Page 40 of Love Is A Draw
He leaned his head back against the worn leather, trying to slow the hammer of his heart.I kissed the girl he raised. The child I wasn’t allowed to see all those years ago.The memories overlapped, folding present into past until his throat tightened.
But she remembered me.
She loves me.
He needed a distraction.
“The Earl of Ashby’s townhouse,” he instructed the driver. It wasn’t far from here, and perhaps the distraction would help clear his head.
When he arrived, the scene that greeted him gave him anything but clarity. The townhouse door stood ajar, a slice of warm light spilling onto the pavement. Behind it, raised voices cut through the London street’s usual decorous hum. Victor paid the driver swiftly and swung down from the carriage, tension twisting his gut.
“What is the matter?” he called, striding into the great hall, his boots striking the marble in clipped, echoing bursts.
Greg, face flushed, stood at the foot of the grand staircase, his words reverberating like thunder. “I want to know exactly who it was, how long he was here, and what’s missing!” His hands clenched as he addressed a knot of servants who looked bewildered and alarmed. “Make a complete inventory!”
Victor had seen Greg in many tempers, but rarely like this. Vehement, barely contained rage replaced his typically composed demeanor. The vein on his temple pulsed visibly as he turned toward one of the maids, issuing yet another sharp instruction.
“Victor?”
Victor turned to see Hermy, Greg’s wife, her sharp gaze sweeping over him. “What happened to you?” Her eyes lingered on his damp, slightly muddied coat and trousers, the evidence of today’s disaster still apparent despite his attempts to improve his appearance.
“It’s… a long story,” Victor replied. Gail. The crash. The kiss. He couldn’t say any of it. Not yet. “Has something gone missing?”
“We don’t think so.” Hermy’s gaze flickered with unease.
“We can’t tell yet. That’s the problem.” Greg’s hands flexed, a restless motion that betrayed his frustration. “I’ll speak tothe butler.” He turned sharply and strode off, the older, white-haired man following briskly in his wake.
Hermy hesitated a heartbeat before gesturing for Victor to follow her into another room. “Come. This is most unusual. He was here first, it seems.” She led him into the study, her movements steady but brisk, her expression taut with concern.
The study remained as polished and immaculate as always. Warm lamplight cast golden hues over the paper-strewn desk and the rich, dark wood of the shelves. Hermy crossed to the desk, opening drawers one by one. “See? Nothing seems touched. Nothing missing. It isn’t even out of order.”
Victor stepped closer, glancing over her shoulder at the tidy papers and untouched figurines. “I don’t understand. Someone broke in?”
Hermy hesitated, shutting the final drawer with a soft click. “Not exactly. The milk delivery was late today. When the boy finally arrived, the kitchen maid told me he asked to come inside for something to eat.”
Victor frowned. “Is that unusual?”
“Yes,” Hermy replied sharply, shaking her head. “And this wasn’t the regular boy. He was new. Someone older than the staff expected.”
“How much older?”
“She said older than Greg. Considerably.”
“Not a boy, then.” Victor’s jaw tightened as a quiet unease slithered over him.
“Precisely.” Hermy inhaled deeply, her gaze flickering to the doorway as though expecting an explanation to walk in. “The kitchen maid says she left him in the kitchen with biscuits, cheese, and tea. What harm could it do? And then… she said she pitied the man because he seemed ill. His lips were bluish and his hands…” She paused, exhaling sharply.
Victor’s breath caught. Cold. Bluish.
Hermy cast a glance at Greg, who had re-entered, and opened her eyes wide. “What did he say?”
“The butler called everyone to check the rooms. They found tracks. Dirty footprints on the stairs, leading up toward the guest rooms,” Greg said grimly. “Large feet, but the butler said boots that fine shouldn’t be so dirty.”
Hermy drew a sharp breath, her fingers clutching the edge of her gown.
Victor’s stomach tightened, and his unease sharpened into something closer to dread. “Perhaps he was just curious? About the house?” he offered, though the words came out flimsy even as he spoke them.
Hermy’s expression was grim. “A footman, Philip Smithson, caught him in the guest room.”
