“Very early morning. I’m sorry.”
Hew narrowed his eyes. Belle was not one to apologize—especially not after the way she’d left last night. He felt he owed her an apology. Except he was damned if he would apologize for not bedding her. He was protecting her virtue, damn it. “Why are you apologizing? I’d like to think it is for the slander you lobbed at me when we parted last night, but for some reason I doubt that.”
The pleading in her eyes darkened, and she scowled. “I am not apologizing for that. I’m apologizing because I left Lady Keating’s home and returned to Fenchurch Street.”
“You what?” Hew sat up straight, wincing at the slight twinge in his side. Only a slight twinge, though. He was healing.
“You are on the mend.” Her gaze dropped to his chest and then hastily rose again. “I felt it was time I returned home. I have no idea how the shop has fared after that fire, and some of us must work for our bread.”
“I told you to stay away. You’re in danger. Returning there put your father in danger.”
“Too late for that.”
Hew cut short his tirade. The tone of her voice alarmed him. “What’s happened?”
“My father—”
To Hew’s shock, she crumpled on the bed beside him and began to weep. He hadn’t imagined she might weep at this. She always seemed so strong. He dropped his legs off the side of the bed to give her room, belatedly realizing he’d stripped before returning to bed last night. The only thing he wore was the linen bandage over his wound. He pulled the bedclothes up on his hips, but Belle’s limp figure had trapped them.
Hew put a hand on her back, attempting to comfort her. “What’s happened to your father?” he asked.
“He...Mrs. Price...she said...”
He couldn’t understand her between the sobs. “Belle.” He turned her head so she looked up at him. “Say it quick.”
“Mrs. Price said he’s been taken.” She threw herself at him, wrapping her arms about Hew’s chest. His bare chest. But he would not think about that now. Hew drew her back, despite his inclination to pull her closer, and looked her directly in the eye.
“Tell me exactly what was said.”
“She said—”
“No tears now. You won’t help him by blubbering.”
The look she gave him was full of venom, but his words had the intended effect. She stopped crying and took a breath. “I went to the shop, and he wasn’t there. I knew he’d been there because it was locked and the shelves had been restored to rights—mostly. But he wasn’t in the shop or in the flat. So I went to Mrs. Price’s flat and knocked on the door. She answered, and when she saw me, she burst into tears.” Belle’s own eyes began to water again, and Hew gave her a stern look.
“Go on.”
“She said, well, the short version is that they’d been watching the shop and noted no one suspicious. My father went back to clean up and didn’t return for supper. Mrs. Price went to fetch him, and the shop door was open, and he was not to be found.”
“Was there a note at the shop? Or some sort of communication?”
“I didn’t see anything.”
“Then we don’t know if this is related to my stabbing.”
“Don’t we? He’s never disappeared before. Come to think of it, our shop has never been set on fire before. I would say all of this has to do with you.”
Hew winced. He was painfully aware that the Howards had taken him in, without even a real option to say no, and had done their best to tend him. All he had done was bring them pain and misfortune. He’d set things to right. He was a Royal Saboteur. He could sabotage the assassins’ plan—even if it involved his own demise. “I need to see the shop and speak to Mrs. Price.”
“I told you what she—oh!”
Hew had thrown the bedclothes back and walked across the room to the chair where he’d left his clothing. His mind on his mission, he’d forgotten he was naked. He glanced over his shoulder to find Belle staring at him, mouth open. He raised a brow, and she turned pink and looked away.
“I told you what she—what she—”
“Yes, you told me what she said.” Hew found his trousers and pulled them on, careful not to twist his side or move too sharply. “But I need to see for myself and ask a few questions.” He lifted his shirt and tried to put it over his head, but he couldn’t raise the arm on his wounded side far enough. “Help me with this shirt, will you?”
“Do you have your, er—trousers on?”
