Page 79 of Peril in Piccadilly
He didn’t answer, and I added, “You can’t do this to me, St George. You can’t send me home while you follow my fiancé to see whether he has my best friend bound and gagged in his wardrobe. I won’t stand for it.”
“You won’t have much of a choice,” Crispin pointed out, and I narrowed my eyes.
“I’m not sure you want to go there, St George. I can assure you, you won’t like it.”
He smirked, the bastard. “And why is that, Darling?”
“Because,” I said darkly, “I’m the one who shall be spending the next hour and a half with Wolfgang, and there’s nothing you can do to keep me from saying something to him. Something that will blow up your entire plan and leave you all with egg on your faces.”
He shot me a look. “While I admire your creativity, Darling, are you certain you want to do that to Kit? Following Wolfie might be the best chance we have of finding him.”
He had a point, unfortunately. A point that he further emphasized when he added, “The longer it is until we find him, the worse the results could be.”
Yes, of course. Christopher might be starving to death right now, while I was worrying about being excluded from the excitement.
I sagged back against the upholstery, disappointment along with disgust (at myself) swirling acidly in my stomach. “Damn you. You would bring that up.”
“It’s the most important aspect of this whole operation, Darling. The entire reason we’re doing it.”
Yes, of course it was. “Fine,” I said. Not graciously, but I got the word out. “I’ll go home and wait.” Like a useless decorative object.
“Thank you, Darling.” After a second he added, “One less thing for me to worry about, you know.”
Yes, I knew. I was worried, too.
“So you’ll come back afterwards and tell me what happened?”
“As soon as I can,” Crispin said. “The very moment I know whether or not Christopher is there.”
“Do you swear?”
He flicked me a look before licking the back of his thumb and holding it out.
“Eww,” I said, eyeing it.
He rolled his eyes. “Just do it, Philippa. Binding agreement.”
“Fine.” I licked my own thumb and pressed it against his. “Swear.”
“I swear I will leave where I am and come find you the moment I know whether Wolfgang has Kit or not.”
“Good enough.” I looked around for somewhere to wipe the wetness off my thumb, somewhere that wasn’t my evening gown. Crispin dragged his thumb down the front of his jacket, and after a second’s thought, I did the same.
He looked at me, brow raised.
“Your spit, your jacket,” I said.
“I suppose that’s fair.” He moved the gearshift and the Hispano-Suiza rolled to a stop at the curb on Garrick Street, just around the corner from the Strand. “Out you go. You’re walking from here.”
I nodded and fumbled for the door handle. “Be careful, St George. God willing, we’ll find Christopher and all will be well. But the last thing we want is for something to happen to you, too. The family couldn’t handle losing both of you.”
I couldn’t, either. Not to mention that I would probably be blamed for it.
“I’ll do my best, Darling. You do the same.”
I promised I would do, and then I shut the car door behind me and squared my shoulders and set off around the corner and down the Strand towards the Savoy and supper.
ChapterEighteen
