Capturing the letter from the bed, he pressed his lips to the words. “Scarlett. You gave me your trust, and I shall never give you cause to doubt me.” After a brief pause, he continued with this newfound habit of talking to himself. “Then why in the devil’s name are you still standing here, Wycliff?”
Within minutes he’d summoned Cutler to bring the carriage.
“Did Lady Steele instruct you to convey her home?” Damian said as his footman raced behind ready to open the carriage door.
Cutler shook his head. “No, sir.”
Then she must have walked. Why in damnation would she walk whilst recovering from a head injury?
“Where is Alcock?” he barked.
His coachman’s cheeks flushed. “In the mews, sir. Shall I send for her?”
“No!” He would not have Alcock fretting over her mistress. “Take me to Bedford Street. As quick as safety allows.”
Cutler was as skilled at driving as he was sewing. He navigated the overturned cart on New Bond Street with ease, flew through the streets as if carried by the hands of the gods.
Once in Bedford Street, Damian burst into the hall, though the butler seemed surprised when he asked if the mistress was at home.
“No, sir. We were under the impression her ladyship wouldn’t be home for another few days.”
“I see.” A prickle of frustration ran the breadth of his shoulders. “Thank you—?”
“Hanson, sir.”
“Thank you, Hanson. Should your mistress return, please inform her that I came to call and ask that she send word to Bruton Street.”
Perhaps she had questions about her parents and had gone to visit Flannery. And so, The Silver Serpent was his next destination.
Perturbed by the thought of Scarlett’s mysterious disappearance, Flannery’s face turned deathly pale. “But you said the matron was to blame for what happened, so you did. Now you tell me Scarl
ett is missing.”
“The matron was to blame. Rest assured, she is dead.” Damian’s patience was wearing thin. “Scarlett is not missing. She left me a note.”
“Well, what did the note say?”
Damian was not in the habit of discussing intimate details of his private life. Still, he would have Flannery know his intentions were honourable, and this man was the closest thing Scarlett had to family.
“Scarlett loves me. I intend to ask for her hand in marriage—”
“Ah, then that saves me asking O’Donnell and the men to twist your arm.” Flannery grinned. “And you’ve tried the house on Bedford Street, you say?”
Damian nodded. All this racing about roused memories of those months after she had disappeared from the lodging-house. Why did he feel like he was losing her all over again?
“Do you know of any other houses she owns in town?”
“Can’t say that I do.” Flannery frowned. “But if the lass loves you, what business has she running away?”
“She has not run away.” Damian thrust his hand through his hair and sighed. “She wishes me to rescue her.” To rescue her from the lies and deceit, to create a life together filled with honesty and truth. Most people presumed he ruined women, not saved them. “To do what I struggled to do three years ago.”
He had not exactly struggled. Had she opened the door to the lodging-house when he delivered the food parcels, things might have been vastly different. He had lost count of the times he’d sat in his carriage in Drury Lane, staring at the—
“Bloody hell! I think I know where she is.”
Without saying another word, Damian hurried from The Silver Serpent and had Cutler ferry him to Covent Garden. He alighted on Drury Lane, spent a few seconds staring at the small window of the lodging-house.
After crossing the crowded street, dodging carts and carriages and wild dogs, he entered the alley. Memories came flooding back. The vicious attack. Him slumped against the cold stone wall, his angel standing over him dressed in white and clutching her scarlet shawl.