Cloaked in Danger (14 page)

Chapter Fifteen

The next afternoon, Adam headed to his study to devote some much-needed attention on his estates. His estate manager handled most of the day to day, but Adam hoped the distraction might restore a little balance to his mind.

He wanted to believe Aria.

He understood her overwhelming need to believe her father was out there, waiting to be found. But so far, she hadn’t uncovered a single clue to his whereabouts. And while Adam was willing to entertain the idea that if alive, Whitney might have a good reason to stay away, the man hadn’t gotten word to his family. Not a whisper, not a hint. Nothing.

It was as though Gideon Whitney had vanished.

Adam had tracked down a vanished man before: Thomas Ashton had abandoned Blythe on their wedding day, and Adam had sent men in search of him. They had discovered far more about Ashton than Adam would have imagined, none of it good.

Each new revelation had hurt Blythe—believing Thomas had died, learning he had married his mistress, that she was pregnant. Learning that Thomas had been alive all along. That he’d stolen money from her and many others. One nightmare after another that had led to Ashton’s death, by Adam’s hand.

The idea that Aria could face that pain... If he could spare her that, he had to find a way. He could not see another woman he loved flayed open.

Voices came at him as he turned down the stairs—whispers, a hushed chuckle. As the front door became clear, Adam found his sister standing within a few inches of a man.

Lily. With Mr. Melrose.

Cordelia’s Melrose.

When they spotted him, Robert and Lily jumped a foot in opposite directions and Lily lifted her head upward. “Adam.”

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked sharply.

“Mr. Melrose is here to call upon Cordelia,” she said in a rush, as if she’d rehearsed it.

Adam studied his sister’s guileless face as he descended the last few steps.

“Mr. Melrose!” Cordelia’s voice echoed down the corridor and the clip of her heels hitting the hardwood floor turned their attention. “What a pleasure to see you today. I was just informed of your arrival.”

“Twenty minutes ago,” Lily muttered under her breath.

“Perhaps we should remove to the parlor, Mr. Melrose? Mother will be along shortly.” Cordelia stopped in front of them, her maid in tow behind her.

“Lily, a word?” Adam asked, though it was more of a command.

He waited until Cordelia and Melrose had moved into the other room.

“Spending any time with one of Cordelia’s suitors is a very bad idea.”

“I hold no illusions, Adam, so you do not need to warn me of a broken heart. Mr. Melrose cares for Cordelia.” The corners of her mouth lifted. “Though one could wonder why.”

Adam smiled in return. “Yes, one could.”

There were a number of men who would look at Cordelia’s beauty, her poise, and not bother to look any further. They didn’t need more. That sort of marriage would suit Cordelia perfectly, but Lily was gentle. Kind. She would love the man she married, whether he loved her back or not.

“It would be best if you kept your distance from Mr. Melrose.”

Her lashes fluttered down as she nodded. “You won’t tell Cordelia, will you?”

Adam pinched the bridge between his eyes. “No. She would double her efforts to be contrary and remain the center of his attention.” After Lily left, he leaned back in his chair.

The last thing this house needed was sisters vying for the same man.

His hand landed on the desk, touching the smooth surface of a sealed envelope. He picked it up and flipped it over in his hand.

He’d forgotten he had this.

He should have given this letter to his mother within minutes of when he’d received it from Mr. Calebowe. When he’d gone up to his mother’s room to ask about the man, she’d refused to open her door. The next day, she had acted as if he’d never shown up at all, and Adam had been all too willing to assume the same stance.

Who was this man? What had he done to upset his mother so much, so many years later?

Adam dropped the letter on his desk and looked up at the portrait of his father that hung on the wall over the fireplace. He did that often, for some sense of connection. For advice. Wisdom.

Adam rubbed his chest, trying to dispel the slight ache there. The mantle of his birthright weighed heavy at times, and today was no exception. He had done his best to fill the shoes of the man of the house, but he’d never imagined how truly large they were.

“Adam.” The gentle voice belonged to his mother, and he heard the swish of fabric move closer before she appeared beside him. Her fresh, flowery scent filled the room.

Had his father known about Mr. Calebowe? Had it mattered? Had it—

Adam shook his head. There was no good to come of second-guessing. He had the letter, and it was time he gave it to his mother and got some answers.

“Adam?”

He met her gaze. “My apologies, Mama. I’m distracted.”

“So I see. Is this about Miss Whitney? Or are you somehow concerned by Cordelia’s suitor, Mr. Melrose?”

