The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London 4)

“God damn, Estelle, must you be so stubborn? How can I deal with Cornell if I’m worried about you?” He lifted her up and deposited her on the seat opposite, then he opened the door and dropped to the pavement.

“Will you not at least take a weapon?”

The museum was full of ancient swords and spears. One of those would suffice. “I can always hit him over the head with a marble bust.” When she failed to find it amusing, he added, “Should anything untoward happen, I’ll not have the magistrate believe I entered the building with intent.”

She huffed and then thumped the seat.

“Wait for me,” he said before closing the door. He glanced up at Wickett. “No matter what happens, the lady is not to leave the carriage. Is that understood?”

“I can’t promise I can keep her in there, but I’ll not let her out of my sight. You have my word on that.”

“If you see Cornell leave before me, I suggest you send for a constable.”

Wickett’s expression turned grave. “Just have a care. Your mind’s not as focused as it used to be.”

Vane raised a brow. “As long as there are no hounds roaming the corridors I shall be fine.”

“Hounds or wolves?”

“Both.”

As per the instructions in the missive, Vane followed the wall until he came to the wooden service gates. He slipped inside, walked through the garden and entered the building.

Cornell asked Vane to meet him in the basement. It was where men spent hours huddled around the desks beneath the vaulted ceiling, examining relics from a bygone era. Should he meet anyone patrolling the corridors all he had to do was give Cornell’s name and his own calling card and no one would question his presence.

That fact made him doubt Cornell had sinister intentions.

Vane stepped stealthily down the stairs. Lord Cornell may have summoned him, but he would not put himself at a disadvantage by warning the lord of his approach.

He crept past the row of glass cases, past the table where someone had been taking rubbings from stone tablets, towards the glow of candlelight in the far corner. Cornell sat slumped over a desk, numerous implements laid out in front of him, while he used the pointed end of a tool on a decorative necklace.

Vane cleared his throat. “You wanted to see me?”

Cornell jumped up from his seat and bumped into the table. He dropped the tool, and it clattered on the floor. It took him a moment to find his voice.

“Trevane?” Blood crept up Cornell’s neck to flood his cheeks. The man’s bottom lip trembled. “You’re not allowed down here. It … it is strictly off-limits.”

Vane snorted with contempt. “Did you not send for me?”

“Send for you?” Cornell seemed confused. “No.”

“Don’t play games. I received your letter. The wax seal bore your crest. How else would I have known where to come?”

“There must be some mistake,” he said, draping a cloth over the gem-encrusted necklace he’d been working on. His hands were shaking, and he refused to meet Vane’s gaze. “What reason would I have for asking you here?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Vane said arrogantly. “Perhaps you want to offer an apology for being the conniving bastard responsible for ruining my sister. Perhaps you want to explain why you paid a man to follow her to Raven Island. Or why you seem to think I’d be remotely interested in bedding your wife.”

Cornell fell silent, though he seemed more concerned with the items on the table than he did Vane’s accusations.

“Look, I acted out of spite and jealousy.” Cornell shivered visibly. He held up his hands in mock surrender, and yet he would not move from the table. Clearly he was hiding something. “Lord Ravenscroft made his position clear. Should I venture to injure the lady again that damn pirate will put a ball in my chest.”

“Yes, but not before I stuff your head up your horse’s arse.”

The man’s saggy jowls wobbled in fright.

“And so you didn’t summon me here to call me out?” Vane continued.

Cornell blinked rapidly. “Good Lord, no. Why on earth would I do that?”