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Temper clenched Hart's hands into fists. "Yes," he ground out. "I understand you did your best to lead her back from London. By whatever means necessary. Mr. Bromley." He turned back to the father. "I find I would prefer speaking with you alone. Would that be possible?"
The sister sprang immediately to her feet, dropping a curtsy before she'd even managed to rise to her full height. "A pleasure, Your Grace," she chirped, then rushed from the room.
Matthew stayed seated until his father cleared his throat. Then he shuffled from the room under muttered protest.
"My apologies, Your Grace," Mr. Bromley said. "My son is . . ." He gave up with a shrug.
"As magistrate, you undoubtedly know of the trouble Matthew could face if he returns to London. Or if he continues to harass Miss Jensen. I would feel conscience-bound to turn him over to the authorities."
"Yes. Of course. I. . . They were friends once, truly. But when she refused his hand . . . He does care for her."
"As do you."
"Yes. I thought she would be my daughter, and I was glad for it. She was a quiet girl when she moved to this village. Watchful. But a good niece to her uncle. Devoted to him. Always puttering with him in his gardens.
"But after he died, she changed. Grew restless and nervous. Almost as if. . ."
Hart waited as the older man rubbed his forehead.
"I can't explain it. She would not answer sometimes when I spoke to her. It was as if she were already gone away. I knew then that she would not stay here, regardless what we all hoped."
"And one da
y she hopped the coach to London?"
"No, she left our home after a few months. Boarded with the miller for a time. We did not find out she'd gone from there until days later. She said she was moving back to Denmore, but Matthew found no sign of her there, and no evidence of the cousin she'd mentioned to the miller's wife.
"In truth, she'd run off and did not mean to be found."
Hart nodded and frowned. He was no closer to her now than he'd been in London. She was not here and clearly meant not to come back. "So she has no family at Denmore. And the new baron says he does not know her."
"Yes, I understand the title went to a distant cousin. He was taken by surprise."
"And you have no other ideas? No guesses? It's quite important that I find her."
The man's gaze fell away and shifted slowly about the room. Finally, with a long look of caution toward the archway that led to the hall, Mr. Bromley leaned forward. "I had thought," he whispered, "before Matthew found her in London . . . I'd thought she might have gone to the Yorkshire coast."
Sparks tingled over Hart's skin. The feel of the truth again, rare as it was. Lancaster had mentioned Scarborough and the sea. He made his voice as mild as possible. "Why Yorkshire?"
"I took Emma fishing once, in the stream behind that forest there. And she spoke of the water. How much she loved the sea. Her mother took her to Scarborough every summer when she was a girl." He looked again toward the hallway and leaned closer. "I never told Matthew," he added needlessly.
Scarborough. Yorkshire. Not the most narrow of directions, but it was better than searching the whole damned civilized world.
Chapter 20
The tilled ground was soft and unbelievably rich, and the wind from the ocean often warmer than she expected. Already, tiny sprouts were beginning to peek through the dirt, protected by the hay she'd spread the week before.
Emma felt blessed whenever she stood here in her own garden, at the side of her own home. She could see the pale blue haze of the sea, just a glimmering line above the edge of the cliffs.
She'd found exactly what she'd wanted. She'd put the land agent on notice months ago, let him know exactly what she needed and where. He'd recommended four properties; she hadn't looked farther than the second.
It was perfect. Beautiful and quiet. Everything she'd ever wanted. Until the sun set and closed her up alone in her lovely cottage.
Emma brushed a hand over the waist of her dress, still tossed between desperate relief and a strange yearning. She'd taken the precautions recommended by the herb woman, and Hart had taken his own precautions. She'd trembled with relief when she'd felt the first of her monthly cramps, but she'd also felt the distinct concussion of a door slamming shut on her past. All of it.
Emma Jensen was gone. As was Emily. And the false Lady Denmore. She was now, simply, the Widow Kern. As false as Lady Denmore, but so very, very different.
She dug her spade hard into the dirt and wondered how different she really was. Her lust for Hart hadn't faded. That night with him had unlocked all those horrid desires that she feared. And yet. . .
