Page 88 of Tender Blackguard

The other man’s hawkish expression twisted into one of mild curiosity. “Are you Warfield, then?”

“I am.”

“Turner’s not here,” the man said as he tried again to shove the door closed.

Seriously losing his patience, Alastair refused to budge. “Where can I find him?”

“You can’t.” Alastair was sorely tempted to take the rude butler by the throat for his stubborn refusal to be more forthcoming, but then the smaller man tipped his head to offer reluctantly, “But I can get a message to him.”

Swearing under his breath but realizing he had no other choice, Alastair glared at the man as he spoke. “I need him to find someone.”

“And if she doesn’t wish to be found?”

Alastair looked over the man’s head to see Portia Turner standing in the hall. Her question hovered in the air before the small man muttered a curse under his breath about interfering females. Then he turned and left Alastair standing in the doorway.

“Do you know where she is?”

Portia shrugged. “If I were you, I’d be more concerned with why she left.”

Biting back a harsh retort, Alastair replied, “Trust me, I intend to ask her that exact question, once your husband is able to locate her.”

The other woman smiled and gave an elegant wave of her hand. “Well, I’m afraid my husband is occupied with some business across town.”

“I’ll wait.”

Though the lady’s eyes widened briefly, she didn’t seem particularly put out by his insistence. “The parlor is that way, but I cannot promise how long it will be.”

Alastair gave a nod then turned to await Turner’s return.

He’d never been a very patient man, but the two hours he spent pacing the floor and staring out the window of that damn room felt like a blasted lifetime. Every minute that passed allowed for Lark to get that much farther away. But he had no other choice. He’d have gone searching for her himself, but he had absolutely no idea where to begin.

He should have asked her more about her past. He should have learned everything he could about her. He still wanted to. Just as he wanted to share with her the memorable experiences from his travels. He even imagined taking her to some of the places he’d visited. But he’d believed they’d have plenty of time for such things.

For just a flashing moment, he considered Portia’s suggestion that Lark didn’t want to be found.

If that proved to be true, he’d have to accept it, no matter how it hurt to do so. But Alastair needed to hear from her own lips that she wanted nothing to do with him. He needed to see the truth of it in her eyes. Until then, he simply wasn’t willing to give up on the only good and true thing he’d ever known in his life.

Finally, he heard some noise in the hall, and he rushed to the door, intending to intercept Turner before he managed to remove his coat. But it was Mrs. rather than Mr. Turner who was crossing the hall. And it appeared she was leaving.

“Has Turner returned home?”

Portia paused to give a quick smile. “Oh, I haven’t the slightest idea, but that is where I’m going, so I expect to find out once I’m there.”

Alastair frowned in confusion. “Are you saying this isn’t your home?”

“Indeed,” she replied as the ornery butler opened the front door. She gave the man a bright smile. “Thank you, Morley. Do ensure Lord Warfield remains on his best behavior for our guest.”

“Aye,” the man replied, casting a swift glare toward Alastair.

But he was too distracted by Portia’s comment to worry about the butler’s animosity. “Your guest?”

Was she saying Lark had been in the blasted house the whole time?

“Morley will show you the way, my lord,” the lady replied before gifting him with a fierce glare of her own. “But I expect you to understand the lady is welcome to stay here as long as she wishes.”

Portia waited for his terse nod of agreement—all he could manage with his heart currently blocking his throat—before she turned and walked out the door.

“This way,” the man named Morley muttered. Then he led Alastair up the stairs and down a hall to a small sitting room.

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