“Are you aware of the trouble your sister, Robbi, is getting into?”
“If you’re referring to her sneaking out at night, that would only be a secret to Ross. He believes she’s learned the dangers that go bump in the night.”
“What about the dangers of having her art published inThe Whispers of the Ton.”
She did everything she could to not react. “I don’t understand.” She lied.
“Don’t play coy, Miss Blair. It doesn’t become you.”
“Be that as it may, you’ll have to explain exactly what you’re accusing her of doing.”
Sir Williamson pulled her toward the narrow passage located between the Smythe and Johnson townhomes. She dug her heels in, but he merely picked her up and towered over her as she pressed back against the brick wall. She’d only read about his type of intimidation in books. She gulped as he brought his face mere inches from her own.
“I’m talking about the etching of me in my bath that was printed inWhispers of the Tonthis morning.” His jaw clenched to contain the anger radiating from every inch of his massive body.
“I’m still not certain what you are referring to. I haven’t read that sheet in days.”
He slapped a paper against her midsection, and she nearly gasped. “I took this one from your library, where I watched the two of you giggling over the content this very morning.”
She had the grace to look embarrassed after being caught in a lie. “Oh, that one.”
“Yes, that one. What do you think the paper will say when I tell them Robina Blair is the artist sketching gentlemen of the ton in their altogether?”
She lifted her chin. “She did no such thing.”
“I can prove it.”
She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Then prove it.”
He mimicked her stance and then leaned forward once more. “I was there when she dropped it off at the paper two nights ago.”
She scoffed. “If that was the case, why didn’t you stop the printing?”
He clenched his jaw, his mouth puckering in a way that drew her eyes down to where his bottom lip dominated his top lip in the most fascinating manner.
“Stop that.”
Her eyes flew to his. “Stop what?”
He blew out an exasperated breath. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a distinct button to hold in front of her face, and her stomach dropped. “Oh, Robbi.”
“I can see by your expression that you know exactly what this is.”
She shook her head in denial. “I have no idea.”
He grabbed her arm and began dragging her to the entrance of the alley. “Then let’s go match this button to the jacket she wears when she roams the streets at night, shall we?”
“Wait. Wait!” She demanded when he refused to slow down.
He turned on her; scowling in her face once more. “Are you ready to tell the truth?”
“I recognize it as being a button from a boy’s jacket, but I’m almost certain there are many, many jackets with similar buttons on them used by countless boys across London. Countless delivery boys who show up at the paper every day to sell papers forThe Whispers of the Ton.”
“I found this…” he held it up directly in front of her eyes, “…in my bathing room.”
She remained silent.
“Now, do I need to show you where her jacket is missing a button?”
