Mr Ramsey swallowed deeply. “As I say, I’m to meet a friend, and he’s determined to drink himself silly and shout at the brawlers.” With a sudden urgency, he doffed his hat to Miss Hart. “Well, I best be off. I shall call to take tea with you on Friday, my dear. Better not keep Jeremiah waiting.”
Evan watched the gentleman scuttle away through the crowd.
“You distrust him, don’t you?” Miss Hart laid her palm gently on Evan’s chest to gain his attention. The tenderness of her touch made his heart swell. It occurred to him that the more they grew accustomed to the idea of marriage, the more intimate their gestures became.
“He’s meeting someone in the tavern, but not for the reason he explained.”
“Perhaps we should walk to the tavern and see who enters.”
“It’s better to gather evidence before confronting the man. I’ll ask D’Angelo to investigate Mr Ramsey’s background.” With the streets brimming with pickpockets, Evan refrained from pulling out his watch and inspecting the time. “Besides, we’re due in Hart Street. We meet on Wednesdays for Daventry’s briefing.”
Miss Hart inhaled sharply. “Will you tell them we’re to marry?”
“Of course. They’re my friends and my colleagues.” And he trusted the men implicitly. “We will need their help as the case progresses.”
Villains behaved recklessly when cornered. The wild shot fired by the masked rider had served as a distraction. But instinct said, at some point soon, they would find themselves staring down the barrel of a pistol.
* * *
“Forgive me. I must have something wrong with my ears.” D’Angelo shuffled to the edge of his seat in the drawing room. The man had spent the last thirty seconds gawping. “Did you mention the word marriage?”
Evan gripped the back of Miss Hart’s chair as he stood behind, scanning the men’s shocked faces. “Miss Hart and I are to marry as soon as possible.” He almost heard the clamour of questions forming in their minds. “And no, we were not found in a compromising clinch, nor am I deep in debt or under the influence of opium.”
“But you’re not in love,” Daventry stated, for he did not mince words.
“No, we are not in love, sir,” Miss Hart replied. “And if we knew of another way to solve our problem, we would not take such drastic action.”
All four men stared.
“So let me understand the situation.” Cole rubbed his bearded jaw and narrowed his gaze. “You say your grandfathers made a contract whereby Miss Hart can force you to marry her.”
“Not force,” she said, mildly affronted. “Mr Sloane has a choice.”
“It doesn’t sound as if you’ve given him a choice,” Noah Ashwood added.
Miss Hart shook her head. “Lord Hawkridge,” she began, deferring to Ashwood’s title, unaware he despised the fact he had inherited a baronetcy. “Like Mr Sloane, I had no intention of marrying anyone. Rest assured, once we have satisfied the conditions of the contract and claimed our lost legacy, I shall leave London and never bother Mr Sloane again.”
“But he will be obliged to care for you financially,” Cole said, his expression as dark as Satan’s sanctum. “Knowing Sloane, he will be forever obliged to act as your protector. Evidently, he has the most to lose in this improper arrangement.”
Rarely did Evan’s colleagues annoy him, yet he couldn’t help but jump to Miss Hart’s defence. “It is not her fault my grandfather made the pact. She’s been terrified by a masked intruder, shot at by the same devil who forced my carriage off the road. And while she is a capable woman, she cannot solve these problems alone.”
Again, the room plunged into silence.
Evan caught D’Angelo’s grin. “What is so amusing?”
“Nothing. I thought I detected a hint of admiration in your voice.”
Evan flashed his friend an irate glare. The devil loved nothing more than to tease him. But then D’Angelo had witnessed the murder of his parents when he was just a boy, and so used amusement to mask his permanent pain.
“I admire any woman who thinks logically during trying situations.” Though Evan rarely encountered one amid the widows and courtesans of the ton.
“And so you must marry to obtain a clue to a legacy. A legacy that might amount to nothing more than worthless trinkets.” Daventry snorted. “Why bother? It’s not as if you need the money. Take the thousand pounds offered by this Golding fellow and be done with it.”
Daventry often made provoking statements to uncover the truth.
“You’re missing the point. There is another factor to consider.”
“You speak of this masked devil. Surely there’s a way to stop him without making a lifelong commitment to a woman you hardly know.”