Chapter 17
Seventeen
Alex tried to muster some enthusiasm as she paced around the perimeter of the library. But her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, and her fingers felt clumsy, so she knew that any attempt at painting would only end in a result even more depressing than inactivity.
However, after another circle of the room, she forced herself to halt.
Brooding was a waste of time—one ought to at least try to accomplish something useful.
Looking around, Alex decided to busy herself with straightening up the library. The table was in a state of cheerful chaos, with papers and books lying helter-pelter across its length. Heaving a sigh, she moved to one end and began methodically sorting the jumble into neat piles.
However, when she came across her father’s letter buried under several oversized botanical books, she paused, studying its meaningless letters and strange symbols with a rising sense of frustration.
Damnation. Alex told herself it was merely gibberish.
And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow their current troubles were linked in some way with her father’s odd penchant for secrecy.
Damn, damn, damn.
She tucked it inside one of the botanical books and turned her attention to reorganizing her portfolio of finished watercolors.
After arranging the paintings for her proposed book according to genus and species, Alex made herself look at the hibiscus she had done for Branford.
It was, she admitted. one of her strongest works, the form and color infused with a vitality that nearly made the petals and leaves sprout up off the paper.
Tears welled up in her eyes, but she quickly blotted them away with her sleeve. Perhaps Branford would still like to have it, even though he had not fulfilled his end of the bargain …That was, of course, assuming his admiration had been unfeigned, not merely part of his game of seduction.
However, he was welcome to it—Alex knew that she would never be able to look at it without hearing his deep baritone voice murmuring its praises, or seeing in her mind’s eye the warmth of his sapphire eyes as he glanced from her easel to her face.
Hell’s bells, it was his eyes that haunted her. The way they had looked at her in the candlelight as he had settled on his bed … the depth of emotion they had revealed as he leaned back from their kiss, as if allowing her to see into the vulnerable, unsure self that he kept submerged deep within.
Everything between them—from the heated discussions to the laughter to the gentle touch of his fingers as he dressed her wound—had seemed very real. And yet, she had heard him speak the single, stark word spoken that consigned all of it to being no more than illusion.
Her intellect accepted that she had been manipulated by one whose skills at disemblement far surpassed her ability to discern it.
But her heart still fought against believing it.
“Alex?” Lady Beckworth’s voice floated through the door from the corridor.
Alex smoothed her gown, brushed her sleeve once more over her eyes and forced a bright look. “Yes, I’m here in the library.”
Lady Beckworth poked her head into the room. “Oh. You are at work early.” Her gaze lingered on Alex’s face before she entered. “A note arrived for you just now,” she added, and handed over the folded sheet of paper.
Alex regarded the unfamiliar handwriting with a slight frown before she broke the seal.
Dear Miss Chilton,
I have discovered some extraordinary news concerning the matter we discussed last night.
Until I have a chance to explain, I think it best to maintain absolute secrecy and discretion.
If you will take a walk at the hour of ten this morning, a hackney cab will pick you up at the Piccadilly entrance to Green Park and bring you to me.
Yours, etc.
Hammerton
She looked up, assuming a bland smile as she tucked the letter into her bodice. “Mr. Simpson has managed to procure a few of the prized specimens that arrived from the East Indies last week. I think that I shall go see them once I’m done here.”
Lady Beckworth looked as if to say something, but Alex turned away and began cleaning her palette and brushes. A moment later, she heard her aunt retreat into the corridor and her footsteps soon faded away.
An hour later, Alex left the house alone.
Cecilia Ashton smoothed the folds of her elegant walking dress and then knocked on the on the front door of the modest townhouse Lady Beckworth had rented.
Several long moments passed, and she was beginning to wonder whether her bold strategy had misfired when an elderly servant finally answered the summons.
“Good day,” she said. “Kindly inform Miss Chilton that Lady Ashton wishes to see her on a most urgent matter.”
The servant made a face. “I’m sorry, madam, but Miss Chilton is not at home.”
Cecilia blinked in surprise. Where could Alex have gone? It was far too early to make social calls in Mayfair—which was why she had deliberately ignored the unwritten rules and come at this hour—and none of the shops on Bond Street were open yet …
“Do you know when she will return?” asked Cecilia
The fellow shook his head.