Adam moved to drop into his father’s big leather chair. “He is of no consequence. She doesn’t even like him. I don’t even know why she bothers to spend time with him.”

“Every woman likes to be courted.” She settled against the desk, in a pose he’d seen hundreds of times as she sat close to his father.

“So she is simply stroking her ego, at that man’s expense.”

“Perhaps, but I doubt she’s aware of that. She simply enjoys the attention. It is a heady feeling to be courted by a man who openly admires you.” Her wistful, slightly far-off tone did not escape him.

“Who is that man, Mama?” Adam asked quietly. “I have tried not to pry, but—”

“As well you shouldn’t as it’s none of your business.” She pushed off the desk and moved around the room, one hand down at her side lightly trailing along the bookcase.

“He left something for you.”

She stopped midstride.

Adam picked up the letter and watched as she hesitated a moment, then slowly turned around. He held it out to her. “It’s a letter.”

“I see that.”

“Aren’t you going to come get it?”

His mother’s gaze never left the envelope he held, but she stepped to the nearest chair, and with a deep breath in and out, sat down. “I don’t know.”

Protective instinct rose in Adam like a fast-moving flood. “Do you want me to handle this? Has he bothered you in some way? Is he—”

“So many questions,” she murmured. “Give it to me, Adam.”

Once the letter was in her hands, Adam loomed, wanting to be whatever she needed, but not sure what that was. She stared at that envelope as if the very man was encased inside it. Was it possible he could intrude on a letter? “Would you like me to leave?”

“No.” Still she stared at it. Then in a flurry of movement, she tore the envelope, yanked out the letter, and smoothed it open.

About halfway down, she grew teary. Adam fought the urge to toss the bloody letter into the fire. He hated it when she cried.

Then she chuckled.

Then she muttered, “Well, goodness, you idiot.”

A tear fell down her cheek, and she lifted hand to wipe it as the corners of her mouth curved upward.

Unable to stand it any longer, Adam turned on a heel and strode to his desk. He didn’t want to know what sort of man, other than his father, could create such a reaction in her.

And wasn’t that a stupid response. She was a grown woman.

Adam whirled around. “Who is Mr. Calebowe?”

She wiped at tears and angled her head up. “Franklin was someone I knew long ago, before I met your father. We grew up together. I suppose one could say we were childhood sweethearts.”

Adam stood stiffly. “He said you were engaged.”

“Yes, well...We...” Her gaze took on a faraway look. “Our mothers were the greatest of friends. Mama—your grandmamma—was the lady of the manor. Franklin’s mother was our seamstress. Franklin’s father worked on the property as a manager. Franklin and I were raised together. We were inseparable.”

“You’ve never once mentioned him.”

A hint of amusement sparkled in her eyes. “And why would I tell my children? Your father heard the stories. And by the time you were old enough to understand, Franklin had long since been gone from my life.” She looked down at the letter. “Something I had not understood until now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he simply disappeared one day. We were teenagers, and we had dreamed of sharing our lives together. I loved him, Adam, and I never cared about the discrepancy between our places in life. But Franklin was proud. He would not stand for anyone to call him a fortune hunter. He believed it would be a stigma he would never live down if we’d married.”

“Grandpapa wouldn’t have allowed it.”

She smiled fondly. “He had given his permission. Your grandfather had his heir and his line was secure. It was bold of him, but he knew Franklin and I loved each other, and he knew Franklin was a good, honorable man.”

“How did Papa come into this?” He had visions of an entanglement that, with his mother at the center, made him damn uncomfortable to even consider.

“He says in this letter that he thought he needed to make his fortune before we married. However, he never told anyone that. He left me a simple note that said, ‘Don’t wait for me.’ It was his supremely stupid way of ensuring that if he didn’t succeed, I would not pine away for him.”

“So Papa was second choice. You married Papa because Calebowe had abandoned you.”

She chuckled. “Adam, parents have lives before they marry. Before they have children. And I loved before your father. I was devastated when Franklin left, and I did wait. For two years, I waited for a single word. He never sent one. I had no choice but to move on with my life. I was nearing the age of twenty and your grandparents had all but lost hope that I’d regain interest in finding a husband.” A slow smile spread over her face. “Then I met Robert Willoughby.”

Adam felt her smile in his heart; it was the same look he’d seen her give his father over the years, the same one—albeit with a touch more sadness—that she’d had ever since his death.

“Your father was handsome, enigmatic. He made me laugh more than I’d laughed in years. He tugged at my heart, and I was more than willing to give it to him.” She stood, walked to Adam, and squeezed his arm lightly. “Franklin will always be my first love, but I believe I loved your father more for it. I do not regret how my life turned out. Robert was the love of my life and he gave me my children.”

