Dangerous in Diamonds - Madeline Hunter [82]
The man laughed. “Doesn’t visit so often, but she lived in these parts, didn’t she? ’Bout for two years, on and off, some time ago. She stayed with Mrs. Rolland a while back then.” He wandered off to take care of his other patrons.
The tavern owner’s familiarity with Daphne did not surprise Castleford too much. If she had not followed the drum with Captain Joyes, she had to have lived somewhere those two years.
He stood. “You stay here,” he told the coachman. “Be ready to have that carriage ready fast if I send word.”
He went outside and mounted his horse again. He pointed its nose south, in the same direction those workers’ boots had trod.
Very few trod now. An unnatural silence had fallen on the village.
He found the cottage with no trouble. In easy walking distance to Failsworth, it was visible from the road. The little lane that the coachman had described was really a path through a deep front garden.
It occurred to him, as he swung off his horse, that he should have something to say, to explain his intrusion. You are not supposed to be risking your neck with this foolhardy journey right now, Mrs. Joyes. You are supposed to be spending the week in my bed.
That no longer seemed an adequate explanation for his presence, or even accurate. He had spent too many hours in the saddle convincing himself she would not be in danger to deny now that the chance for danger was what had put him in the saddle to begin with.
If you were worried for friends up here, why did you not ask for my help? He knew why she had not. He had hardly presented himself as someone looking to help her or do anything except seduce her.
With no good excuse in mind, he lifted the door knocker.
The house came alive with vague sounds. A curtain at the window parted. A long pause followed. Finally, the door opened and a red-haired woman faced him.
He neither spoke nor moved for a stunned five count. Then he passed her his card while he introduced himself. All through their little greeting, his mind raced, taking the facts he knew and putting them in a new arrangement.
Mrs. Rolland invited him in. He stepped over the threshold, cursing himself silently for being so stupid.
It was all there, but you chose not to see it. You did not want to know.
Mrs. Rolland had not recognized him. She truly did not know his name until he spoke it. He recognized her, however. He had seen her once, years ago, on her back in some weeds, with despair and terror in her eyes.
Mrs. Rolland, Daphne’s “sister,” was not one of old Becksbridge’s mistresses.
She was one of Latham’s victims.
“Your Grace.” Daphne shook while she made her little curtsy.
The expression on Castleford’s face worried her even more than his unexpected appearance here did. He looked very much a duke today.
He entered Margaret’s sitting room as if he called on a countess in Mayfair. A mask of reserve hid his thoughts. His eyes, however, told a different story to anyone who knew him well. They were the eyes of Castleford on a Tuesday, when he turns his considerable faculties to matters that he must address.
Damn his curiosity. Damn his prying. Look where it had led.
They all sat in Margaret’s modest home, while introductions gave way to silence.
Margaret looked to each of them in turn. She excused herself and left the chamber.
Castleford’s formality dropped then. He made himself more comfortable on his chair. He crossed his arms and regarded her as if he worked out a puzzle that had pieces he had not seen before.
Damn him.
“Summerhays returned to town,” he said. “Imagine his surprise to discover that you had stolen one of his coaches and a coachman.”
“I will write and explain enough, and explain more when I return.”
“I would like you to share at least the enough part with me now. What are you doing here?”
“I am under no obligation to share any explanation with you. It was not your coach and servant that I stole. In fact, I think that I am the one due some courtesy regarding explanations. What are you doing here?”
“I followed you. Did you think I would