Mr. Crenshaw gave her a dubious glance before looking back at the chair next to him. He clearly believed it too insubstantial to support his brawny frame. “A Chippendale original from 1773.”
“Impressive,” he said without moving.
Stifling an eye roll, she couldn’t quite keep the derision from her voice as she said, “I meant that it has held countless men, most of them with conceit considerably larger than your own.”
He frowned, his eyebrows pulling together in a stern glower that she found most appealing, as he lowered himself into the chair, which held up beautifully beneath him. Once he was settled, she launched into her theory that Violet had run away because of an overly aggressive suitor, and that she believed he would find his sister in the company of the Earl of Leigh. Their task would be to locate them before the consequences of his sister’s actions were irreversible.
“Where would he take her?” Mr. Crenshaw asked.
“To marry her in Scotland, I assume,” she answered. “Your family is fairly notorious here, and it would be known they do not consent to the marriage. Perhaps Scotland offers a refuge if the marriage is challenged.”
“To Gretna Green? Doesn’t that only happen in Gothic novels?”
“No, not Gretna Green. There is a residency requirement now for marriage. He owns property in Scotland, and I assume coin can ease any other restrictions they may encounter.”
“How long will it take them to reach Scotland by carriage?” he asked.
“They should be there now.”
“Now! Why have you done nothing up till now to stop this?”
The nerve! At the end of her patience—she was the one trying to help him, after all—she came to her feet. “Your parents were only kind enough to inform me of Violet leaving a few days ago. I wasn’t even aware they were using me as her alibi until that time. Had I known earlier, I could have done something. I only returned to London yesterday, and when I called on your mother, she mentioned you would be arriving last night. Forgive me for not trusting her—someone who is highly suspect in her reasoning—with this information. I hoped you would prove vastly more rational.”
Despite her anger, her stomach tumbled pleasantly as his brows drew together in another scowl. His face was a granite mask of masculine annoyance. How did such a forbidding expression make him look so irresistible? He was like a stern, scowling Zeus, and she was not at all put off by having that heated passion focused solely on her. She did have to look away, however. Having spent the past five years avoiding any sort of romantic sentiment, she was unprepared for her reaction to him.
“Fine. It is done.”
“Good.” She made a show of putting on her gloves while waiting for her heart to return to a normal pattern. “Let us leave for King’s Cross. I already secured us tickets for Edinburgh, and the train leaves in an hour.”
“By all means.” He indicated she should precede him out into the corridor.
As she walked, she was absurdly aware of his hulking presence behind her. It was as if he weighted the atmosphere with his burning, angry intensity. The next several days in his company would be interesting, to say the least.
Chapter 1
Tyranny follows the tyrant. Woe to the man who leaves behind a shadow that bears his form.
Victor Hugo
SIX MONTHS LATER
Maxwell Crenshaw had left New York for London three times this year. The first time had been to save a sister from a marriage she didn’t want. The second time had been to find his other sister, who had run away from a marriage she didn’t want. This time he was in London to see his father, who had been on his deathbed ten days ago when Max had set off from New York. Thank God the message that had been waiting for him in Liverpool indicated there had been substantial improvement in his condition. But it didn’t change the resolution he had come to on the ship. He planned to convince his parents that it was time to come home. London had been disastrous for the Crenshaws.
“Max! Thank God you’re here.” The front door of the Crenshaws’ townhome on Grosvenor Square had barely closed behind Max and his secretary before Mother came sailing out of the drawing room, arms outstretched to greet him. Handing off his hat and gloves to a manservant, he met her halfway. She looked as well put together as usual; her gown was the height of fashion, and diamonds flashed at her wrists and neck. She was pale, however: a sign of her worry.
He held her for a moment longer than necessary, noting how her shoulders trembled. “I came as soon as I could.” Since Papa and August had come to London in the spring, Max had assumed control of the American operations of Crenshaw Iron Works. It was a job he had been born and bred to do, having worked alongside his father since he was twelve years of age, but it was very demanding. Thankfully, coming to London twice in the spring had forced him to delegate duties, so he had left the office in the capable hands of a manager.
“I know you did. I’m so happy you’re here.” Pulling back enough to see his face, she patted his cheek as if he were a child. “Tom.” She greeted his secretary. After their pleasantries were exchanged, she instructed the footman to show him to a bedroom.
Taking Max’s hand, she tugged him toward the stairs. “How was your voyage?”
“Fine. What have the doctors said?”
“His heart is weak, but you’ll have to ask August for the specifics.” She waved him off. “She’s up with him now. You know me. I can’t keep track of those medical terms. The important thing is that he is improving. They believe that with rest he will recover.”
“He’s been working too hard.” It wasn’t a question, because they all knew how much the man worked. He was up early every morning and spent the evening at all the social events London had to offer. He wasn’t resting like he should. “You both must come home to New York.” At least there they maintained a more conventional schedule.
“You’ll have to take that up with Papa.”
She smiled, but he could sense her reluctance. She didn’t want to leave the social acceptance they had found in London. With one daughter married to a duke and another married to an earl, all ballrooms were open to them. Things were different in New York. As new money, the Crenshaws had been excluded from the upper echelons of Society. Mrs. Astor kept her list of the best families in New York, and his family wasn’t on it, or they hadn’t been before the marriages into nobility.
While this had never bothered anyone but his parents, the allure of acceptance had proven too much for them to resist. And it looked as if it was proving to be their downfall. First, they had sacrificed their daughters, and now Papa’s health.
Clenching his jaw to keep from insisting, he held his breath as she pushed open the door to Papa’s bedroom. August rose from her seat beside the bed, but his gaze went past her to their father lying back against the pillows. Max’s breath caught in his chest at how pale and wan his father looked. The man who was always so in control of the world around him appeared to have lost at least twenty pounds in weight, possibly more. His skin seemed to hang on his cheekbones. For the first time, Max understood how close they had come to losing him, and it left him feeling weak.