“And now? What will do you that Calebowe is back? What does he want?”

She lifted the letter in a shrug. “He seems to want me. But I don’t know how I feel about that.”

“Did he ever make his fortune?” Adam wondered, though it was a needless question. He’d already dispatched an investigator to research the man thoroughly. Soon, he would know everything there was to know about Franklin Calebowe.

His mother glanced down at the letter. “I do not know—he never mentions that in here.”

Perhaps the old chap had learned that she had married well. Perhaps he was here to play on her emotions, all for financial gain.

“Mama, I don’t want you to see him until I can find out more about him.”

“Oh, poppycosh, young man. I will do as I please. You are my son, not my keeper.”

“You don’t know anything about him or what he wants.”

“Which is why I need to see him.” She patted his arm. “But that is my worry. You have plenty of your own worries with Miss Whitney.”

“Miss Whitney?” The echo came from the doorway and turned both their heads. Cordelia pushed the door farther open. “So you’ve heard already? And here I thought I had the market on the latest gossip.”

“What gossip, Cordelia?” Adam asked.

“Mr. Melrose left.” Cordelia stood in the doorway. “He told me that Mr. Whitney, the famous treasure hunter, has been killed.”

Chapter Sixteen

Aria headed down the stairs. She was exhausted and the thought of pretending to be merry and cheerful for a crowd was about as appealing as the plague.

Her worries, her fears had crept to the surface and refused to be shoved back down, and now doubt had set in. Doubt that what she was doing was right, that her father would want her to do anything at all.

Should she keep searching? Should she stop? She had only her belief, in her gut, that he was alive. Her father was a survivor. That wasn’t exactly proof, and she knew it wasn’t logical. But he’d always been invincible to her, and she couldn’t let go of that. But now, she had more questions than answers. And her relationship with Adam only added to that.

She had pressed him into an untenable position by demanding blind allegiance to her pursuit. She knew it was unreasonable and unfair.

But she also knew he would honor his word.

That meant she could count on him. That meant he would be there for her, be strong for her, even when she lost her way. And Aria hated to admit it, but the right way wasn’t nearly as clear as it had once been.

“There you are.” Emily appeared in the doorway to the parlor.

In all black.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

Emily’s lips thinned, nearly disappearing in her drawn, grief-filled face. “We’ve been waiting for you. Will you please come in here?” Instead of waiting for a reply, she went back into the room.

Aria had no choice but to follow.

She entered the doorway and glanced about. “John! You must be feeling better.” She hurried to him. “I knew everything would be...” She trailed off as his appearance sank in—a face too pale, lips dry and cracked, and what frightened her the most: the resigned, dull look in his eyes.

“Aria, this is Benjamin Corey.”

Only then did she realize someone else was in the room.

“Miss Whitney, my gravest condolences on the loss of your father.”

She frowned. “My father isn’t gone, Mr. Corey.”

His brow furrowed, Mr. Corey looked from John to Emily and back to Aria. “Mr. Whitney is not dead?”

“We don’t know what happened to him yet,” Aria replied, her alarm deepening. “What is this about?”

“Mr. Corey, will my testimony, as well as my own injuries, provide sufficient evidence for the courts to decide upon this matter?” John sounded so tired.

Mr. Corey looked down at the papers in his hand. “Yes, it provides a very clear picture.” He looked over at Emily. “In the meantime, your husband provided for circumstances such as this. Unless you object, his monies will continue in their current investments, managers in place, and we will continue to provide you and Miss Whitney with your allowances each month and meet your bills. You will not want for anything, either of you.”

“Why are you talking about money?” Aria demanded, looking at each of them. “What is going on here?”

“Gideon would want to know that you, Emily and the babe are settled.” John’s voice was strained. “My accounting of that night has to be on record, so you may petition the courts for a legal declaring of death.”

“Why would we petition for a declaring of death?” Aria stood. “We don’t know that he’s dead, we don’t know what—”

“Aria, the courts could be tangled for years without this. And—” he paused, his face in spasms as coughs erupted, “—I don’t have years. I need to put things in order.”

Suddenly a racket from the front door caught her attention, and in seconds, Mr. Wade strode through the parlor doors. He shed his overcoat and immediately went to her side.

“I heard.” He stopped in front of her, reached out to take her hand. Lines of worry etched the corners of his mouth and his brow. “I am so sorry.”

She stared at him, her mind drawing blank. “What are you talking about?”

