Chapter 4
Torrance observed his valet”s nervous movements in the mirror. “Out with it.”
Ian needed no further prodding and stopped his useless fidgeting. “You will go mad after a month, mayhap two.” His valet shook his head and frowned. “What am I thinking…I take that back. You won’t last more than…than a week before you begin to complain of boredom and become an irritable bear of a human being.”
His valet obviously wasn’t happy about his decision to leave the Home Office, but there was no alternative.
Ian glared at Torrance through the mirror. “Tell me you thought this decision through. Did you even attempt to explain to Lord Archbroke that Lady Phoebe would without a doubt have a reasonable and logical explanation for her actions?”
To Torrance’s shame, he couldn’t claim to have defended his intended. He should have. His hands fisted at his side. Ignoring Ian’s last question, Torrance replied, “It’s not likely that I shall be lacking in tasks to complete, especially if Lady Phoebe agrees to marry me. I expect I shall be rather busy, obtaining a Special License and whatnot.”
“Whatnot? Ha!” Muttering under his breath, Ian marched across the room, retrieved the coat he’d laid out on the bed, and gave it a good shake. His valet returned and held out the coat for Torrance to slip his arms through. “Without Archbroke barking orders at you left and right, you haven’t a clue as to what ‘whatnot’ really is.”
Faced with the brutal truth, Torrance spewed the first thought that came to mind. “Making arrangements for one’s wedding trip…a wedding trip that my wife won’t easily forget would certainly count as whatnot.” Pleased by Ian’s wide-eyed reaction to his response, Torrance busied himself buttoning his own coat and left his valet to mull over his words.
With a bounce in his step, he made his way down the hall and began to descend the stairs to the foyer. When the phrase my wife floated through his thoughts once more, Torrance came to an abrupt halt, teetering on the edge of a stair riser. He regained his balance and took in a breath—a deep breath. A confirmed bachelor for years, married to his work, Torrance had never expected to utter such words, at least not with such enthusiasm. Picturing Phoebe walking down a church aisle to become the next Baroness Kilman brought him nothing but happiness.
“How certain are you that Lady Phoebe will want to remain your confidant, your partner in life, now that you are no longer an agent?”
Ian’s question had Torrance jumping in his skin and sent him tumbling down the stairs.
In a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs, Torrance looked up at his valet who loomed over him rather than offering his assistance.
The man, who had been in his employ even before Torrance became an agent, sighed and stretched out his hand. “Your life changed once you became an agent…for the better, might I add. And I need not remind you, prior to her learning of your extracurricular activities for the Home Office, Lady Phoebe paid little to no attention to you. It was only after discovering you half beaten to death in an alley that she even bothered to acknowledge you at social events.”
Torrance remembered that night vividly. He hadn’t shared with Ian all the details of that fateful evening. Had his assailants not been interrupted by Phoebe’s loud stomping, they would not have fled and he would have met his maker that night. His lips curved into an involuntary smile as he recalled the image of a terrified yet determined younger version of Phoebe. The woman possessed an inner strength that only he was privy too. Phoebe had not only saved his life but also his soul that night, and he would forever be in her debt.
Torrance reached up and reluctantly took Ian’s hand. With Ian’s assistance he rolled to his feet and brushed himself down. “I’ve made my decision and regardless if you believe it to be a mistake or not, I shall be focusing on my duties as baron.”
With a shake of the head, Ian marched toward the coat closet. There was no pleasing the man who had been Torrance’s moral compass.
It was true that he had been rather consumed with completing missions for Archbroke over the years, but it was time. Time for him to bear the full responsibilities of being Baron Kilman rather than playing the role of Agent K. The moment he realized Phoebe had gone missing and was possibly in danger, his priorities immediately shifted. He’d been a fool to take Phoebe’s presence for granted. Fear that the woman who was his savior would come to harm and he’d not see her again had shredded his sanity. He’d aged at least a decade over the harrowing two weeks he’d been unable to locate her. The woman was critical to his health and wellbeing, and he was going to convince her to marry him or die trying.
Ian held out his favorite greatcoat for him. “I’ll say it one more time, mayhap in a way you will understand, Lady Phoebe is fond of Agent K, not Baron Kilman.”
“They are one and the same.”
“You are only deceiving yourself if you believe that to be the truth.” Ian stuffed his hands in the front pockets of his waistcoat and headed back up the stairs without a backward glance.
Blast the man. He always had the last word.
Torrance strode past his butler who held the front door open for him and noted the smirk on the old man’s face. Why had he never noted the insubordinate behavior of his staff before? Ian’s voice rang in his ears: because you had more important matters to attend to. That may have been the case in the past. However, protecting Phoebe was now his most important task, one he intended to do for the rest of his days.
In the middleof Lady Osbourne’s ballroom sat a grand piano.
Phoebe wrapped an arm about her waist to refrain from covering her ears that burned red. Her mama had insisted all eligible ladies needed to master at least one musical instrument, and since her family only owned a pianoforte, it was the instrument of choice. Even after hours upon agonizing hours of attacking the black and white keys, Phoebe could not play a tune that didn’t make her own ears bleed. Backing up against the far wall, she waited until her racing heart calmed.
The card in her gloved hand bore a list of names—the guests who had been one way or another been coerced into performing by the notorious matchmaker Lady Osbourne, her host for the evening. It came as no surprise that the list was comprised of ladies who had been deemed unmarriageable due to their age, lack of funds, or perceived lack of beauty by her so-called peers. Phoebe reread the list. Neither Ruth nor Lillian were included, which was peculiar since they were both unwed and talented musicians. Urgh. If even Lady Osbourne believed the gossip of their disappearance, the pair were doomed. Worse than being labeled a wallflower and relegated to the shadows was a reputation for scandal. It was all her fault. She should have informed Kilman as soon as she discovered the pair of wallflowers were investigating a burglary. She should have followed the rules. But she hadn’t, and if Ruth and Lillian never married because of her mistake, she’d not forgive herself.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
Phoebe dropped the card. Blast Kilman for sneaking up on her.
He bent and picked up the list and handed it back to her. “Before we discuss what has your pretty brow knitted into a frown, would you join me for a stroll about the room?”
She took the aggravating list and waved it back and forth to cool her overly warm cheeks. Phoebe snuck a covert glance at the man standing next to her. She studied the man’s features, which she could normally read with ease, but tonight she was having trouble deciphering the glimmer in the man’s gaze.
Hope swelled up within her and she blurted, “You spoke to Archbroke, didn’t you? Did he agree to reinstate you as an agent?”
“No. I didn’t seek out Archbroke and I’m not returning to the Home Office.” Kilman’s handsome features transformed from lighthearted interest into a dark scowl.
“Oh. Well, don’t worry. I have a plan. I’ll…” She stopped mid-sentence as Kilman turned and walked away, with hands fisted at his side and the tips of his ears bright red. The man was clearly angry—heated even. But why?