Victoria had been like a whirlwind the last few days. When she hadn’t been writing a stream of letters, she’d been getting the family organized for the move back to Kinglas. Nick had barely gotten ten minutes alone with her, and when he had, he hadn’t wasted those precious moments on wedding plans.
“I’m sure Victoria would like some of her family to attend,” he added. “So it will take a little planning.”
“Which family?” Alec jested. “She has several of them.”
“That’s an excellent, if rather alarming, point. We’ll have to—” He broke off when his butler entered the room. Henderson had an excellent game face, but Nick had known the fellow for a long time. Something was wrong.
Henderson bent over his chair. “My lord, you have a visitor.”
“At this time of night? Who is it?”
“He didn’t wish to give his name, sir, but said it was a matter of urgency.”
Nick snorted. “If he won’t give his name, I have no intention of abandoning my guests. Tell him to return tomorrow.”
A slight spasm crossed his butler’s face. “I suggested that, my lord. He said to tell you that if you wouldn’t see him tonight, he would return tomorrow with a constable.”
“Really,” Nick muttered.
“One of your brothers?” Alec asked.
“Probably.” Nick threw down his serviette. “Please bring him to my study, Henderson.”
The butler bowed and retreated.
“What’s up, Nick?” Grant asked.
“I don’t know. But if one of you lads got into trouble again, there will be hell—”
Victoria raised her eyebrows.
“There will be consequences,” Nick amended. When the twins and Royal exchanged furtive glances, he wanted to curse. He just hoped that whatever transgression it was, it wouldn’t poke holes in his purse.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Alec asked.
Nick stood. “Not necessary, but thank you. Stay here and finish your dinner. And try to keep my blasted brothers from sneaking off.” He managed a brief smile for Victoria, who wrinkled her nose in sympathy.
Henderson waited outside Nick’s study, looking grim. The butler had excellent instincts, so his demeanor didn’t bode well.
A tall, slightly stoop-shouldered man waited inside the room, huddled against the fireplace seeking warmth. He looked to be in his late sixties, with a complexion that spoke of the pox or a life spent in harsh climes. Although not in evening kit, his tailoring was excellent and his proud manner suggested a man of consequence. He was certainly not an aggrieved farmer or publican seeking restitution for a foolish lark committed by one of his brothers.
“Are you Lord Arnprior?” the man barked, stepping forward. His flat vowels and the sharp edge to his voice suggested a self-made man.
His attitude radiated hostility.
“I am,” Nick replied in a cold tone. “Perhaps you can finally identify yourself and say why you felt the need to interrupt my dinner.”
“I am Mr. Richard Fletcher. My daughter is Lady Welgate.”
When Nick frowned, the man’s tight mouth parted in a smile that looked more like a sneer.
“Since you recognize my daughter’s name,” he said, “you might now guess why I am here. Whether intentionally or not, my lord, you are sheltering a murderess in your household. And I demand that you immediately turn Miss Knight over to me—and to the proper authorities.”
* * *
After the whirlwind of the last few days, Victoria should have been exhausted. Instead, she felt like champagne was fizzing through her veins. Every time she snuck a glance at her ring—approximately every minute—she could barely sit still. Her happiness was so effervescent, it seemed almost impossible to contain within her own body.
A body, she might add, that now craved her lover’s touch. She’d never imagined that sexual relations could be so stimulating or so intensely emotional. If she’d imagined herself in love with the Laird of Arnprior before, it couldn’t compare to what she felt for him now that she’d finally said yes.