“Your father,” Wade replied, his gaze darting from her to John and back. “His...death. Miss Whit—Aria, I know this must be difficult. I’m here to help you through this, whatever you need.”

He reached out as if to pull her in his arms and she held a hand up. “I don’t know what you heard or how you heard it.” She scowled at Mr. Corey. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Aria, it’s all right. You don’t need to deal with this.” His chest puffed out slightly, Patrick turned his back on her, and with a sideways, dismissive glance at John, faced Mr. Corey. “Whatever you need, please address those concerns to me.”

“No, you will not.” Aria came around until she was facing him. “Mr. Wade, what are you doing here? I didn’t ask for you to come.”

He patted her on the arm. “Darling, you don’t have to ask. The minute I heard, I knew you would need me. Why don’t you go rest? I’m sure this has been a difficult day for you. You’ll feel better after some sleep.”

“I don’t need sleep! What I need is for everyone to stop discussing this as if it was a foregone conclusion.”

Emily pushed herself up from a chair with the awkwardness of a woman months into pregnancy. “Perhaps you can help, Mr. Wade. We’ve been unable to convince Aria to accept the truth about her father, and ’tis past time she let go.”

“The truth is that you seem all too eager to be pronounced the wealthy widow.” The words fell out before she could snap them back, and Aria winced. “Emily, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Emily sucked in a breath, her face stricken. “I have never cared about Gideon’s wealth. I married him because I loved him.”

“I know that.” Guilt warmed Aria’s skin. She would bite her tongue before lashing out again. “Please. I spoke in anger. I didn’t mean it.”

“But I did encourage John to do this. I sent for Mr. Corey.” Emily curved her arms around her stomach, put her chin up. “I am doing what I believe Gideon would want, for both of his children. And I’ll continue to do exactly that.”

“You cannot declare my father dead without a body.”

“Your father’s partner has provided sufficient evidence of an event, in my opinion, that the courts will be able to rule in this matter.” Mr. Corey shuffled his papers. “I can file the appropriate papers and set this in motion.”

Aria stepped over to slap a hand down on Mr. Corey’s papers. The stinging in her hand was almost a relief. “You will not leave this house with these, Mr. Corey. And you will keep your counsel and close your mouth about this or so help me, I shall tear you apart limb from limb myself.”

“Aria, stop speaking that way.” Patrick scowled at her as though she were an errant puppy. “It is unseemly.”

She ignored him and turned to John, “Don’t you see? If people believe Papa is dead, I will be forced into mourning. I will not be allowed to go to the parties or gatherings.”

“Parties?” Patrick demanded. “This is about those wretched parties you’ve been attending? I’ve been hearing some unsettling things, Aria and—”

“John, we have been searching for information, for people involved in Papa’s disappearance. His investors. I’ve had help, and we’ve narrowed the list to the last few. I just need a little more time—”

“We?” John interrupted.

“Who are you talking about?” Patrick’s tone grew sharp.

She continued on. “If you petition for an official ruling of death, it will be too late.”

“Sugarbits.”

One of John’s made-up nicknames.

Her chest swelled, ached. Her throat clogged with painful tears.

“No,” she managed, closing the gap until she crouched in front of John, grabbed his hands. “You don’t give up, Uncle John.”

“Aria, who are you talking about?” Patrick’s voice was an annoyance, like a buzzing in her ear.

She kept her attention on John, praying that her will, her hope to continue on, to believe would pass through to him. “I need you to keep believing. We have help now. I just need a little more time. Please.”

“Aria!” Patrick barked at her.

She whipped her head around. Anger pulsed through her, looking for a target to seek and destroy. “I don’t need you here!” And then a thought struck her. “How did you find out about this?”

“Mr. Corey’s partner is my solicitor.” A tick in his cheek pulsed. “He thought I would wish to be with you in your time of need. He told me your father had been killed. Since it obviously didn’t occur to you to confide in me.”

His wounded countenance stopped her seconds before she demanded he leave.

This wasn’t his fault. And neither was the fact that she didn’t love him. He was only trying to be kind, if in his own autocratic way. But his presence was setting her nerves on edge.

At her pause, he added, “I can help you through this, Aria.” Encouraged, he continued. “Marry me. Let me handle this for you.”

“Marry you?” Her utter shock brought the tone of her words about three pitches higher.

“Yes,” he urged. “I have asked you already, and given your circumstances, I can be here.” He looked at John. “It would be the best thing for her.”

“Do not speak about me as if I am not in the room.” The shock had worn off, and she stood. “I am not going to marry you. And I don’t need your help.”

