“Och, I put too many logs on the fire. Yer body feels like a furnace. There’s nothing to do but take a wee walk around the garden.”
Thinking and processing the woman’s words proved difficult now. Vivienne let Mrs McCready wrap her in a cloak, but was too confused to ask what had happened to the tea chest full of letters, for it was no longer on top of the dressing table.
“We’ll take the servants’ stairs. Nae point in troubling anyone.”
They passed a footman in the corridor running adjacent to the kitchen. Vivienne could barely keep track of the conversation, but the servant went about his business as if it were norma
l to find a woman staggering below stairs in her nightgown.
They left the house without a lantern. Cold air curled around her lower limbs as they ambled towards the shrubbery where Mrs McCready picked up a valise.
She wanted to tell Mrs McCready that she couldn’t walk another step, wanted to flop down on the grass and sleep for an eternity. She wanted to ask why they were creeping about, why they’d turned left and were heading towards the road. But forming the words proved an impossible feat.
“Come, lass, we’re nearly there. Just a few more steps and all will be well again. I promise ye that.”
But Vivienne sagged, too tired to do anything but rest her weary head.
Mrs McCready took to complaining until a man in a greatcoat appeared. He helped drag Vivienne to a carriage parked on the dark road.
The carriage door flew open, and Vivienne heard familiar voices before closing her eyes and falling into a dark abyss.
Chapter 19
“I would suggest we sit in the drawing room until dawn and finish my best bottle of brandy, but—”
“There is a certain lady in the house who commands your attention,” D’Angelo said. “You were like an automaton going through the motions tonight, mending bridges with your cousin while your thoughts were elsewhere. It’s as I suspected. You’re in love with Miss Hart.”
Guilt flared. Evan didn’t want to leave D’Angelo to tackle his demons alone. And he could feel his friend distancing himself, moving further away, disappearing into the darkness. It reminded him of how Cole had been when life seemed hopeless. But while Cole had sought to destroy no one but himself, D’Angelo was likely to bring about an apocalypse.
“I believe so. I’ve never felt this way about a woman, but then Vivienne is unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” Evan draped his arm around D’Angelo’s shoulder. “Come, let’s have a quick nightcap, and you can tell me why your knuckles were bruised before you punched my cousin.”
D’Angelo winced as he formed a fist and examined the cuts and purple marks. “It’s nothing. Go to bed. No doubt Miss Hart is frantically awaiting your return, and you know we’ll not stop at one drink.”
Evan might have dragged his friend to the drawing room, but he’d been gone for almost two hours and the invisible thread binding him to Vivienne was already stretched thin. The need to see her, talk to her, to have her hands roam wildly over his body, proved too powerful to ignore.
“You’ll stay tonight?”
“Perhaps.”
“Now the matter of my grandfather’s legacy is solved, let me help you with your case. Stay tonight. We’ll go riding in the morning and can discuss whatever mischief you’re making.”
D’Angelo made no reply, but the sudden chime of the longcase clock filled the silence. Each toll sounded like an ominous warning—a sign Evan should save his friend from walking a dangerous path.
“I admire what you did tonight,” D’Angelo eventually said. “You brought the Sloane family together when you could have wrought untold havoc, had your vengeance.”
Love changed a man—made him more forgiving.
“Why should Charles pay for his grandfather’s mistake? We work to protect the innocent. I’d be a hypocrite to act differently.”
“Innocent? The lord pointed a pistol at Miss Hart.”
“You know of my skill with a dagger. If I thought he had any intention of hurting her, I’d have buried a blade between his brows long before you appeared from the shadows.”
Buchanan entered the hall, rubbing his hands together to chase away the cold. “Och, yer housekeeper was right about the storm. The heavens are weeping tonight.” He removed his felt cap and patted his mop of grey hair. “Well, laddie, do we nae deserve a drink to warm our bones?”
D’Angelo laughed. “Laddie? I may be the youngest here, Buchanan, but I pray to God you’re referring to Sloane.”
“It’s an endearment,” Evan said. “It means he likes me.”