Page 43 of Never a Duchess
His gaze moved to the garden, to where his son slept in Dounreay’s arms. “Then I ask one thing of you.”
“Yes?”
“Live, Lillian! With every breath in your lungs, live.”
ChapterEight
The Templeton Ball
South Audley Street
Today’s investigations had reaped little to no reward. Mrs Gregory was out of town. Madame Delafont was not at the theatre preparing for tonight’s performance of Rossini’sLa Cenerentola, nor was she at her rented house in Long Acre.
Either might be the lady abducted from the garden.
Still, the day hadn’t been a complete waste.
Callan loved every minute he spent in Miss Ware’s company. Since asking him to arouse her for research purposes, he had caught her staring at his mouth and assessing his physique. A twinkle of fascination now sparkled in eyes as blue as a cerulean sky, eyes that used to reflect a cold, grey indifference.
Leaning back against the ballroom wall, he brought the champagne flute to his lips, his gaze searching the crowd before settling on the woman who plagued his thoughts. He watched Miss Ware converse with Viscount Denton, jealousy weaving through him like a malevolent spirit.
The first strains of a waltz cut through the hum of conversation. Being a man of his word, Callan had not marked his name on her dance card. Still, possessive words filled his head. Words he hoped to communicate through thought alone.
Dinnae dance with him!
Ye’re mine!
Mine is the only mouth ye’ll feel on yer luscious lips!
The lady’s ears pricked upon hearing the music, though she did not need to narrow her eyes and scan the room. Her gaze met his instantly, hitting him like a bolt from the heavens, stealing his breath.
God, the lass stirred his blood like no one else.
Sporting a grin, he raised his glass in salute when he wanted to march across the dance floor, haul her into his arms and plunder her smart mouth.
But Callan spotted Major Rowlands leaving through the terrace doors and remembered he had business to settle before seeing to his pleasure.
He had waited five years to kiss Miss Ware.
He could wait another five minutes to kiss her again.
He found the major at the bottom of the stone staircase, puffing on a cheroot, barely a wisp of smoke leaving his mouth and hitting the crisp night air.
Callan cleared his throat and joined the man who, beneath the unflattering signs of age and gluttony, had a youthful glint in his eye.
“Rowlands, I’ve need of yer counsel. Might ye satisfy a curiosity?” Callan didn’t wait for an answer and proceeded to lie. “My housekeeper interviewed a woman this morning for the position of maid. She claims she worked in yer household and left of her own accord, but couldnae provide a reference.”
Being a stickler for respecting rank, the major nodded. “Tell me her name, Your Grace, and I shall attempt to confirm her claim.” Suspicion danced behind his affable countenance.
If the major needed a name, perhaps he was a tyrant who chased servants away by the dozen. Maybe he summoned them with the mere click of his fingers.
“Anne Grimes.”
The major’s left eye twitched.
Was Anne missing?
Had this devil taken her?
