Page 77

“Of course.”

“Then a check will suffice,” Freddie said. He offered Hadford the one thousand pound note again. This time, the gentleman took it and walked to his desk.

“It will take me a few minutes to draw that up.”

Freddie leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Take whatever time you need.”

Adam jotted down the last of this week’s expenses in his ledger and closed the book with a sigh. One day, he would do this without feeling as though he were walking a tightrope. He prayed that day would be sooner rather than later.

Pushing his chair back from the desk, he stood and walked to the window. Already, the silhouettes of trees and shrubs were barely visible in the darkness. Sunset had forced him out of the cart shed earlier today than it had only a week ago. The shortening of the days was a double-edged sword. As reluctant as he was to lose an extra hour or two of work, it had felt good to take the time to bathe and actually dress for dinner this evening after so many days of eating in his work clothes only to fall into bed immediately afterward.

Voices in the hall beyond the study’s closed door drew his attention. He recognized Thompson’s steady cadence, but the female he was speaking with sounded distressed. He frowned. Emily had already retired to her room, which undoubtedly meant that Miss Glover had done the same. Surely Mrs. Foster would not be causing such a ruckus at this hour.

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Adam said.

Thompson appeared in the doorway. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but Miss Hadford is here and wishes to speak with you. She claims it is most urgent.”

Miss Hadford. Adam’s heartbeat quickened. What on earth had brought Phoebe to Dunsbourne Manor this late in the day?

“Have her come in.”

Thompson had barely turned around when the lady in question brushed past him and ran across the room toward Adam.

“My lord.” She was out of breath. A traveling cloak covered her evening gown, but she wore no hat, and her hair was falling out of its pins in a disheveled cloud around her distraught face.

He reached for her arm to steady her. “My dear Phoebe, whatever is the matter?” Vaguely aware of Thompson closing the door behind him, Adam guided Phoebe to the closest chair. “Please, take a seat.”

“I cannot.” Panic filled her eyes, and she backed away. “There is no time. We must leave now. Before it is too late.”

Adam’s unease burgeoned. He had never seen Phoebe so agitated. “Too late for what?”

“To catch Freddie Payne.”

Adam froze. “What did you say?”

Phoebe brushed her tangled curls back from her face and took an unsteady breath. “There is a gentleman named Edward Trevors currently with my father in his study. He arrived from London this afternoon and ate dinner with us. His face is covered in white powder and rouge, and he wears a white wig and an eye patch.” She looked at him—her expression a mixture of uncertainty and dread. “There is something about him that sets me on edge, and his one visible eye is pale gray.”

“Pale gray,” Adam repeated. “You are sure?”

“Completely and horribly.”

In four steps, Adam was at his desk. Two more had him withdrawing his pistol from the lower drawer. “What business does this visitor have with your father?”

“I do not know. But if he truly is Freddie Payne, it cannot be anything good.”

“Of that there is no doubt.” Fear for Mr. Hadford and his family tightened Adam’s throat. He would not wish the agony he had endured the last few years on anyone—especially not friends and neighbors.

He took her elbow and steered her toward the door. “How did you come?”

“I rode Aria. She is waiting outside.”

Adam would not think on the danger she had faced in coming to fetch him alone in the dark. One unseen root or divot in the ground and she would have been thrown.

“Thompson,” Adam called across the main hall.

The butler appeared, Adam’s hat and cloak already in his hands.