the address now and sat back as the carriage clattered toward Piccadilly.
Calder might have intercepted Imogen on the street earlier, perhaps even convinced her to take a stroll with him so he could attempt to change her mind. He might have lured her into his carriage and delayed her with a drive around Town. Imogen’s disgust with him and her shame in encouraging him when she’d been younger could have very well led her into a trap of manipulation on his part.
Ronan clenched his hands into fists, and time seemed to drag. When at last the driver whistled and pulled the horses to a stop, he all but leaped from the carriage, stormed up to Calder’s residence, and pounded on the front door. A sleepy-eyed woman let him in, pointing up to the suite of rooms. Ronan hadn’t reached the top of the stairs when he growled Calder’s name.
Calder answered the door to his apartments himself.
“Your Grace, this is a surprise,” he drawled, his demeanor placid despite the high color on his skin. As if he’d just come in from outdoors.
“Where is Lady Imogen?” Ronan demanded.
“Imogen? Why would you think she would be here?” Calder eyed him.
“I have nae time for this, Calder. Imogen went for a walk and never arrived at her destination. Last night, she skewered ye by turning down yer proposal.Aftershe fought off yer unwanted attentions at the Langlevit ball. Ye ken why I’m here, so answer my bloody question.”
The man stared at him, unruffled. “She hardly skewered me. I was acting as a friend, offering her a way out of an undesirable betrothal. We do have a long history, you know, her family and me. Her decision in no way affects me as you suggest.”
“The fact that ye’re bothering to lie to me right now makes me wonder what else ye’re lying about.”
Calder’s mouth twisted, a deliberate expression of insult on his face. It was leagues different than the uncut fury Ronan had seen the evening before.
“It nearly sounds as if you are accusing me of something untoward, Your Grace.”
His voice lifted slightly as though to carry down the narrow hallway, though there was no one else around but the two of them. Ronan was quite aware that that didn’t suggest the empty corridor was private, by any means. His eyes narrowed as Calder went on.
“Perhaps the answer is something much more simple. Could the lady have spurnedyou? Are you quite certain she has not taken another way out of this betrothal that she has so clearly despised? Women do the most desperate things when they feel trapped.”
The suggestion tracked down Ronan’s spine like a cold blade. Riverley’s tale of Lord Paxton’s daughter and how she’d thrown herself off a bridge into the Thames sprang to mind. His vision sharpened on the man.
“Ye’ve made a mistake, Calder. I dunnae ken what yer game is, but I’ll discover what it is. I’ll find Imogen, and ye’ll be finished here in London. Ye’ll be finished everywhere. There willnae be a single place ye can hide this time.”
Ronan gave him his back and stalked from the hallway, knowing he would get nothing more out of the bastard unless he wrapped his hands around the lying man’s throat and thrashed him. The method wasn’t completely off the table, of course, but there were other tactics to try first.
He made his way back to Dunrannoch House, his impatience and unease mounting as the hackney he flagged traveled at an irritatingly slow speed. When he finally arrived home, Niall was there with Aisla, along with a man presumably from Bow Street and two uniformed policemen from the new Metropolitan force.