“Please tell her I shall return this afternoon.” She held out her calling card, which he eyed in confusion before gingerly accepting it. “And please don’t forget to add that it is most important I see her.”
Once she had put a plan into action, Cecilia disliked for it to be thwarted. However, it seemed that she had no choice but to wait until later.
Branford gingerly placed his feet on the floor and stood up slowly. Though feeling a trifle unsteady, the dizziness and nausea had passed—as had his despair. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to topple over, he rang for his valet.
Once he was freshly shaved and dressed, he felt even more like a new man. At least there was a glimmer of hope for the future, he thought with a rueful smile as he recalled Cecilia’s visit.
Heaven forfend that the cosmos dare stand in her way when she decided to take charge of a project. Nothing was beyond her powers—even untangling the coil he had gotten himself into seemed possible.
At least he hoped so.
And what’s more, Cecilia had made him realize what a coward he had been to give up and retreat without a fight. She was right—Alex deserved better from him.
The resolve gave added strength to his step.
Throwing a silk dressing gown over his shirt, Branford made his way downstairs.
After asking for coffee and toast to be brought to his study, he made his way to his desk and opened the top drawer, Something about the coded letter Alex had given him had been hovering at the edges of his consciousness throughout his feverish state.
While he waited for news from Cecilia, he determined to have another look at it.
He withdrew the letter, along with the sheaf of notes he had made during his trip to East Anglia. Spreading the pieces of paper over the entire desk top reminded him of the jigsaw puzzles he had played with as a child.
All the pieces were here—he was sure of that. He just had to figure out how they fit together.
Alex slowed her step and looked up at the nondescript coach that was waiting by the entrance of Green Park.
“Be ye Miss Chilton?” growled the driver.
She nodded, and he muttered that she should climb inside—and be quick about it.
Alex hesitated, but then reminded herself that there was no other choice if she wished to save Justin from harm. A glance around showed that nobody was paying her any attention, and so she quickly obeyed.
A flick of the whip set the horses in motion.
Inside the musty interior Alex could barely make out the passing sights through the small, grimy window.
She could tell that the carriage was heading east, but she soon lost all sense of bearing as the hackney threaded its way through a maze of increasingly seedy streets until it finally came to a halt by a deserted alleyway.
Two razor-thin dogs fighting over an old leather boot were the only signs of life, save for another carriage.
It was painted black, with no markings to distinguish it.
Even the coachman blended as he was dressed head to toe in the same somber color, with a slouched hat pulled low over his eyes.
Four powerful horses stomped impatiently in the rutted mud.
“Yer ta git out here,” said Alex’s driver.
Had she made yet another foolish mistake?
Alex closed her eyes for an instant and then swallowed her fears.
Lord Hammerton was gentleman, and Justin’s friend …
and as a precaution, she had been careful to scrutinize the writing of the current note, and it was quite different from the one that had lured her into danger.
Steeling her nerves, she obeyed her driver’s order, well glad to be out of the dank space.
The door of the other carriage swung open. The interior was as inky as the one she had just left, causing her to stop momentarily amid the broken crates and decaying garbage. But the hackney immediately rattled off, leaving her little choice but to continue on.
A gloved hand reached out from the shadows to assist her up.
“Your pardon, Miss Chilton, for such an unpleasant start.”
“Lord Hammerton!” Alex felt a spurt of relief. “Pray sir, was this really necessary? Surely we could have met in a less derelict place without attracting undue attention.”
“I wish that were true, but you must remember that your enemy has proved to be both exceedingly cunning—and utterly ruthless. I felt it best to err on the side of caution,” he answered.
He was right, she acknowledged. Which only made her feel more on edge.
“Please tell me what you’ve learned,” she asked.
Hammerton sighed. “Patience, Miss Chilton. I would rather arrive at our destination before beginning an explanation.”
“But …” She drew in a shaky breath. “But have you learned the identity of whoever is trying to harm my brother?”
“Indeed I have. And you shall soon know it, too,” answered Hammerton. “Trust me, Miss Chilton.”