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He would woo her—he would win her. And then he would bring her home.
Two days later, at the fashionable hour of noon, Martin turned his bays into the familiar precinct of Half Moon Street. He drew them smartly to the kerb before Helen’s narrow-fronted house. Joshua jumped down and ran to their heads. Martin threw him the reins. ‘I don’t know how long I’ll be. Walk ’em if necessary.’
Martin strode purposefully up the steps. She was going to say yes this time. He was not going to leave until she did. He raised his hand to the knocker—and froze.
The knocker was off the door.
He stared at the empty hinge from which it normally hung—a small brass weight in the shape of a bell. Only its outline remained.
Helen had gone out of town.
Abruptly, Martin turned on his heel and strode back to his curricle. Surprised by his master’s sudden return, Joshua glanced up and opened his mouth, then shut it again. Silently, he handed his master the reins and scrambled up behind. From long experience, he knew better than to ask questions when Mr Martin looked like thunder.
Heading his team back into the traffic, Martin considered the Park, then decided against it. The last thing he needed was inconsequential chatter. He turned his horses towards Grosvenor Square mews. Soon, he was striding back and forth before the fireplace in his library, feeling caged and impotent.
Why? Why had she left?
The talk after the Barhams’ ball could not have been that bad. He might have committed a blunder under stress but he knew his London. The tattlemongers would have twittered over it for all of twenty-four hours, then forgotten it entirely.
So why had she gone?
To avoid him?
Martin thrust the thought aside, then, when no other explanation offered, reluctantly brought it back for examination. Too restless to sit, he prowled the room. Could she have thought he would repeat his performance—with Selina or whoever—and make her life a misery? With a frustrated growl, he shook his head. No—no he could not believe she would imagine he would hurt her—well, not more than the Barham effort. Given that they had developed a degree of understanding through the long hours they had spent together, she would know he would calm down after that—after he had seen her distress. Hell, he wanted to marry the woman—she could not believe he would hurt her. Could she?
Sunk in semi-guilt, Martin prowled the room.
A sudden realisation brought him to a halt. He raised his head and stared, unseeing, at his own reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece. She could not have gone off to escape him—because he had taken himself off. With a sigh of relief, he sank into a chair. She would have realised within a day or so that he had left the capital. He doubted her friends would have sanctioned a withdrawal before that. So…
So why had she left? Perhaps the reason had nothing to do with their relationship? She had no immediate family; her friends were a select few, all of whom were presently residing in London. Perhaps Dorothea had taken ill and retired to the country? Recalling the last sight he had had of Hazelmere’s lovely bride, Martin rejected that idea as unlikely.
Had Helen been forced to leave by something else entirely? The thought jerked Martin upright. After a moment’s cogitation, he rose and tugged the bell-pull, insensibly relieved to have something concrete to do.
When Hillthorpe answered, he asked for Joshua.
Moments later, ‘You wanted me, guv’nor?’ broke across Martin’s thoughts. He raised his head and beckoned Joshua closer.
‘That gentleman I had you watch—Hedley Swayne. You mentioned you’d struck up a relationship with his man?’
Joshua wriggled his shoulders. ‘Not so much a relationship as a drinking partnership, if you take my meaning?’
Martin did. He smiled, a touch grimly. ‘That will do admirably. I want you to get over there now and find out what you can of Mr Swayne’s recent exploits. Particularly, if he’s had any unusual visitors—or if he’s dressed down to attend any meeting. I expect that’s something his man would notice.’
‘Oh, he’d notice right enough. Went on a treat over the gent’s new coloured silk neckerchiefs last time I saw him. The way he tells it, the swell only thinks of the rags on his back.’
Martin raised a brow. ‘That’s certainly the way he appears—but I know for certain there’s at least one other thing Hedley Swayne exercises his wits over.’ He fixed Joshua with a commanding eye. ‘I want to know what Hedley Swayne’s been up to this week—and I want to know as soon as possible.’
‘Right-ho, guv’nor.’
With a cheery half-salute, Joshua left.
He was back far faster than Martin had anticipated.
‘He’s gone—bolted.’
‘What?’ Martin exploded out of the chair he had slumped into. ‘When?’
‘Seems like the gentleman’s taken hisself and his man and his usual escort—whatever that might mean—off to his estates. In Cornwall, they be, so the housekeeper said. They left two days ago.’
