Page 89 of No One's Bride
They arrived in Broad Street and alighted. Mr Murden had left early, the clerk confirming he was responsible for locking the doors tonight as the Murdens were dining at Mivart’s Hotel.
“Murden is keen to ensure his wife has no reason to stray,” Sebastian whispered, giving her a playful nudge.
“Well, Mr Daventry can’t accuse us of neglecting our duty.” And with luck, the clerk would return from the office with the name of the person who sold the grimoire.
The clerk took so long, Sebastian started pacing the hall.
Ailsa experienced a similar tension when the church bells chimed the half hour. “Where can he be?”
The fellow returned minutes later, offering a profuse apology. “Forgive me. I searched through the cabinets twice, but the records for that particular day have been misplaced.”
How convenient!
“You’re certain they’re not in Murden’s office?” Sebastian said.
“Quite certain. All documents are filed at the close of business the same day.” The clerk scratched his head. “Unless they were in Mr Hibbet’s apartment and somehow got swept up with other evidence.”
Sebastian thanked the man and said he would discuss the matter with Mr Murden. They left, reminded Mr Gibbs they were heading for Grosvenor Street and climbed into the vehicle.
“At least we have information to relay to Mr Daventry.”
Sebastian sighed. “Yes, but it’s obvious what’s happened. The murderer took the documents because they somehow incriminate him.”
“Or Mr Hibbet disposed of the records.”
They continued discussing all possibilities during the short journey to Grosvenor Street, doubts surfacing over Mr Murden’s innocence.
“What is it ye need?” she said as the carriage stopped outside Sebastian’s abode. “Nae another clean coat.”
“Just today’s correspondence. I’ll be ten minutes.” The sudden heat in his gaze made her stomach flip. “Would you care to come inside?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “To wait or to distract ye from the pressing task? Ye know what happens when we’re alone together.”
He smiled. “I do have something I want to give you.”
“What if someone sees me entering the house?”
“We’re betrothed and allowed to push the bounds of propriety.”
Ailsa laughed. “We’re nae pushing them. ’Tis more a stampede.” The truth hit her then, like a bolt from the heavens. Although it was a fake betrothal, she would be no one’s bride if she did not marry him.
“I’ll enter first,” he said, alighting. “Join me in five minutes.”
She nodded and watched him walk away.
A sensible woman would refuse. But she was already on the road to Ruin. She might arrive at her destination at any moment, shocked at how quickly she had covered the distance.
She could imagine the line in theScandal Sheet.
Scottish lass leaves her morals in the Highlands.
And yet she would rather die than forgo a private hour alone with the man she loved.
A sudden tap on the window made her jump.
A maid opened the door and climbed inside the vehicle.
“Evening, ma’am.” She gave a small curtsey before sitting in the seat opposite. “His lordship says I’m to wait with you for five minutes, then show you inside.”
