Miss Mary Killeen
“Letters,” Val said shortly. “But they belong to Miss Warrington, not Frank.”
He handed the bundle to Eversham, who read through them before handing them back.
“They’re dated over a month ago,” Eversham said. “Time enough for Miss Warrington to have visited Brighton.”
Val cursed.
“I don’t like this.” Eversham frowned. “Removing a potential heir from the picture is a much better motive for a murder than it is for an abduction.”
Val asked, “If Frank knew about this business in Brighton, why didn’t he mention it, for God’s sake?”
“We won’t know until we speak to him,” Eversham said. “What we do know is that one abductor is already dead. And your cousin is one of the only people who can identify the other.”
For the first time, Val felt real fear for Frank. If he were innocent of Miss Warrington’s abduction, and he was almost ready to believe that now, then his life was in danger. And now he appeared to be missing, too.
“It’s possible he found this mess and went on the run before they could finish the job they started yesterday,” Eversham said.
But Val wasn’t fooled by his unusual optimism. “You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I’ve been wrong before, Wrackham,” the detective said.
Val just had to hope like hell—for Frank’s sake—this was one of those rare times when Eversham had entirely missed the mark.
Chapter Thirteen
What do you mean Mr. Thorn is gone?” Caro stared at Val where he stood in the front entry hall.
A discreet cough from behind alerted her that Newton was there waiting to take Val to meet with her father. “I’ll need to speak with Lord Wrackham before he goes up to Papa, Newton.”
“Very good, Miss Caroline,” the older man said as he took Val’s belongings.
Caro noted the fatigue in her fiancé’s eyes as she tugged him into the nearest private chamber, a little-used parlor where her father sometimes met with fellow businessmen.
He’d changed clothes since that morning and was now attired in an expertly tailored suit of gray wool with a matching waistcoat and a snowy white shirt with a neatly tied cravat. It struck her once again just how handsome he was. The dark waves of his hair had been somewhat tamed but a rush of pleasure filled her as she recalled how her fingers had mussed it last evening. The rest of the world might know him like this—the polished aristocrat with an easy grace. But only she would be privy to his disheveled hair and passionate gazes now.
She felt a rush of affection for him in that moment. However the circumstances might have come about, she was glad to be marrying him.
“Come.” She pulled him over to a large winged chair. “I think Papa has some brandy hidden away in here. You look as if you need it.”
When Val didn’t protest at her fussing, she knew just how upset he was by his cousin’s disappearance. His face was pale, and his usual teasing had been replaced with grim silence. Even his earlier worry at Mr. Thorn’s threatening letter was no match for his shattered expression now.
He was silent as she searched the cabinets, and when she pressed a glass of brandy into his hand, he took a healthy gulp before handing it back to her.
“I have no wish to be intoxicated when I speak with your father,” he said with a crooked smile. She set the snifter on a nearby shelf, unsure how best to react to his attempt at normalcy.
Before she could speak, however, he took her hand and pulled her into his lap.
Caro squealed but let him pull her against him. Resting her cheek against his head, she said, “Tell me what happened.”
Briefly, he explained what he and Eversham had found in the Albany. “While it’s possible Frank disappeared of his own volition, either searching for Miss Warrington or in an effort to evade the men who searched his flat, Eversham suspects his life is in danger.”
“You don’t know that.” Caro sat back to look at him. “There was no sign that your cousin was injured in his rooms, was there?”
At Val’s shake of his head, she reached up to touch his face. “You mustn’t let Eversham’s assumption of the worst color your view of things. As a detective, he has seen far more darkness than you or I could ever imagine. He tends to adopt the more dire interpretation first, so if he’s wrong, he can be pleasantly surprised.”
“He said as much the same thing.” Val nodded. “But it makes logical sense that if this relation of Miss Warrington’s is willing to kidnap her—”
“We don’t even know if that’s who took her,” Caro chided. “We must follow the evidence, rather than leaping to conclusions. Really, Val, this isn’t like you in the least.”
He dragged his thumb and forefinger over his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair. “You’re right, of course. I suppose the possibility of losing Frank has brought back all I felt when I lost Piers. Added to that, I am now the heir and so I feel a sense of responsibility for Frank.”
Caro stroked a finger over one dark brow, then the other. She had so much affection for this infuriating, complicated man. She knew if she allowed herself to fall in love with him again, she’d be risking a worse heartache than the one she’d suffered four years ago. But they were to be inextricably linked now. Was it even now too late to protect her heart?
When she pulled her hand away, she kissed him softly on the mouth. It was a kiss of comfort rather than passion, and after, she lay a hand over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.
“I’m sorry about your brother,” she said softly. “But you mustn’t give up on Frank just yet. Nor will I give up on Effie.”
“How can you be so optimistic?” he asked.
“Because for all of the terrible things that can go wrong,” she said simply, “there are just as many wonderful things that can go right. Without hope, we may as well surrender to the dark.”
“You’re very wise.” He smiled.
“That bit of wisdom is borrowed from my father,” she said with a smile of her own. “I doubt he’d have managed to build a business empire without it.”
“Speaking of your father…” Val sighed. “I suppose I’d better get up to his study.”
“You needn’t sound so unhappy about it,” Caro said in mock dismay, climbing out of his lap.
Before he could apologize, she pulled him to his feet and smoothed the shoulders of his coat. “I know you didn’t intend it that way,” she assured him. “Neither of us is under the impression this is a love match.”
It was a reminder for herself as much as it was for him. That she could fall in love with him again did not mean that she should.
At her words, she thought she saw his eyes darken, but the emotion was gone as quickly as it had come.
“But you deserve my respect,” he said, gaze serious.
“Let us simply agree that the way this betrothal came about was unusual.” Caro stepped back to survey her handiwork. However irritating he might be at times, she thought, she had first been drawn to his innate sense of kindness. He might have hurt her four years ago, but his slights had been unintentional. “Before you go up, I’d like to make a request.”