John looked at her in surprise. “He doesn’t know?”

“What don’t I know? Someone else is helping you?” His upper lip curled enough to make his displeasure clear. “Who?”

“I am.”

At the deep voice, Aria fought warring instincts to sigh in relief and groan in frustration at the same time. But her body had different ideas. She turned, and at the sight of Adam in the doorway, moved toward him without thinking.

As she stopped at his side, his head tilted toward hers and his hand came up to rest on her upper arm with a gentle warmth that began to melt the tension. “Are you well?”

She nodded. Somehow, in that moment, she was.

“I know you,” Patrick said, pointing at Adam. “You were at the Gardens.”

“Yes,” Adam replied briskly, then looked back at Aria. “I came as soon as I heard. What happened? How did you find out?”

“Heard what?” She stilled.

“About your father.”

She flipped around to Mr. Corey. “How many people have you told?”

Mr. Corey’s mouth dropped. “I...”

“If your father is dead, what does it matter who knows?” Patrick asked.

“You need to leave now.” She turned toward John, feeling hemmed in on all sides. Aria pressed a hand to her temple to push against the fierce throbbing that had begun She turned to face John. “John, I am asking for a little more time.”

The exchange had exhausted John, who sat leaning slightly to the side, his head lolling as if heavy on his shoulders. He gave a sigh. “Mr. Corey, you have the paperwork you need?”

Corey nodded, giving Aria a wary glance.

“Hang on to it,” John told him.

“Thank you,” Aria said gratefully.

“I can’t give ye long, girlie. You have a week. And not fer my health, but fer yours. You have to accept what’s happened. We both know if your father could come back to us, he would. And he’s too stubborn to do anything else.”

“Aria, perhaps we can talk now?”

Patrick was still there? The room shrunk until his presence, John’s weary sadness, the solicitor’s antsy desire to get out of there and even Adam’s calming influence pressed in against her.

“I’m going for a walk,” she said, needing the breeze on her face.

“Perfect. I shall come with you,” Patrick replied.

“I believe the lady asked you to leave.” Adam’s tone was mild, but with a backbone of steel underlying it.

Patrick flung an arm in Adam’s direction. “He stays, and I must leave? I am expected to simply walk away from the woman I love, the woman I planned to marry?”

“Patrick.” She tried to soften her irritation. “I don’t love you.”

He offered her an oddly compassionate look. “You think that now.”

“I
know
that isn’t going to change. I am going to marry Lord Merewood.”

“That is a mistake. He would make you miserable.”

“I do not see it that way.”

The tick in Patrick’s cheek pulsed rapidly as he glanced at Adam. “I will be waiting when he does, Aria.” With those last words, he strode out of the room with hard, measured steps.

With him, half the tension in the room left. Aria’s body sagged, suddenly exhausted. Without questioning it, she leaned against Adam for a moment.

And at that point, John said firmly, “Lord Merewood, I wasn’t able to speak with you when you called before, but I can now. A moment, please, to speak with you.”

Adam nodded. “Of course.” He smiled at Aria. “Go on. I will join you in a bit, if that’s acceptable.”

She nodded. She needed to be outside. The fisted tension in her gut wouldn’t go away while she remained locked indoors. She needed the wind and the air, sometimes the pouring rain, to find her balance.

Amidst the low rumble of voices, she bustled herself into her outerwear. The rush of cold air at the front door was welcome, and she closed her eyes briefly and took in a long draft. The icy-cold air filled her throat and her lungs with a sting, but for the first time since she’d walked downstairs, she felt like she could breathe. She hurried down the front steps, turned the corner toward the park, and set a brisk pace toward her favorite spot.

It was likely too late to stem the flow of gossip about her father, so she had little time to finish her task.

And what on earth had possessed Patrick?

She didn’t feel even the slightest bit of grief at pushing him out of her life, though she was more than mildly surprised at his attitude. She had seen a wholly different side to him. Although comparisons were unfair, Aria appreciated the respect Adam showed. He didn’t assume to tell her how to speak, or act, or where to go.

Patrick had expectations completely at odds with the person she was. He wanted a perfect English rose, a woman of demure and ladylike attitude. Someone who would bend to his will and defer to his judgment in all things.

So why on earth had he courted her?

She was anything but demure, and as she’d been raised with a father who let her spirit run free, ladylike wasn’t top of her attributes either.

Not that it mattered now.

As she approached the busy street, Aria glanced in both directions for oncoming carriages, and seeing a lull in the activity, hurried across and into the familiar entrance of the park. She moved on automatic feet toward the path that led to her hidden spot.