Page 75 of Again, Scoundrel

She was therefore quite unprepared when Alistair threw open the door to the townhouse himself this morning with a surly “it’s about time.”

“Oh,” Violet exclaimed, taking a step back from his glowering expression. “I just received your note.”

He stared at her for a long moment from the open doorway, the dark pools of his eyes narrowing as he took in her figure on his doorstep. He was dusty and rumpled but—she sniffed the air discreetly—smelling again like himself and not like the bottom of a tavern floor.

This, she thought, is an improvement.

“Are you smelling me, Miss Goodwin?” he asked.

Ah.

Perhaps she had not been so discreet, after all.

“I am not,” Violet said, although they both knew that was a blatant lie. “I’m here because you sent for me. About Jess. She’s missing?”

“I did not send for you. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I called for Miss Goodwin,” Williams interrupted, appearing at the top of the staircase, Davy in tow.

“As she is tasked with the young lady’s health, she ought to be aware when said health is at risk.”

Alistair glared at his valet while Violet nodded her head briskly.

“Absolutely right,” she said, stepping across the threshold. “I should have been told immediately. How long has she been gone?”

“This morning is the fourth day, Miss,” Davy said, tumbling down the steps after Williams in the half-running, half-falling manner of young boys. “She left right after the gov’ did on Monday.”

Violet watched as Davy sidled up to Alistair and stared at him. “You came back,” the boy said.

“Of course, I did. We’ll find your sister just as soon as the blasted Bow Street Runner appears.”

Alistair glared at Williams again. “You did call for him as well? Or are we counting on Miss Goodwin for this investigation?”

Williams ignored that. “The investigator said he’d come as soon as possible.” He turned his attention to Davy. “Why don’t you come along with me, and we’ll see about some breakfast.”

Davy trotted along behind Williams to the kitchen, leaving Violet and Alistair alone in the foyer.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Alistair said to her again.

“I know you’re still angry,” Violet replied as gently as she could. “But please let me stay. For Jess.”

“Angry? I’m not angry.”

He reached for her hands and then seemingly having realized what he’d done, dropped them again.

“I’m not angry, Violet. I’m embarrassed. You must think me unconscionably irresponsible.”

Violet felt her skin tingle underneath her gloves where he’d touched her and a kind of sensory deprivation after he stopped. She wondered if it would always be like this, his touch becoming some kind of ghostly artifact she could feel and miss and never quite satisfy her longing for.

“Why would I think that?” she asked. And then, “Why would you think I would think that?”

“Because I lost the girl. She was my responsibility, and I lost her.”

“Alistair—”

“Go home, please,” he said before she could say anything more. “I don’t need you to clean up my mess. I’ll send word when we know something. I’ll find her. I promise you.”

“Alistair!” Violet felt like stomping her foot, she was so incensed. She could hear the self-deprecation and recrimination so clearly in every word he said.