Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order #3) - Adele Clee Page 0,35

wanted to ensure Mr Ramsey knew the nature of his relationship with Miss Hart.

Evan inclined his head. “What Miss Hart failed to add is that I am her betrothed.”

“B-betrothed?” Mr Ramsey’s eyes widened in shock, coupled with a faint flicker of horror. “Betrothed? But this is the first I’ve heard. You must have made the decision rather suddenly.” He forced a smile. “Betrothed, by Gad! Well, I suppose I must congratulate you both on your upcoming nuptials. I trust Mr Buchanan has given him the once over.” His watery laugh trickled to nothing.

Miss Hart glanced up at Evan with beaming admiration, purely for Mr Ramsey’s benefit, of course. “Buchanan is not my keeper, sir, but he is more than thrilled with my choice. As am I. There is no finer gentleman in all of London.”

An awkward silence ensued.

Not that Evan cared. He was busy trying to determine why his heart skipped a beat upon hearing Miss Hart’s praise. Why he wanted to believe the comment reflected her true feelings.

“Is there something of particular interest to you in Long Lane, Mr Ramsey?” Evan kept all hint of suspicion from his voice. Strange to meet a man on Miss Hart’s list of suspects a hundred yards from Mr Golding’s office, and within minutes of them leaving the lawyer, too.

“I’m to meet a friend at the tavern and then we’re to watch a bare-knuckle prizefight at some point this afternoon.”

Ramsey’s rapid blinking said that was another lie.

“If it’s entertainment you seek, those working the puppetry booth have turned a tragedy such as a plague into a comedic farce.” Evan watched Mr Ramsey’s facial expression with hawk-like intensity. “They’ve dressed the puppets in black cloaks and beaked masks.”

Mr Ramsey swallowed deeply. “As I say, I’m to meet a friend, and he’s determined to drink himself silly and shout at the brawlers.” With a sudden urgency, he doffed his hat to Miss Hart. “Well, I best be off. I shall call to take tea with you on Friday, my dear. Better not keep Jeremiah waiting.”

Evan watched the gentleman scuttle away through the crowd.

“You distrust him, don’t you?” Miss Hart laid her palm gently on Evan’s chest to gain his attention. The tenderness of her touch made his heart swell. It occurred to him that the more they grew accustomed to the idea of marriage, the more intimate their gestures became.

“He’s meeting someone in the tavern, but not for the reason he explained.”

“Perhaps we should walk to the tavern and see who enters.”

“It’s better to gather evidence before confronting the man. I’ll ask D’Angelo to investigate Mr Ramsey’s background.” With the streets brimming with pickpockets, Evan refrained from pulling out his watch and inspecting the time. “Besides, we’re due in Hart Street. We meet on Wednesdays for Daventry’s briefing.”

Miss Hart inhaled sharply. “Will you tell them we’re to marry?”

“Of course. They’re my friends and my colleagues.” And he trusted the men implicitly. “We will need their help as the case progresses.”

Villains behaved recklessly when cornered. The wild shot fired by the masked rider had served as a distraction. But instinct said, at some point soon, they would find themselves staring down the barrel of a pistol.

“Forgive me. I must have something wrong with my ears.” D’Angelo shuffled to the edge of his seat in the drawing room. The man had spent the last thirty seconds gawping. “Did you mention the word marriage?”

Evan gripped the back of Miss Hart’s chair as he stood behind, scanning the men’s shocked faces. “Miss Hart and I are to marry as soon as possible.” He almost heard the clamour of questions forming in their minds. “And no, we were not found in a compromising clinch, nor am I deep in debt or under the influence of opium.”

“But you’re not in love,” Daventry stated, for he did not mince words.

“No, we are not in love, sir,” Miss Hart replied. “And if we knew of another way to solve our problem, we would not take such drastic action.”

All four men stared.

“So let me understand the situation.” Cole rubbed his bearded jaw and narrowed his gaze. “You say your grandfathers made a contract whereby Miss Hart can force you to marry her.”

“Not force,” she said, mildly affronted. “Mr Sloane has a choice.”

“It doesn’t sound as if you’ve given him a choice,” Noah Ashwood added.

Miss Hart shook her head. “Lord Hawkridge,” she began, deferring to Ashwood’s title, unaware he despised the fact he had inherited a baronetcy. “Like Mr Sloane, I had no intention of