“I asked you,” Nash said, struggling to keep ahold of his composure, “why you were not with your wife.”
“And I’m telling ye.”
He leaned hard against the back of his chair, feeling as if the world were collapsing in on him. “Do you mind getting on with it?”
“Ye look as if ye want to pound on something,” Carrington said in answer and with a slight smile. “Bad day?”
The desire to do just that rose dark and powerful within Nash. “You found me drinking alone, did you not?”
“Point taken. I’ll just leave ye to it, then.”
Nash had his hand on Carrington’s arm before he’d even realized he’d moved to stop his friend. The reaction was instinctual, and thankfully, Carrington did not protest. Instead, he offered Nash a triumphant look that sounded a warning in Nash’s mind.
The man slowly sat, and Nash released him. “My wife is on a mission,” Carrington said. “That’s what her society does. They task themselves with preventing rogues from ruining unsuspecting women.”
Nash frowned. That sounded as if it could be dangerous. “Do you not worry for her? Should you not be with her?”
“She no longer goes on any dangerous missions without me. It was a vow she made to me once I learned about the society.”
Nash blew out a relieved breath. He couldn’t even think of Lilias in danger. “Very wise of you to require such a vow. I imagine the other ladies did not care for that.” He was thinking specifically of Lilias, but of course, he would not say so.
“I don’t think they loved that my wife would not be joining them, but they’ve not voiced any displeasure to me.”
Nash leaned forward, his pulse ticking upward. “Do you mean to say the other women in the society—What did you call it?”
“The Society of Ladies Against Rogues. Or SLAR, as they refer to it.”
Nash nodded. “Do the other women still go on dangerous missions?”
“They do. They need a good man to take them in hand, but ye’d be surprised how hard some women can be to control.”
No, he wouldn’t. He knew Lilias and how independent she was. “Surely they don’t go alone?”
“I go when I can, but take tonight, for example… I had an engagement to attend, so Lady Lilias went down to Satan’s Den on a search and rescue mission without me.”
“Satan’s Den?” Nash couldn’t breathe. It was one of the oldest, most notorious gambling and pleasure dens in one of the most notorious rookeries, St. Giles. “You cannot be serious. You cannot be sitting here telling me that you allowed Lady Lilias to go to such a dangerous place alone.”
“I cannot control a woman who is not any relation of mine.”
“I’ll kill you if anything has happened to her,” Nash said, rising, losing his grip on his control, which had been rapidly slipping. He was already considering the quickest way to get to the rookery.
“Nothing happened,” Carrington said.
“How would you know?” Nash roared.
Carrington studied Nash for a long, silent minute. “She sent word that all went well before I came here. Mission accomplished. But it’s interesting to hear that ye would wish to kill me if she was injured.”
Nash slumped down into his chair. He’d been played by Carrington. He finished the last bit of his drink and stared at Carrington, waiting to hear what the man had really come here to say.
His friend’s gaze softened in understanding and pity. “Ye should tell her how ye feel about her.”
“No.” There was really no point denying it now. “She is betrothed to my friend, and regardless of what your wife might think”—whatever excuse for her betrothal his mind tried to torture him with—“I’ve reason enough to believe she wants to be.” Nash had bloody well practically orchestrated the deed, though he’d not been behind her being ruined. That had been chance. Though, what if she’d not been found on the terrace kissing Owen? Would she still have accepted his offer?
Yes, you bloody fool.
She’d been the one to kiss Owen, after all. Owen had told him so.
“I’ll tell ye from personal experience that what we men believe a woman is thinking and feeling is rarely correct. They are wonderfully mysterious.”
