Raven (Gentlemen of the Order #2) - Adele Clee Page 0,39
was the master of Blackborne. “Who told you she lives there? Who implied we are lovers?”
His last comment conjured a mental image. The eerie bedchamber in Blackborne now a dark, sensual place where a couple might satisfy every base desire.
“I—I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before.”
Finlay shrugged. “Then I’ll choke the answer from your lying lips.” He applied a little pressure to the lord’s Adam’s apple.
“Ow! Wait! I’ll tell you,” he cried amid the din of raucous laughter coming from the auditorium. “I—” He paused.
Finlay released the fellow and stepped back. “Well, we’re waiting.”
“You won’t believe me, but I swear it’s the truth.” The lord straightened his cravat. “I was in a coffeehouse and overheard a conversation between two people in the adjacent booth.”
Suspicion flared. “A coffeehouse? Where?”
“Mulligans, in Bedford Street. I was waiting for Harrington.”
“What a remarkable coincidence,” Finlay mocked.
Sophia edged closer. “And what did they say?” She touched Finlay’s arm as if contact brought reassurance.
“They were mumbling, but the gentleman said that you were living at Blackborne permanently. He said it complicated matters.”
“Describe him,” Finlay snapped. He would stake his life it was Dr Goodwin.
“Wavy brown hair, patrician nose, thirty or so. Not the fashionable sort.”
Stone the crows!
It was the blasted doctor. So much for his stories of being inundated with patients in Godstow. Clearly, he had time to venture to London and gossip in a coffeehouse.
“When was this?” Sophia asked, sounding somewhat puzzled.
“I’d not long returned to town, so a week ago.”
“And who was his companion?”
The lord gave a nonchalant shrug. “A woman. Though I can assure you we do not mingle in the same circles.”
“I need a description,” Finlay demanded.
Adair sighed. “Petite. Blonde. An appalling sense of dress. That’s all I can tell you.” Adair looked at the closed door. “Can I leave now? I’m missing the performance. I’ve been waiting weeks to—”
“And you can bloody well wait a few more minutes,” Finlay said, clenching his jaw. “I want more information. They must have said something else, something to make you journey out of town to hunt for your stepmother.”
Adair shifted uncomfortably. “The fellow explained that Lady Adair had spoken about hiring an enquiry agent, that she was convinced something was amiss. The woman seemed confident Sophia would grow tired of Blackborne and return to town.”
“And what the hell has that to do with you?” Finlay shouted above the shrieks of laughter emanating from the adjacent boxes.
“I thought she—” Adair’s features contorted with embarrassment. “Damn and blast. I thought she’d heard I needed her out of the house in Portman Street so I could sell it to settle my debts.”
Finlay wasn’t shocked by the revelation. Men like Lord Adair, men with a need to prove themselves superior, often lived beyond their means.
“I knew she’d deceived my father out of funds,” the lord continued, his face twisted with hatred. “When I heard she owned a house in Windlesham, a house that wasn’t mentioned in the will, I thought to reveal her duplicity.”
“And you thought to blackmail me into giving up my right to live in Portman Street,” Sophia added. “To threaten me into submission. Your father would be ashamed.”
Anger sparked in the lord’s insipid eyes. “I need the damn money.”
“Had you approached me and explained your problem, I might have vacated the property.” Sophia raised her chin in an act of defiance. “Now, I find I’m rather fond of the house in Portman Street and cannot bear to leave.”
The pompous lord gritted his teeth. “Why, you dratted witch.” He shot forward. “I should—”
Finlay pushed the lord back against the shelf. “Did I not warn you about your disrespectful tone? Do not leave town. I may have more questions and would hate to have to hunt you down.”
“And I would hate to gossip about your lack of funds,” Sophia added, “but sometimes I cannot help myself.”
Adair glared but kept his lips pursed.
Finlay yanked open the door, the light in the corridor causing momentary blindness. “Leave. And get your foppish friends out of my box.”
The lord scurried past them in his shiny buckled shoes, his face as pale as his white stockings.
An unladylike growl left Sophia’s lips. “That devil needs horsewhipping.” She slammed the door closed, immersing them in darkness. “Oh! I forgot we were in the broom cupboard.”
Suddenly, it didn’t seem like a room for plates and brooms, but a private place where a couple might indulge their desires. A place for a passionate encounter. A place where a man might forget anything existed beyond these walls.
While