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By the time her uncle opened his bedroom door, she had gathered herself, dashed the tears from her eyes, and regained control over her emotions. Her exhaustion was the only reason she had lost it.
Evie did not cry. Had not cried for over a decade.
But the relief of knowing her uncle was safe in his room, undisturbed, had almost done her in.
“Evie?” Salt and pepper hair wild about his head, his dark eyes were wide as he stared at her like she was an apparition.
“Uncle Oliver.” Her voice only cracked a little, her emotions nearly undoing her now that she knew he was unharmed. “I have some bad news.”
* * *
Anthony
Damn and blast.
He had been so close.
Though Mitchell had a hell of a head start on him, Anthony had closed the gap to see the man in the streets ahead of him—far ahead of him. Mitchell had gone into London and turned away from Mayfair, leading Anthony on a circuitous route through some of the rougher areas, then had gone to ground in the Warrens.
The twisting streets were ripe for ambushes. They were dark and lit only by the light of the moon. Those who wandered into the Warrens had best keep their eyes peeled for trouble because trouble was sure to find them.
Anthony was not afraid, knowing he could handle himself, but he also knew when a search was fruitless.
There were thousands of places Mitchell could be hiding, and Anthony might never find him. Worse would be if Mitchell had deliberately led him here to lose him, so he could go on to the Marquess of Camden’s house while Anthony searched the Warrens.
After traveling a few streets, Anthony acknowledged Mitchell had managed to lose him. It was enough to make a man gnash his teeth.
So close!
So close to so many answers. So close, yet not close enough.
The feeling of failure swamped him, but Anthony pushed it away. He was used to winning but knew there would be a few battles lost before the war was ultimately won.
He hated losing.
Time to report in and warn the Marquess of Camden.
Wheeling his exhausted horse around, Anthony set off at a trot to Camden House. He would need to get the horse a treat later for carrying him through the night.
When he reached the mews, he frowned. The doors were open, and a lamp was lit within. In the center aisle, a stable boy was currying a horse, whispering gently. The youth’s eyes widened when he turned and saw Anthony leading in another horse.
“Whose horse is this? Was a man riding him?” Anthony did not have time for niceties.
“No, sir, the lady.”
Relief flooded Anthony but only for a moment. The boy’s words registered, and Anthony groaned. There was only one lady he could think of who would be arriving on a tired horse in the middle of the night. One who would have followed him all the way from Brentwood Manor.
She must have ridden like the wind to have beaten him to Camden House, even after his detour to the Warrens.
Well, that was fine.
He and Miss Evangeline Stuart were due for a reckoning. She could not avoid him forever.
Perhaps tonight would finally be the night.
* * *
