Page 69 of Sir Durham’s Disarming Asset

Chapter Nineteen

Minutes after her discussion with Islington, Zeph could not recover her ability to navigate a party. She asked a Ramsey footman to hail Ashley’s groom to take her home. A young footman opened the door to her and, with thanks to him, she hurried up to her room. After checking that her little red book was tucked into the far shelving of her bookcase, away from anyone’s notice, she pulled the bell for her maid. Minutes later, wrapping her quilted blue silk robe around her muslin night rail, Zeph thanked the girl for her services and dismissed her.

She went to sit before her goodly fire to watch the flames dance up and away, like so many of her dreams burned to ashes. Feeling sorry for herself, she mourned that she sat there one more night, once more alone, once more yearning for a man who would not have her.

Yet she knew in her soul he loved her.

He loved her.

In a moment, she shot to her feet. She had been denied, refused, rejected by others. Even her own father had not always honored her.

But she had survived. Prospered. Even after the brutality of the two guards in the Conciergerie.

Sliding her bare feet into her soft wool slippers, she pulled her robe around her, flung her red silk cape over her arm, and trotted out the door, down the stairs, all the way down to the kitchen, where the housekeeper sat with the cook, chuckling and clearly enjoying a bit of whiskey.

They jumped to their feet.

“Miss?”

“Miss Butler?”

“Has Friendly gone to bed, do you think?” Zeph did not wish to disturb the old fellow, but he might stay up to receive Lord and Lady Ashley.

“No, Miss Butler,” said the housekeeper with her sweet, pudgy smile. “He just went up. I will get him for you.”

“I want the town carriage. A groom. A footman.” Zeph could not know who guarded her these days. She saw no one usually. Just sensed eyes upon her back. “And…and they can return here right after I arrive at my destination.”

Their faces fell.

“Miss, are you certain—”

“I am, Mrs. Roberts,” she said with conviction to the housekeeper.

The lady’s gaze fell to Zeph’s robe and slippers. “Ah, miss, I would not want anyone to think we saw you go and—”

“I will tell everyone I insisted. I must go. I will leave a note for Lady Ashley where I am, but I will go. Now.” Zeph arched her brows.

“Of course, miss,” the housekeeper said. “I will fetch a footman to go to the mews.”

*

No. 15 Queen Square

London

“Where is he?” she demanded of Rafe’s butler when the man finally opened the front door. “In his study? His bed?”

“Miss Butler, this is irreg—”

“I know, Simpson.” She patted his shaking hand, her gaze traveling up the staircase. “I do know. But tell me where he—”

“His sitting room.” The man looked at her with hope in his tired old eyes. “He came home not an hour ago, and he called for whiskey and cognac. I took them to him, but—”

“Good. I’ve a taste for that myself. I will call you if I need you.” She met his gaze with forthright intent. “But I plan not to.”

“Miss. Do make him happy again, will you?”

“My only goal in life, Simpson. My only goal.”