Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order #3) - Adele Clee Page 0,65
their clothes and look reasonably presentable.
“Enter,” he called, aware the scent of sated lust hung in the air.
Fitchett appeared. “Forgive me, sir, but it’s a matter of the utmost urgency. You asked to be informed when I heard from Mr Buchanan.”
“Has he returned?”
“No, sir. A boy arrived in a hackney. He brought a note.” Fitchett stepped forward with the salver. “Buchanan paid the boy’s return fare.”
Evan took the note and read it quickly. “We need to head to town.”
Vivienne gasped. “Tonight? Is everything all right?”
“Yes, we’re to meet Buchanan in Lambeth, south side of Walcot Square. It appears he’s found Golding and Wicks.”
Chapter 16
Walcot Square consisted of two rows of terrace houses facing a communal green, though Vivienne wondered why it was considered a square when it resembled a triangle.
“You’re certain both men are in the house?” Evan addressed Buchanan in a hushed voice, despite the fact they stood hidden in the shadows.
“Aye. I met both men when I escorted Miss Hart to the office a few weeks ago. It’s them. Golding answered the door to the fellow in the burgundy coat. He went inside, left two hours later. Then Wicks left and took off towards Kennington Road.”
“But he came back,” Vivienne confirmed.
“Aye, stumbling about the street and singing a country ballad. Golding ushered him inside and slammed the door. That was about an hour ago.”
Vivienne glanced at Evan, though it was difficult to concentrate when remembering the wanton way she’d claimed his body. Indeed, she would rather be astride him in front of a roaring fire than standing in the dark on a cold, damp night.
“So,” she said with a shrug. “What’s the plan?”
With his mouth curled in a wicked grin, Evan looked like Lucifer’s prodigy. “We’ll hammer on the door until someone answers. One’s past seventy, the other a drunken lout, I doubt they’ll run.” He looked at Buchanan. “You’ll remain with us.”
“I canna wait to hear why the canny old devil lied.”
“Mr Golding hasn’t exactly lied, Buchanan. He might be hiding here in fear of his life.”
“You must be cold, Buchanan, and I’m desperate to get home to my bed.” Something in Evan’s tone hinted there was space for her there, too. “Let’s get this over with.”
They strode across the square, opened the wrought-iron gate of Number 8, and mounted the five stone steps. Evan banged the black door with his clenched fist, raised the brass knocker and slammed it against the plate. No one came.
Vivienne inhaled. “Someone is home. I can smell stewed cabbage.”
“Och, the devil just peered through the gap in the curtains.”
Evan knocked again.
They heard the scuffle of feet, raised voices and barked orders, before Mr Golding called, “Wait! Wait! I’m coming!” He opened the door and craned his neck to look over Evan’s shoulder. “Hurry. Come inside before every fortune hunter in London knows you’re here.”
He ushered them in quickly, closed the door and slid the bolt across.
Vivienne followed the lawyer into the front room. “We’ve been so worried. Out of our minds wondering what happened.” She sat in the chair closest to the hearth as directed, glad of an opportunity to warm her hands, though the thought left her picturing Evan Sloane’s muscular chest. “We feared you’d met a grisly end.”
“Forgive me, my dear.” Mr Golding gestured to the sofa, and the old thing creaked when Buchanan and Evan dropped into the seat. “We had no option but to leave Long Lane.”
“I gave you my card,” Evan snapped. “You could have let us know you were safe. Had we not gone to visit Howarth, we would still be wandering aimlessly in the dark.”
Mr Golding’s weary sigh carried the weight of a seventy-year burden. He sat in the wingback chair opposite Vivienne and shook his head.
“You must understand. My father swore to follow the instructions set by Livingston Sloane and Lucian Hart. I swore to repay my father’s debt and do the same. My loyalty is to them first and foremost. It was a condition I remove myself from Long Lane, so you couldn’t find me.”
“I don’t suppose Livingston considered the fact his grandson would be an enquiry agent. Not when your father was raised by one of society’s grand matrons.”
“Like Livingston Sloane, I do what I please. I do not bow to society’s hypocritical demands.”
“A philosophy that would have made him proud.”
Evan’s mood altered—his annoyance replaced by a sad introspection. Vivienne thought she knew why.
“It’s strange we should feel deeply connected to men we’ve never