Scandal And Miss Markham. Janice Preston

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      ‘You cannot stop me. Daniel is my brother. I want to come.’

      Vernon stared down at her mutinous expression and heaved a silent sigh. He was hungry and he was anxious to set off, now he had a definite idea of where to start with his search. First he must deal with this hissing, spitting kitten.

      Thea shrugged out of his hold, replaced her plate on the table with a crack that made Vernon wince and folded her arms.

      ‘You cannot tell me what to do. I am going.’

      Vernon squared his shoulders. ‘Not with me you are not.’

      ‘You cannot stop me.’

      ‘You are correct. I cannot stop you going anywhere or doing anything you wish. But I tell you here and now...you will not do it with me. I shall return to London and you may never discover what has happened to your brother.’

      Her eyes widened.

      Good. That has shaken her.

      ‘You would not do that.’ Her voice lacked conviction.

      Vernon lowered his own voice, injecting a silky menace into his tone. ‘If you put me to the test, Miss Markham, I think you will find that I do not make empty threats either.’

      Her lips thinned as she glared at him. ‘What about your cousin?’

      Vernon shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I shall pay an investigator to track him down and report to me in London. What you choose to forget, Miss Markham, is that I have neither desire nor need to remain here in Worcestershire, or to embark upon a search for a man I have never met. I offered my services because it is unsafe for you, as a female, to go into the places on that list. Which, incidentally, is the exact reason you cannot come with me: it is not safe. I admit to some curiosity as to my cousin’s involvement, but I shall not lose any sleep over it and you will do well to remember that.’

      She hung her head, her eyes downcast. Vernon felt like an out-and-out brute, but knew he must not show any weakness for he had no doubt she would quickly seize upon it and, despite what he said, he really was curious to find out what had happened to Daniel Markham.

      ‘So, are we agreed? I shall leave after I have eaten and changed my clothing and you, Miss Markham, will wave me goodbye.’

      ‘Very well. I shall not insist on leaving with you.’

      Her mouth drooped and he wondered if she were about to cry again. He had been certain that earlier bout was uncharacteristic. He could not abide women who cried at the slightest provocation, using tears as a weapon to get their own way. But, despite that, he still felt sympathy and also a little guilty, knowing how worried she was about her brother. He reached out and nudged one finger beneath her chin, tilting her face to his. Respect for her crept through him: she was dry-eyed and he was relieved at this proof she was prepared to listen to and accept his reasoning.

      ‘Miss Markham, you must also understand that, quite apart from it being unsafe, it would also be entirely improper for you to accompany me. Your reputation would be in tatters.’

      A gleam lit those huge hazel orbs and Vernon was disconcerted by the undeniable kick of his pulse and his sudden impulse to kiss her,

      His awareness of her as an attractive woman rattled him into speaking more bluntly than he should.

      ‘We have no idea what has happened to Daniel, but I know you are aware he could have met with foul play. It would be wholly irresponsible for me to allow you to be exposed to possible danger.’

      She blinked and her cheeks paled, causing the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks to stand out in contrast. Vernon felt a brute all over again, as though he had kicked a puppy. Or—perhaps more fitting in Thea’s case, given his earlier fanciful thoughts—a kitten. He released her chin and clasped her upper arms, bending his knees to look directly into her eyes.

      ‘I apologise. I did not mean to shock you.’

      Her throat convulsed as she swallowed. He had upset her, but she was struggling to conceal her emotions and his respect grew at the way she handled herself in such a horrible situation.

      ‘Do not lose hope, Miss Markham.’ He gently rubbed her arms, trying to buoy her spirits. ‘There could still be a perfectly reasonable explanation for Daniel’s disappearance.’

      She huffed a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head, her curls bouncing. ‘Such as? No, I cannot be hopeful. He would have written to us. He would not stay away without a word.’

      Vernon released her and stepped back from the temptation of taking her into his arms again to offer comfort.

      ‘He might be too ill to write,’ he said. ‘Or he has lost his memory. Or maybe he has written and the letter has been lost en route?’ He paced the room and then returned to come to a halt in front of her. ‘Whatever the reason, I shall discover it, but you must leave this to me. Do you understand?’

      ‘I understand. Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters requiring my attention.’

      ‘You will not join me?’

      ‘I find I no longer have an appetite. Enjoy your luncheon, sir. Ring for George when you have finished eating and he will show you to Daniel’s bedchamber to change your clothing. I shall see you before you leave.’ She left him with a brisk step, leaving the scent of roses lingering in her wake.

      After Vernon had eaten his fill, he was shown upstairs by George.

      ‘I shall leave as soon as I have changed,’ Vernon told the footman. ‘Could you inform Miss Markham that I will see her downstairs in, shall we say, fifteen minutes?’

      He wondered if Thea would come to see him off, or if she would stay away, sulking. No, he decided. Sulking was not Miss Markham’s style.

      George bowed and left. Vernon wasted no time in changing into the clothing that would help him to blend in. He donned the fawn-coloured breeches and the respectable linen shirt and neckcloth left on the bed. The boots, however, were too small. He eyed his Hessian boots and their mirror shine with regret as he realised there was nothing for it but to smear them with soil when he went outside, to dull the shine. A moleskin waistcoat and a brown jacket completed Vernon’s transformation from a man of fashion into a respectable country squire.

      He ducked to peer into the dressing-table mirror and ruffled his fingers through his hair. At least he would not present himself all neatly barbered at the Nag’s Head and wherever else his enquiries might lead. His hair had needed a trim before he left London, but he had decided to leave it until his return. It was a touch long and unruly, but the less well-groomed his appearance, the less notice he would attract.

      He rotated, studying the room: Daniel’s room. Quashing down any guilt—he was trying to help, not snoop—he quickly searched through drawers and cupboards. Nothing. He must hope that someone at the Nag’s Head could either throw some light on the reason Daniel had been riding to Birmingham on a regular basis—if, that is, Pritchard was correct that Daniel had been visiting the city—or that they might solve the mystery of what, or who, Willingdale and R.H. were.

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