Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
Audrey sank back into the squabs in the carriage. “The vile cad!”
Hugh had just described the letter Mr. Comstock had delivered to Mr. Silas, outlining his demands for two hundred pounds every year on top of the income from Bethany’s dowry in return for a proper elopement with his daughter—and not depositing home a thoroughly ruined one instead.
“I’d be tempted to slip a little arsenic into his pudding next Christmas if I were Mr. Silas, but,” Hugh shrugged and held out his hands, palms up, “it looks as though a trip to Gretna Green is to blame for Bethany’s disappearance after all.”
He didn’t appear relieved, or even very convinced. His jaw grated, his narrowed stare trained on the window, since leaving Bow Street. The run-in with Officer Tyne had vexed him. Sir’s unknown whereabouts weighed on him too.
Audrey had finished telling him about Flora Bertram’s ruse to get her alone on the pavement outside her home, and the young girl’s information. But the letter Hugh had read in Sir Gabriel’s office wholly disputed her claims.
“Flora was certain it wasn’t an elopement,” Audrey sighed.
“She is what age, twelve?”
“Don’t disparage her just because she is young. Children often have better opportunity than most to go unnoticed.”
“I’m not disparaging her,” he replied. “But she may have misinterpreted what she overheard.”
Audrey granted that it was possible. “But what could the sanctuary be that Bethany and Gwendolyn spoke of?”
It was where Bethany had claimed to be going. Not Gretna Green, but the sanctuary.
“My guess is that Comstock tricked Bethany and lied to her about several things in order to see his plan through. The sanctuary, whatever it is, could be part of those lies,” Hugh said.
The carriage slowed and turned. They’d been traveling west, toward Berkeley Square, and Audrey’s desire to know the reason why continued to spike her pulse.
She wasn’t dressed for any society function.
Gunter’s Tea Shop was on Berkeley Square.
He could be taking her there. Oddly enough, thinking about Bethany Silas and the mystery surrounding her absence soothed her in comparison to the mysterious outing they were currently undertaking.
“Why would Comstock demand so little?” she asked. “Two hundred pounds is nothing, really. Why not prey upon someone much wealthier?”
Hugh’s attention again went to the window, as if he couldn’t tear himself away from the streets and pavements scrolling by—and the chance that he might catch a glimpse of Sir.
She’d wager everything that was what was truly bothering him.
She held still on her bench, even though she wanted to join him on his and run her thumb along his cheek, smoothing the line there from his perpetual frown.
“Sir Gabriel argues that Comstock was wise to choose his target as he did. Why draw attention to himself with a young lady of higher social standing? Why curry hatred and distrust among those with more power?”
It was reasonable. But something simply didn’t feel right about it.
“I still think we should speak to Gwendolyn privately, without her mother present. It may loosen her tongue,” Audrey said.
Hugh didn’t disagree, but he also was no longer focused on their discussion. Carrigan turned off Piccadilly, onto Berkeley Street, toward the square.
“When do you plan to tell me what we are doing here?” she asked.
They drove past the newly greening lawns belonging to Lansdowne House, the mansion set back at the north side of the square. Five blocks of townhomes occupied the east, south, and west sides, all of them well-kept and stately.
“When we arrive,” Hugh answered as Carrigan drew them to the west side of the square, where number thirty-seven was located. Her driver stopped, and without waiting for Travers, Hugh opened the door and stepped down. He held out his hand and, even more nervous now, Audrey descended.
“Really, Hugh, I hope we aren’t meeting with anyone. I like to be prepared,” she started to say as he led her closer to the front entrance. She dug in her heels, and he stopped.
“What do you think?” he asked, peering up at the townhome.
Audrey followed his appraising gaze. “What do I think of what?”
He gestured toward the townhouse. “This place.”
She blinked and again turned to view the home. Constructed of pale limestone, the Georgian rowhouse stood proudly alongside its neighbors. With three stories, large and numerous windows, it exuded understated elegance. A whisper of awareness stirred in the center of her chest.
“It is lovely,” she answered, then cautiously asked, “Who…who lives here?”
Hugh took her gloved hand in his, uncaring of the ladies and gentlemen in the square, taking their ices from Gunter’s under the shade of the maple trees. With his dark eyes now swallowing her, he replied, “If you like it well enough, I was thinking we could.”
The pavement beneath her boots dissolved. It was only Hugh’s hand on hers that kept her from sinking or falling backward. She stared at him, astounded, her lips gaping.
“Live here?” she said, her voice breathy. “Us?”
“Only if you like it.” His brows lifted as he waited for her answer. Audrey peered at the townhome again, and this time, with a new lens. Hugh wanted this to be their home. Where they would live, together. Where they would build a family.
“I’ve had my steward looking at potential residences, and for whatever reason, I kept coming back to this one,” he said. “It’s half the size, if that, of Violet House, I know—”
“I never liked Violet House.” She’d thought it blocky and ostentatious and too severe. She’d never felt at home there. But this townhouse did not give her those impressions at all. She gazed at the exterior another moment, then turned to Hugh. He had been watching her, studying her reaction.
