His familiar mention of her friend jarred her a bit, but again, he was right. “When my husband was alive, he didn’t allow me any freedom at all. He told me where I could go, what I could wear, even what I could eat.” Heat crept into her cheeks. “I know it’s terrible to say, but when he died, I felt such freedom.”
“I did not know you were a widow.” His blue eyes were surprisingly gentle. “How long has it been?”
She swallowed, glad he hadn’t voiced any judgment. She didn’t think she’d ever admitted that to anyone before. Maybe not even herself. “Two years. He was much older than me. Sixty-five when we got married.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Then I doubt it was your choice to marry him. Don’t you want your daughters and their daughters to be able to decide for themselves who they should wed?”
A laugh escaped her. “You sound like Allison. She refused to marry for anything less than love, and now that she thinks she’s found it, I can’t say she was wrong.”
She didn’t think it was necessary to tell him he was right about it not having been her choice to marry Aston. He’d been right far too many times in their conversation, and that was something she wasn’t used to. Most of the men she knew were seldom right about anything.
“Quinn and Allison are very lucky to have found each other,” he said, surprising her once again with this hint of sentimentality. At first glance, she never would have guessed that he had a romantic bent. He seemed far more likely to break heads than hearts.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I had my doubts at first. I was afraid Allison had ruined herself beyond repair socially by marrying Quinn, but anyone who sees them together can tell that she made the right choice.”
She hadn’t expected to be having such a strange conversation with this man but realized that perhaps he was just trying to take her mind off Evelyn. Warmth and gratitude filled her. It seemed she’d made the right choice as well by going to him about this matter.
Before she could find the words to express how much it meant to her that he’d been so helpful, they pulled up in front of her house. “We’re here,” she told him, hoping he could find something in Evelyn’s bedroom that would give them the answers they needed to find her.
* * *
SEBASTIAN ALIGHTED from Lady Aston’s carriage and then blinked up at the towering townhouse with the white marble façade. Well, her elderly husband had certainly left her well provided for. This monstrosity of a house could have comfortably billeted his whole company.
Smiling grimly, he turned back around to help Lady Aston down as well, asking himself as he did so why the hell he was here. This wasn’t any of his business and not his responsibility. He should be back at his desk, proving to Assistant Commissioner Blackstone that he was worthy of the trust he’d placed in him by promoting him to inspector.
But as Lady Aston’s small yet voluptuous body slid down his, and he gazed down into her troubled green eyes, he knew why he was here, even if it made no sense at all. This tiny, auburn-haired sprite was perhaps the loveliest thing he’d ever seen. From the moment she’d walked into his station this morning, he’d been unable to take his eyes off her.
“Thank you,” she whispered breathlessly as she stepped away from him, and to his surprise, she seemed just as affected by the chemistry between them as he. A shaft of rare winter sunlight caught the fiery strands of red in her auburn hair, and he wanted nothing more than to press against her once more and kiss her senseless.
“You’re welcome,” he murmured, turning back toward the house, trying to calm his own racing heart. His attraction toward her was completely inappropriate and not at all conducive to conducting this investigation.
By the time the butler opened the front door and they stepped into the warmth of the front entryway, he’d successfully managed to tamp down his ardor. Thanks to years of dealing with high-stress situations, he felt he was once again in the right frame of mind to figure out what had happened to Lady Evelyn.
The interior of Lady Aston’s home was every bit as elegant and ostentatious as the outside. They entered a grand two-story hall, crowned by a ceiling graced with a breathtaking mural of angels in a cloudy sky. He tried not to show how out of place he felt as a footman came over to take their coats.
“Thank you, Thomas,” she said to the young man. “Did Lady Evelyn return while I was out?”
Thomas shook his head. “I’m sorry, my lady. She did not.”
Lady Aston’s face fell, and she turned back to Sebastian. “I’d offer you tea, but since we just had some, do you mind if we go straight to Evelyn’s room? I’m anxious to see what you can find.”
“Of course,” he murmured. “Lead the way.”
They climbed a curving staircase toward the next floor and then walked down a long hallway carpeted in deep burgundy. Along the way, they passed countless paintings and sculptures, any one of which probably cost more than he earned in a year. The vast inequality between the average man and those who lived in Mayfair had never been so clear to him.
At last, Lady Evelyn stopped before a door on the left side of the hall and turned to look at him. “I feel a bit guilty about invading her privacy this way. About letting a stranger go through her things.”
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he told her, understanding her concern, though it would certainly make things easier if they could find something to point them in the right direction.
Warring emotions flickered across her face, but she suddenly nodded and pushed open the door. “She’ll just have to forgive me. If she’d sent word to me so that I wouldn’t be worried, this wouldn’t be necessary.”
He smiled at her rationalization and followed her inside. He liked her pragmatic nature. He’d always thought that the ends justified the means.
Lady Evelyn’s room was actually a bit more spartan than the rest of the house had been. Though the room was large and well-appointed, the pale-peach color of the walls and drapes was very subdued. One whole wall was covered in bookcases, which held hundreds if not thousands of leather-bound books. A cozy, well-worn chair sat in front of the marble fireplace, the bed was against the wall near the door, and a desk stood on the other side of the room.
“She’s very tidy,” he mused, walking over to look at some of the titles on the bookcase. He’d expected them all to be about women’s suffrage, but her tastes were far more eclectic than that, covering a wide array of nonfiction and a healthy section of fiction as well. “And well-read.”
Lady Aston nodded. “My sister nearly always has her nose in a book.”