Page 34 of The Vagabond Viscount
She took the time to run her gaze disapprovingly over the bulk that was Flynn’s father, silently letting him know how little she thought of him and his so-called manners. “Who says I wasn’t invited? I am looking for Viscount Cadnam. You remember him, don’t you? Your son? The one no one has seen for many weeks.” It took a great deal of effort not to add a touch of snark to her voice. Augusta let her words do what they needed.
She slipped off her glove and made a deliberate show of her right hand. The gold and ruby betrothal ring glistened in the morning sun. She tracked the earl’s gaze, enjoying the flash of anger which crossed his face at the sight of the jewel.
He loomed over her, meeting her eyes. His were cold and hard, utterly lacking in emotion. How many times had Flynn stared into those icy pools of hatred and wished this man was not his sire?
“And as for my mother, I can assure you that her opinion of me is far more favorable than the one she holds of you, Lord Bramshaw.”
If he was going to be rude, she was well with her rights to be uncommonly crass with him in return.
Flynn, wherever you are, take this as a blow struck on your behalf.
The curl of Earl Bramshaw’s lip was enough to let her know that he was not the least interested in what she had to say. She did note that his gaze fixed on the ring more than once, and she could just imagine him wondering how she had come by it. And how he could get it back.
“Rude, impertinent young miss. My son’s life is his own. And I keep my own counsel. Now I would suggest that you and the rest of your family should do the same and learn to mind your own bloody business. Don’t come here again,” snapped the earl. He pointed at where her slipper rested on the threshold. “Move your foot.”
“Where is Flynn? Where is your son and heir?” she demanded.
A huge greyhound ambled up alongside the earl, and he turned his withering gaze from Augusta to the dog. He bent and gave the animal a pat.
With a sigh, he righted himself. “Maybe you should be asking yourself that question, Lady Augusta. If Flynn gave you that ring, he must have had plans to offer you marriage. Considering that it is not on your left-hand tells me that he realized what a poor bet you were, and that is why he ran away. Now remove yourself from my front step. When this door closes, both of your feet had better be on the other side of it.”
Augusta had just enough time to pull her leg back before the door was slammed shut in her face. She stared at the knocker for a moment. Should she try again?
Victoria’s hand rested lightly on her shoulder. “I don’t think he is interested in speaking to you. Nor, for that matter, anyone else.”
She hadn’t expected a warm welcome at Bramshaw House. It was well known throughout London society that the earl didn’t offer tea and toast to anyone who had the misfortune to call at his home.
But whether he realized it or not, the earl had given Augusta one vital piece of information and it was more than she had hoped to gain from this visit to Flynn’s home. “He might think he has sent me away with nothing more than a flea in my ear, but he said Flynn had run away.”
Victoria followed her down the front steps and into the street. “What is so important about that?”
Augusta stopped and met her sister’s enquiring gaze. “Because it means Flynn isn’t with that girl. If he was, don’t you think the earl would have made a point of telling me? He had to have finally known that Flynn wanted to marry me, and I can’t see Earl Bramshaw passing up the opportunity to inflict pain when it so easily presents itself. If his son is married, he would have told me. Didn’t you see the way he looked at the ring? He was angry.”
This was the best piece of hope she had received since Flynn’s disappearance. The first sign that he may have decided to run away from home rather than be forced to marry a stranger. And if that was the case, she and the viscount still had a chance for their happily ever after.
“I just wish Flynn would get in touch. Even a short note would be better than nothing.”
Victoria took hold of her hand. “It is a good piece of news. But please don’t get your expectations up. Not yet. The fact that Flynn hasn’t written to you or even Gideon is a major cause for concern. I worry that he might not be in a position to send word.”
Augusta shook her head, stubbornly refusing to consider what might lay beyond her sister’s words. She didn’t want to hear any of it. She was desperate to cling to hope. “You are right, of course. But I am still going to take this to Gideon. He needs to know what the earl said to me. That as far as he is concerned his son is alive but is somewhere in hiding.”
As they made their way over to the waiting landau, Augusta quietly absorbed the news. According to his father, Flynn wasn’t yet married. Her sense of relief over hearing this from the earl was mixed with her fear over the viscount’s continued silence. What could have possibly happened after he had left Hyde Park that afternoon to make him flee and go to ground? And was Flynn safe?
Taking a seat in the Mowbray town carriage, she glanced up at the windows of Bramshaw House and whispered, “What did you do to him? Why is Flynn so afraid that he won’t dare come home?”
She turned to Victoria. “I am not letting this rest—not until I have some answers. Flynn has to be somewhere. And I fear he is on his own and possibly in grave danger.”
What if he is injured and in the hands of people who won’t let him leave?
If the viscount was in hiding, there was every chance he had little to no means of support. His friends were unable to help him. And he lived in fear of his father. Of the earl and his evil vengeance.
If only I could get to him.
ChapterSeventeen
The Star
Tuesday, April 29, 1817
