Page 69 of One Thing Leads to a Lover

Amanda leaned over the desk, forcing Dulsworthy to look up. “How could you? Your wards? The sons of your dear friend?”

“I never thought they’d come to harm,” Dulsworthy insisted, swaying as if caught in a stiff breeze as he hoisted himself from the chair.

“In answer to your earlier question, I shall never forgive you, George. And if even a hair on one of their heads is harmed, I shall—”

“I think,” Langley interjected smoothly, laying a hand on her arm, “we have what we need. But if you’ll wait downstairs,” he urged her, “I would like a private word with his lordship. Between gentlemen.”

She blinked up at him, her expression a mixture of resistance and confusion, but at his encouraging nod, she turned on one heel and went out.

When the door shut behind her, Langley reached for the decanter on a nearby table and refilled Dulsworthy’s tumbler. “This will only take a moment, my lord.”

What he was about to do was undeniably bold. Presumptuous.

In other words, perfectly in character.

He had always been a risk-taker, just as General Scott had said. And if ever there had been a risk worth taking, it was this one. Because it was for Amanda.

“If what’s happened today comes out,” he began, “and people learn of your involvement in it, they will no doubt be shocked at how lightly you held your duty to your wards.” Though his voice was easy, the implied threat was clear: Langley had in his power the ability to ruin Dulsworthy’s reputation. And reputation mattered a great deal to such a man.

Dulsworthy opened his mouth to defend himself, then gave a reluctant nod of agreement.

“I myself judge Lady Kingston perfectly capable of acting as sole guardian, making appropriate choices about her sons’ future. I suspect, if the present circumstances were known, others might agree.”

At those words, Dulsworthy lifted the tumbler to his lips for another deep swallow, then thumped the glass down. Brandy sloshed over the sides and onto the desktop. “What ish—is it you want?”

“It’s a simple request, my lord. A letter, in which you acknowledge your errors and cede your authority to her ladyship in whatever matters she may please, pertaining to her sons. In your hand and addressed to her. For…safekeeping, shall we say? You understand, I’m sure.”

In truth, Langley wasn’t certain the man did understand, but Dulsworthy gave another unsteady nod, then pulled out a sheet of paper, dipped his quill, and scrawled across the paper just what Langley had asked him to write.

“Very good, my lord. Thank you. Now, if you’ll just sign your name to it.”

Given the man’s present condition, Langley had his doubts about the legality of the document, which was now speckled with brandy from the wet desktop.

But when Dulsworthy spoke again, he sounded almost sober—shocked into clear-headedness, perhaps, by the enormity of what he had done. “I hope you find them,” he said, handing over the paper.

“I intend to.” Langley folded the letter and tucked it inside his coat pocket. Once the boys had been found, he would give the document to Amanda and set her free.

At the bottom of the stairs, he caught up with her, cupped her elbow in his hand, and led her out of the house. She was stiff, trembling—whether with fear or anger, he could not say. As he handed her into the waiting carriage, he gripped her fingers tightly, making her turn her head and look him square in the eye. “I meant what I said, Amanda. I’ll find them.”

“I want to believe you.” Her red-rimmed eyes moved past his, darting up and down the bustling street, as wealthy families prepared for fashionable afternoon outings. “But how will you even know where to look?”

He urged her inside before speaking to the coachman, his voice almost too low to be heard over the clatter of passing carriages. Then he settled across from her as they rolled into motion once more. “I know where we must start.”

Chapter 17

Dazed, Amanda stared out the window but saw nothing of the streets and houses they passed, could not have said whether they were familiar or strange. Somewhere out there, in London or even beyond, her sons were in danger, held at gunpoint by a man—a criminal, perhaps even a spy—who’d been playing a part to insert himself into their lives.

She glanced toward Langley. She might have said the same things of him. He had warned her of the danger surrounding him, but she had been determined to involve herself in the matter of the codebook. To involve herself with a handsome stranger. An adventure, she’d called it.

Oh, what had she done?

She was not sure how far they had traveled when Langley rapped his knuckles on the ceiling of the carriage and ordered the coachman to stop. “We’ll walk from here. Only a few blocks. A crested carriage will draw a great deal of attention in this neighborhood,” he explained to her. “Not all of it welcome.”

Swallowing what she was determined would be the last of her tears, she nodded once to show her understanding and prepared to alight when the coach rolled to a stop. Through the window she glimpsed what appeared to be ordinary houses, not quite as lavish as Grosvenor Square but certainly not the squalor she had steeled herself to expect. The street was surprisingly quiet for afternoon.

“Gaming hells,” Langley explained when he saw her studying the house fronts as he handed her onto the pavement. “Brothels. Pleasure houses that cater to a range of…unusual tastes, shall we say? If it were closer to nightfall, I daresay you might see a few of your neighbors about. Even at this hour, I recommend you keep your head down. It would not do for the Countess of Kingston to be recognized here.”

Mind your step.