21
Hunt collapsed into his chair and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. What a mess. The blasted portrait would be the death of him. Truth be told, after the first couple of days after he stole it, still wondering how he was going to burn it without raising questions, he had forgotten about the damn thing. He shoved it into the wardrobe in Diana’s bedchamber and wiped it from his mind.
Now it was back to haunt him once more. She thought she couldn’t trust him. Well, she had good reason.
Peters slowly approached the desk. “This just came for you, my lord.” He held out a salver with a letter sitting on top. “Is everything all right, my lord? Her ladyship seemed to be in quite a hurry to leave.”
Hunt took the envelope, broke the seal, and read the summons from Sir Phillip. He dropped it on the desk. “No. Everything is not all right.” He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.
After a perfectly wonderful wedding trip where he’d been looking forward to a strong, happy marriage with Diana, his stupid decision to not get rid of the portrait immediately could very well wipe it all out.
“Can I do anything to help?” Peters asked.
“Yes. You can.” Hunt banged his fist on the painting. “Get rid of this. Take it somewhere you can burn it and not raise suspicion.”
Peter’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Burn it, my lord?”
“Burn it. Wherever you take it, make sure you stay right there until nothing is left but ashes.” He stood and grabbed his jacket from the chair where he’d dropped it when he entered the room. “I’m leaving.”
He was so angry he felt as though he should walk to Sir Phillip’s well-disguised office just to get himself under control. However, it would take him a good two hours to do so, and he had no idea how important the summons was. Instead, he strode to the mews and waited impatiently as the groom readied his horse.
What had Diana meant when she left? Was she merely going out for the afternoon to calm herself down? Did she plan on leaving him permanently? All her belongings were still at his house.
He sighed as he swung his leg over Black Diamond and made his way to the street.
His thoughts were still muddled by the time he reached Sir Phillip’s office. Hunt took the steps two at a time and dropped the knocker on the door. Sir Phillip himself answered and waved Hunt in. “Come in, come in. I wasn’t sure if you had returned from your wedding trip.”
Most likely Sir Phillip knew precisely which train they’d arrived on, where they’d been, how long they’d stayed, and which restaurants, theaters, and museums they’d visited.
The man knew everything.
Once they were settled in the room the size of a large closet, Sir Phillip rested his folded hands on his desk and regarded him. “I wanted to advise you of the status on the Melrose matter.”
Hunt nodded.
“Melrose was picked up by Scotland Yard—at the Home Office’s behest--and was turned over to me. After a lengthy conversation, he cleared up a few matters.”
“What is that?”
“Melrose was not in as deep as we thought. However, he did provide us with names that we are pursuing. The main lead he offered was the name of the man who killed Mallory and then burned his gallery down. The idiot hoped Mallory’s body would be unrecognizable and Scotland Yard would not discover he’d been shot first.”
Hunt shook his head. “So the investigation is over? Or continues? And what happens to Melrose? He is still a peer involved with an anarchist group.”
“Lord Melrose left for America while you were romancing your new wife in Bath. The investigation continues but, at this point, there is nothing that requires your particular skills.”
Sir Phillip stood and offered his hand. “Congratulations on your marriage, my lord. I wish you many years of happiness.”
Hunt rose and took the man’s hand. They remained silent as Sir Phillip walked him to the door. He stepped out into the gloomy day and made his way to the mews to retrieve Black Diamond.
I wish you many years of happiness.
Two days passed with no word from Diana. He noticed when he entered the library the morning after his meeting with Sir Phillip that the painting was gone from his desk.
Good riddance.
No one from his staff mentioned Diana’s absence, which told him they knew something was wrong. Marcus, of course, voiced his unrequested opinion of young wives fleeing their husbands, but Hunt knew in his heart it was all his fault.
He also came to the realization that he was madly in love with Diana, had probably been most of his life, and would do whatever it took to get her back. Perhaps a visit to The Rose Room might distract him. He could have a few drinks, antagonize his brothers, and forget everything for a while.