Chapter Twenty-Five
“This is the last time, Oliver,” Anastasia said—and not for the first time.
“Of course it is. Just get the rest of the two thousand pounds, and then this is over.”
She doubted he even believed that himself.
“I mean it, Oliver. I don’t like lying to Laurence. It’s not right, keeping secrets from my husband.”
“You think he doesn’t keep secrets from you?” Oliver scoffed.
“I—this—no—that is…”
“Come on, you’re not stupid. You know the man’s reputation. Hell, you know the reason the two of you ended up married.”
Anastasia frowned. She tried not to think of her husband’s reputation—not because she thought it mattered what he had done before they were married, but because she couldn’t help but wonder if he still continued in such a way now. Whenever he disappeared, that was where her mind went.
She also knew that nothing truly improper had happened between her and Laurence before they had said their vows. He had been kind and even honorable when faced with her potential ruination.
He was a good man. She was sure of that.
What she wasn’t entirely sure of was whether he could curb the side of himself that had garnered such a reputation—or whether he even thought he ought to.
“Ask him about Lady Frindley if you want to know whether he has any secrets. Or Mrs. Askew. Or—”
“Enough!” It was all Anastasia could do not to put a hand over her ears. She did not want to hear these words—whether or not they were true, or just Oliver trying to hurt her. She did not need to give her imagination any more ammunition.
And she also knew she would never be bold enough to ask Laurence outright about these women.
Because what if it turned out to be true?
How would she go on if she knew for certain that she was not her husband’s only lover?
She did not know if she could continue to smile and be happy if that was confirmed.
Because she felt something deeper for Laurence than she had ever expected to—something that she thought might possibly be approaching love, although of course, she had no other experience to compare it to.
A catlike smile spread across Oliver’s face, and she knew he could tell he’d needled her.
“Not to worry, dear sister. This will ever remain between us, and your husband’s business will remain private, and everyone can go on as if nothing is amiss.”
*
He followed her at a discreet distance, feeling more and more puzzled as they made their way further downtown, to an area of London where no gently bred lady would be expected to shop—or even visit. What on earth was she doing here? Had she taken a lowborn lover?
The carriage stopped abruptly, and Laurence pulled the reins of his mount, wanting to make sure he stayed out of sight. He walked the horse over to a side street where he could see the carriage but did not think the occupant would be able to see him.
Anastasia did indeed get out, looking furtively around her as she did so. He stayed back and held his breath, but no one else exited the coach.
She did not enter any of the ramshackle houses on the street but set off at a purposeful pace down the road. When she turned the corner, out of sight, he followed on, his heart pounding in his chest.
He rounded the corner just in time to see her entering the shop, although he could not read the name on the lintel from this distance.
He took heart from the fact that she was not in there long—and certainly not long enough to be visiting a lover.
With a start, he realized that she was returning in his direction, and he urged his horse down an alleyway where he hoped she would not look.
He watched her pass, though, looking as beautiful as ever. Her face was set in a determined grimace, and she held on tightly to her reticule, as though afraid it might be stolen from her.
In this neck of the woods, she might not be far wrong. Laurence wanted to jump out and protect her, to tell her how foolish it was to wander these streets at all, let alone unchaperoned.
He could not alert her to his presence. He needed to know where she was going. He needed to protect her—because he was her husband. That was what he was meant to do. And it was what he wanted to do, too.
Once she was back in the carriage, he urged his horse into a trot and stopped outside the mysterious shop.
Smith & Sons Pawnbrokers. Established 1763.
A pawnbroker? It made no sense. He gave her a generous allowance and had told her to put anything she liked onto his accounts. And if she needed money, she had only to ask—he was more than happy to share. So why was she visiting a pawnbroker?
And what did she have to pawn? While not poor, the Carringtons certainly had not been well-off, and her dastardly brother had sold anything of value in order to fund his gambling habits. So he thought it unlikely she had come to the marriage with any jewels hidden away.
The situation seemed even more mysterious than it had been before he had followed her, and he considered going into the shop and questioning the proprietor. But the man would surely tell Anastasia if she returned…and he did not want her to know he had been following her.
He just wanted to know what she was doing—and why she felt the need to keep it from him.