Page 79 of What a Scot Wants
“Where the hell have ye been?” Niall asked before Ronan could even remove his coat. “Have ye found Imogen?”
“I want someone on Silas Calder’s tail,” he replied, his guts in a twist as he explained to them where he’d gone and why. He told them of Calder’s proposal and his past and current interest in Imogen. He left off some of the more personal details, the ones Imogen had been ashamed of, even though she had no reason to be. The man had preyed on her, seduced a shy and sheltered girl, and she’d held herself responsible. Which was probably just as Calder wanted it.
Imogen was in trouble. She never would have gone off on her own like this, leaving everyone to worry over her. Calder’s suggestion that she’d scurried off, breaking the betrothal, didn’t fit, either. Ronan knew by now that she would never give up like that. And after last night, when they’d opened up to each other… No. She was brave. Stubborn and tenacious. She would not run. And unlike Calder’s foul suggestion, she also would not harm herself.
“Your Grace, I am familiar with Silas Calder,” the Bow Street inquiry agent, a man named Thomson, said. “There was some bad business many years ago with a young lady here in London.”
His eyes skipped to Aisla, and he said no more, likely thinking she might be too sensitive for such a topic.
“What bad business?” she demanded.
“Imogen wasnae the only young heiress he took a fancy to,” Ronan explained, unable to stomach the young woman’s tragic ending without feeling a jolt of fear for Imogen. No, she was strong… She’d never do anything like that, not without a fight. He took in a clipped breath. “He preyed on them. Lady Beatrice was particularly young and enamored of him until she found out the truth that he was nothing but a fortune-hunting thief. At the last, she took her own life.” He met his sister-in-law’s brimming eyes. “It is rumored she was with child. I wouldnae put it past Calder to have left a trail of victims behind him on the Continent as well. It was how he financed his lifestyle. And now he has Imogen in his sights once more.”
“I will follow his movements, Your Grace, and keep you apprised,” Thomson announced and then left. The two other police officers were given tasks as well—to interview the servants at Kincaid Manor and to find any and all of Imogen and Calder’s acquaintances and to question them thoroughly.
It was nightfall by the time Dunrannoch House was quiet once more. Niall and Aisla had insisted they stay with him, but he’d waved them off, telling them to go back to their own home on Belgrave Square to be with their children. There was nothing more they could do.
He’d poured a whisky and was staring at it, his mind partially frozen with terror. God, what was happening to her? Not knowing where she was, if she was safe or in danger, was driving him mad. Ronan left his whisky untouched and left for Kincaid Manor. He needed to do something, anything, other than sit and wait. Perhaps he could help the police question the staff. Someone had to have seen something.
The second he stepped inside the foyer, Rory shouted from the top of the stairs.
“Do ye have Lady Im back yet?” The young girl rushed down, wearing her old breeches. “I’m ready to go, Yer Grace.”
“Go where?”
“Out. Searching. We’ve got to find her,” Rory replied.
Ronan blocked her from the front door with an arm. “We cannae search all of London. It’s no’ feasible. We need a better idea of where she might be.”
“But she could be anywhere!” Rory said, the shake of her voice betraying her worry and fright. She was scared. The girl cared deeply for Imogen. Ronan put his hands on her small shoulders and squeezed gently.
“I’m going to find her, Rory. I have an idea who’s involved, and there’s a Bow Street Runner watching him as we speak.”
The girl shook off Ronan’s hands, and he realized he should have been more thoughtful than to touch her without asking. She’d been on her own on the streets of Edinburgh, protecting herself against men who would take advantage, who didn’t have an honorable bone in their bodies.
“Ye can trust me, Rory. I’ll do whatever I must to bring back Imogen.”
She peered up at him, doubtfully. “The man ye’re thinking of. He kens Lady Im?”
Ronan nodded. “A family friend.”
“He’s a toff,” she said, and Ronan didn’t bother to correct her. To her, anyone—peer, gentry, or working class—not of her world were wealthy targets to be stripped of their valuables. The girl’s eyes brightened. “Cor, proper toffs never do anything themselves, ye ken. The lads men always get good business running errands. If he’s done something to Lady Im—”
“He hasn’t done it on his own,” Ronan finished, his spirits boosting as an idea came to him. “Rory, ye’re brilliant.”
The girl broke into a grin. “I like it when other people get that.”
He wanted to clap her on the shoulder or kiss her forehead, something to show his gratitude, but he held back. In time, perhaps. Ronan left Kincaid Manor, ordering his driver to Piccadilly. They pulled along the curb outside the back entrance to Calder’s building. There had been another unmarked carriage parked across the street from the front entrance. He’d seen Thomson inside, keeping an eye on Calder’s comings and goings. The man was still home, apparently, and he likely knew Ronan had hired someone to keep watch. Thomson was not overly clandestine, either.
However, it wasn’t Calder that Ronan was waiting for.
Several hours after sitting in silence, his driver keeping the horses calm, their patience was rewarded. A back door opened, and a lone figure emerged. The man was dressed in black, carrying a small bundle, and he moved swiftly, away from the square and out of Thomson’s line of sight. He crept much too stealthily for a servant.
“Follow him, but don’t get too close,” Ronan said to his driver, who urged the horses forward. Ronan kept his eyes on the figure. The man signaled a hackney and disappeared inside. But the hackney was unusual, Ronan noted, with no windows at all.
“Don’t lose them,” he said, his heartbeat increasing. He had nothing but his instinct, and it told him he was onto something. He was getting closer to Imogen.
His driver maintained sight of the strange carriage for a good twenty minutes, each street they turned down taking them deeper into the slums of London. Ronan wasn’t familiar with these boroughs, but he knew the equivalent of them in Edinburgh. He suddenly wished he’d brought his pistol. At least he had his dirk, something he kept on his person at all times.