“Can we go in?” she asked, eager to see the rooms. He sighed.
“I brought you here on a whim, so I haven’t a key. But I can arrange it.”
She pinned her lower lip, suddenly nervous. “I think it’s lovely,” she said again.
“Lovely enough to make our home?”
“Yes, but…haven’t we skipped an essential step?” She didn’t quite know how to say it outright—that he had yet to propose marriage.
Hugh raised her hand and kept his melting stare on her as he kissed the satin ridge of her knuckles. “The part where I ask you to be my wife?”
She couldn’t account for the blush that rushed to her cheeks.
Or the flood of elation that left her limbs quivering.
He had already stated in no uncertain terms that he would make her his wife as soon as her mourning was over.
She’d been expecting it. But even knowing that, she still could barely breathe.
“Yes, that part,” she answered as giddiness—a sensation that she was not wholly accustomed to—stole through her.
It mounted even more when Hugh arched a brow as if about to do something wicked. And then, he sank down in front of her, planting one knee on the pavement outside number 37 Berkeley Square.
Her breath gusted out between her lips as he kept her hand in his and, in full view of Carrigan and Travers and a handful of their future neighbors strolling by, said, “Audrey Sinclair, since the moment I met you, I’ve either wanted to throttle you, arrest you, or kiss you senseless.
You drive me utterly mad, and I love you for it.
I want nothing more than to be your husband. If you still wish to be my wife?”
She could barely see him through the veil of tears fogging her vision, but she gave a shaky laugh. “I want to drive you mad for the rest of my life, Hugh Marsden,” she said, her voice just as tremulous.
He shot back up onto both feet and brought her closer, his lips lingering on her knuckles again. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Her heart gave a lurch. She’d never dreamed it possible to be this happy.
When she and Philip had agreed to marry, it had taken the form of a business interview, absent of emotion, of nerves and uncertainties.
For years, she and Philip had pretended to have a love match.
But now, as her body and soul radiated with joy, she knew their act had been as thin as gossamer.
“I have a ring for you,” he said, his thumb coasting over the left fingers of her gloved hand. “However, this was all spontaneous and so it isn’t with me.”
“You mean you hadn’t practiced that little speech, telling me you’ve wanted to throttle me or arrest me—”
“Or kiss you,” he cut in. “No, I hadn’t. But I meant every word.”
Audrey smiled, elated to know that this man would endeavor to make her laugh.
“I want to kiss you,” she whispered. However, she was distinctly aware of how much attention they’d drawn, especially while Hugh was on one knee.
He groaned softly. “Soon, you may kiss me as much as you like. There won’t be anything else for you to do anyhow since you’ll be confined to my bed night and day for at least a week.” His whispered promise sent an electric shiver up her spine. “Maybe even a fortnight.”
Audrey missed being in his arms with a palpable ache. And to think—once they married, it would be perfectly acceptable. Expected even.
“How soon?” She didn’t care if she sounded eager. She was.
Hugh pecked her hand one last time and then with a roguish grin said, “I have a special license.”
She stared, astounded. “You do?” To obtain a special license for marriage, he’d have needed to appeal to the Archbishop of Canterbury. Hugh would have been required to name Audrey on the application, and the archbishop would have reviewed it to be sure they were both eligible.
“I visited the archbishop the day your mourning ended,” he admitted.
“I was the greenest and most impatient of bucks and the man practically chuckled as he signed the license, but…” Hugh leaned closer, and for a moment, Audrey thought he would kiss her and to hell with whoever was looking on.
“We can marry tonight. Or tomorrow. Certainly, before you come to your senses and change your mind.”
She laughed. “I will never change my mind. You already know how stubborn I am.”
“I do. Mules look to you for inspiration,” he said, and Audrey balked.
“It is part of my charm!”
“You have many of those,” Hugh said, their lively banter making her feel light as air.
His eyes raked her over in a slow, seductive manner that put her in mind of his promise to confine her to his bed.
The rest of the world could fall away, disintegrate into mist, and she would be none the wiser.
Nor would she care. However, even as those fervent and fanciful thoughts slid through her mind, her practical side stood firm against them.
A few things needed resolving before the two of them could, without reservation, abandon the world for a time.
Audrey touched his shoulder, smoothing the fabric even though it didn’t need it. “You realize, of course, that we cannot indulge in marital bliss for weeks on end, as you’ve so indecently described, until we find Miss Silas. And Sir.”
He winced, and she regretted bringing up the missing boy. But it wouldn’t be right to marry without Sir there. He formed a forlorn grin and nodded. “You are correct.”
“Another one of my charms,” she said, only wanting to lighten his mood.
He laughed, but this time it held a dismal note. “Then we best find a way to speak to Gwendolyn Bertram.”
Across the newly greening gardens in the square, the front entrance to Gunter’s Tea Shop bustled.
“I believe I have an idea,” Audrey said.