Raven (Gentlemen of the Order 2)

“I suffer a slight twinge in the knee but nothing incapacitating.”

Sophia turned to Finlay and whispered through her smile, “Had I known you’d injured your leg, I would have forgone the vigorous carriage activities.”

“Precisely why I didn’t mention it.”

“Are you in pain now?”

“A little.”

Mr Sloane faced Blent and folded his arms across his chest. “Other than giving his name and insisting on speaking to Miss Draper, we’ve heard nary a word from him since.”

Blent strained against his restraints. “I will speak to no one but

Miss Draper.”

“Untie him,” Sophia demanded. “He’s not an animal, and I hardly consider him a threat. I’m sure he will offer an explanation for his actions.”

Mr Sloane glanced at Finlay, awaiting his approval.

“Do as the lady asks.” Finlay approached Blent. “You may see Miss Draper when she wakes. But how did you know to come here?”

Perhaps the compassion in Finlay’s voice gave Blent the courage to speak. “I overhead Lady Adair tell Jess— Miss Draper not to worry. She said they were going to stay with Mr Sloane in Chelsea. I’ve spent two days trying to find the house.”

Sophia’s cheeks flamed when Finlay’s irate gaze shot in her direction. “But we were alone in Jessica’s chamber. How did—” Recognition dawned. “Ah, you crept up the servants’ stairs to her room.”

Blent looked unashamed. “I had to know she was safe.”

“Because you’re in love with her,” Finlay stated calmly. “You’ve grown close to her over the years. And you’re aware she’s in danger.”

Blent heaved a sigh. “Yes.”

Finlay leant forward and gripped the arms of the chair, his face mere inches from Blent’s. “I swear, if you’ve taken her virtue, I shall rip you limb from bloody limb.”

Blent hissed in disgust. “I’m the son of a gentleman, not a tavern whore. I was hired to protect her, not ruin her reputation.”

“And what is a gentleman with an exceptional talent for design doing playing nursemaid and working in a damn kennel?”

“That’s my business.”

Finlay straightened. “You own the first English translation of Wieland’s Oberon. A hundred-year-old copy of Julius Caesar. Your card table is worth more than you could earn at Blackborne in two years. You must see how suspicious it looks.” He turned to Sophia. “How did you come to hire him?”

“I didn’t. My father hired Mr Blent a month before he died.” And she trusted his judgement implicitly. “He conducted the interviews, said Mr Blent was the best candidate for the position.”

While William Adair had provided the funds to purchase Blackborne, he’d refused to have any involvement in managing the property.

Finlay glanced at Mr Ashwood. A look passed between the gentlemen—a silent instruction. Mr Ashwood sauntered over to Blent, whispered in his ear, and set about untying the ropes.

Perhaps Mr Ashwood knew a truth spell because Blent suddenly said, “Mr Draper knew my father. They were at school together. He supported my mother when my father went to debtors’ prison.”

Finlay tapped his finger to his lips and gave a curious hum. “Your father went to debtors’ prison, yet you didn’t sell his books to pay his debts?”

Blent squirmed in the seat as Mr Ashwood unfastened the knots in his bindings. “Clarence Draper paid the debts, but was still negotiating terms with the creditors when my father died in the Fleet.”

In all the years Sophia had known Blent, he had never mentioned the connection, never mentioned her father’s benevolence.

“You’re an educated man,” Finlay said. “Skilled in design. I’ve seen your drawings. Could Clarence Draper not have found a landscape architect willing to give you a position as an apprentice?”

Blent hesitated before saying, “After Miss Draper’s accident, her father feared Mr Archer would return from India and make a nuisance of himself. He paid me handsomely to remain at Blackborne for three years. After which time, I could gain access to the funds and pursue my chosen career.”