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relatives to carry out the errand.
Yet bringing Webb’s betrayer to justice was worth more to Giles than the misbehavior of a spoiled, misguided chit.
“Well, Lord Trahern,” Lady Dearsley puffed. “Are you or are you not going after my niece?”
“That is impossible, milady. I cannot delay my plans because your niece chose to run off.”
Lady Dearsley paled, her feathers quivering as she trembled with anger. Before her hovering maid could pacify her, she erupted. “Lord Dryden, I hold you personally responsible for this fiasco. You and Celia talked me into this marriage, and now look what it has done—my poor Sophia is lost . . . perhaps forever …”
From the strained look on Dryden’s face Giles knew his superior was making a painful decision—send him on to Paris to investigate Webb’s death, or defer to a deathbed promise.
Giles suspected he was about to spend the night searching the roads out of London.
But Dryden’s choice stunned him.
“My dear Lady Dearsley,” Dryden began, “your niece’s actions are most regrettable. And while I am honor-bound to see this marriage secured, it appears we have not given the young lady and Lord Trahern enough time to get acquainted.”
“Acquainted? What kind of nonsense is that?” She turned her anger toward the older man. “They can get acquainted just fine once they are married. Sophia suffers from an overactive imagination. I wouldn’t put it past that Mrs. Langston, with her stories of her heroic Captain Langston, to have filled the girl’s head with a load of romantic blather.”
Dryden cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, the girl is well on her way either north or west, and until she arrives safely at the Caryll estates or into the warm embrace of her aunt, Lady Larkhall, there is no way we can locate her. She could have taken a number of routes or be safely hidden with an acquaintance here in town. Since your niece knows Lord Trahern is leaving on the morning tide, she will likely reappear by midday, assuming her bridegroom gone.”
“Bah!” Lady Dearsley huffed. “I’ll not listen to any more of your speculations. What is this world coming to when gentlemen are unwilling to retrieve a young woman from the dangers of the road? Get out of my sight, all of you.”
With this final exclamation Lady Dearsley threw all three of them out of her town house, Monty blustering with apologies.
Dryden pulled Giles aside. “Don’t think this lets you off the hook. The only reason I haven’t got you on the road to York this very moment is because the longer this situation in Paris is unattended, the more likely we are to lose the trail. If you can’t find out what happened to Webb, then you will need to find this Brazen Angel woman.”
Giles glanced up at Monty, who was still offering his full repertoire of inappropriate gallantries and apologies to Lady Dearsley. “I think the Brazen Angel is still here. Here in London. At least for the moment.”
“Yes, that fits Webb’s theory.” Dryden’s brow furrowed with concentration. “You’ve got until the morning. If you haven’t found her by then, be on that ship. If my suspicions are correct, she’s probably looking to replenish her coffers quickly before returning to Paris. If you don’t find her tonight, I want you in Paris waiting for her when she resurfaces.”
The sound of Lady Dearsley’s thick front door slamming shut brought Giles’s attention back to the matters at hand.
“What about my bride?” Giles asked, Lady Dearsley’s accusations still tolling their guilt-ridden peal in his ears.
“She’s traveled between her aunts’ homes with only the company of this Mrs. Langston for years. Despite Lady Dearsley’s dire predictions, the girl knows what she’s doing and won’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“Still . . .” Giles thought about the frail young woman he’d met hours earlier. Her racking coughs and translucent skin belied the hardy image Lord Dryden
Yet bringing Webb’s betrayer to justice was worth more to Giles than the misbehavior of a spoiled, misguided chit.
“Well, Lord Trahern,” Lady Dearsley puffed. “Are you or are you not going after my niece?”
“That is impossible, milady. I cannot delay my plans because your niece chose to run off.”
Lady Dearsley paled, her feathers quivering as she trembled with anger. Before her hovering maid could pacify her, she erupted. “Lord Dryden, I hold you personally responsible for this fiasco. You and Celia talked me into this marriage, and now look what it has done—my poor Sophia is lost . . . perhaps forever …”
From the strained look on Dryden’s face Giles knew his superior was making a painful decision—send him on to Paris to investigate Webb’s death, or defer to a deathbed promise.
Giles suspected he was about to spend the night searching the roads out of London.
But Dryden’s choice stunned him.
“My dear Lady Dearsley,” Dryden began, “your niece’s actions are most regrettable. And while I am honor-bound to see this marriage secured, it appears we have not given the young lady and Lord Trahern enough time to get acquainted.”
“Acquainted? What kind of nonsense is that?” She turned her anger toward the older man. “They can get acquainted just fine once they are married. Sophia suffers from an overactive imagination. I wouldn’t put it past that Mrs. Langston, with her stories of her heroic Captain Langston, to have filled the girl’s head with a load of romantic blather.”
Dryden cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, the girl is well on her way either north or west, and until she arrives safely at the Caryll estates or into the warm embrace of her aunt, Lady Larkhall, there is no way we can locate her. She could have taken a number of routes or be safely hidden with an acquaintance here in town. Since your niece knows Lord Trahern is leaving on the morning tide, she will likely reappear by midday, assuming her bridegroom gone.”
“Bah!” Lady Dearsley huffed. “I’ll not listen to any more of your speculations. What is this world coming to when gentlemen are unwilling to retrieve a young woman from the dangers of the road? Get out of my sight, all of you.”
With this final exclamation Lady Dearsley threw all three of them out of her town house, Monty blustering with apologies.
Dryden pulled Giles aside. “Don’t think this lets you off the hook. The only reason I haven’t got you on the road to York this very moment is because the longer this situation in Paris is unattended, the more likely we are to lose the trail. If you can’t find out what happened to Webb, then you will need to find this Brazen Angel woman.”
Giles glanced up at Monty, who was still offering his full repertoire of inappropriate gallantries and apologies to Lady Dearsley. “I think the Brazen Angel is still here. Here in London. At least for the moment.”
“Yes, that fits Webb’s theory.” Dryden’s brow furrowed with concentration. “You’ve got until the morning. If you haven’t found her by then, be on that ship. If my suspicions are correct, she’s probably looking to replenish her coffers quickly before returning to Paris. If you don’t find her tonight, I want you in Paris waiting for her when she resurfaces.”
The sound of Lady Dearsley’s thick front door slamming shut brought Giles’s attention back to the matters at hand.
“What about my bride?” Giles asked, Lady Dearsley’s accusations still tolling their guilt-ridden peal in his ears.
“She’s traveled between her aunts’ homes with only the company of this Mrs. Langston for years. Despite Lady Dearsley’s dire predictions, the girl knows what she’s doing and won’t take any unnecessary risks.”
“Still . . .” Giles thought about the frail young woman he’d met hours earlier. Her racking coughs and translucent skin belied the hardy image Lord Dryden
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