“’Ave you any idea of the time?” he snapped. “I’ve killed men for less.”
Just what sort of fellowwasthis man, truly? “Have you, really?”
Chris shrugged. “Seems likely, at least.” He winced, turning slightly to direct a glare over his shoulder. “Ow, Phoebe,” he said. “It was a statement, not a threat. Go back upstairs; you’re not dressed.”
“Your wife?” Anthony asked, as the soft pad of retreating footsteps sounded through the door.
“She pinched my arse,” Chris said. “Doesn’t think I ought to toss certain words about so cavalierly. That some people—fools, obviously—might take them the wrong way.” His hand tightened upon the door jamb, blunt nails biting into the wood. “Now,” he said, his voice roughening. “State yer business and fuck off wiv ye.”
“I need to know where Charity might have gone,” Anthony said in a rush.
“’Ow the ‘ell should I know?” Chris asked, his brows drawing. “She does what she pleases. I ain’t her keeper.”
“No, but—” But this man and his wife were amongst her closest friends. Surely, if there were anyone who would know, it would be them. “Please,” he said. “I’ve been round her flat already. It’s locked up tight. No light in thewindows, and she didn’t answer the door. And her nearest neighbor—”
“Fer Christ’s sake,” Chris sighed. “You disturbed her neighbors?”
“What else was I meant to do?” Anthony said, with a wild little gesticulation of his hands. “They said they’d seen her packing a few trunks into a carriage just before nightfall. That she’d gone off in it and hadn’t returned.”
“Well, she ain’t here,” Chris said. “Like as not if she’s taken trunks with her, she’s well clear of London for the foreseeable future.”
“Butwhere?” Anthony asked insistently. “Please. I have to find her.”
“What for? She ain’t yer wife anymore, is she?” Chris asked.
Anthony felt his face freeze, as if the question had been delivered with a slap to punctuate it. “She told you?” he asked. “Already?”
“Not as such,” Chris said. “We ‘appened to be over at hers. Just a friendly visit, you know. She’s been a bit off lately. Phoebe was concerned.”
Off?Off? What was that meant to imply?
“She’d got a letter from the Church,” Chris continued. “Weren’t no great mystery what about.”
“Did she…say anything of it?” Had she been happy? Relieved?
“Not a word. She’s always been tightlipped. Besides, it weren’t any business o’ mine.” Chris’ gaze scoured his face, searching intently. “Aw,hell,” he sighed. “Ye changed yer mind, didn’t ye? Ye got an annulment it’s turned out ye don’t want.”
Anthony flinched from the blunt words. “Yes,” he admitted. “And I have got to find her. I have got to tell her—”
Chris inclined his head. “Tell ‘er what, then?”
“That I love her,” Anthony said, the words tumbling over one another as they poured out of him. “That I want her to be my wife.” In truth, this time. For the right reasons.
“You certain of that?” Chris asked, squinting at him in rank suspicion, modulating his voice and affecting a more serious inflection. “You’d be making a duchess of a courtesan. You won’t find acceptance amongst your sort. Neither of you.”
“I have never been more certain of anything in my life,” Anthony said. “I never wanted the title. I don’t care if we have no place within society. I don’t care if every door in London is closed to us—”
“Bit dramatic there,” Chris said. “I saidyoursort.Mysort is a different matter entirely. Charity’s one of us, and if it turns out she wants you—well, then, you are, too. ‘Course, it suits my interests to have a duke in my social circle. Could get some use out of that.” He turned his head and shouted,“Phoebe!”
The soft patter of bare feet once again, first from on high as they descended the staircase out of sight, and at last approaching the door. “For God’s sake, Kit,” a feminine voice sighed in affectionate exasperation. “It is the middle of the night. You’ll wake the whole street!”
“Charity’s skipped out of London,” Chris said. “Got to know where she might’ve taken ‘erself off to.”
“If I had to hazard a guess,” Phoebe said. “I’d say her sister’s is most likely. Mercy, that is—not Felicity.”
“You’re certain?”
“No, I’m notcertain.” A petulant stamp of a small foot. “She didn’t bother to tell me, the wretched woman. It’s just that I can’t think of anywhere else she might go. Felicity certainly could not host her, but Mercy and her husband have got an estate in the countryside.” Her hand wrenched at Chris’ shoulder to pull him down a bit, and she peered over it at Anthony. “Baron Thomas Armitage,” she said. “That’s Mercy’s husband. His estate is in Kent.”
