Head rising, she nodded. “My sole responsibility.”
At that, he grinned.
She saw. Frowned. “What?”
He lifted her hand from his sleeve, raised it to his lips. “If you want to scare gentlemen off, you shouldn’t sound so proud of your three imps.”
Her frown would have turned to a scowl, but her sister came up on Geoffrey’s arm and effectively distracted her. Adriana’s court trailed behind; within minutes they were once more part of a fashionable circle, within whose safety Alicia remained, shooting the occasional suspicious glance his way until, deeming his duty on all counts done, he bowed and took his leave.
THREE
HE REPAIRED TO THE BASTION CLUB.
With a sigh, he sank into a well-stuffed leather armchair in the library. “This place is a godsend.”
He exchanged a glance with Jack Warnefleet, ensconced in another chair reading an issue of The Sporting Life, savored a sip of his brandy, then settled his head against the padded leather and let his thoughts roam.
To his life—what it used to be, what it now was, most importantly what he wanted it to be. The past was behind him, finished, brought to a close at Waterloo. The present was a bridge, a transition between past and future, nothing more. As for the future….
What did he truly want?
His mind flashed on snippets of memory, a sense of warmth in company, of rare moments of closeness punctuating long years of being alone. Of camaraderie, a sense of shared purpose, a passion for life as well as justice.
Dalziel and his mention of Whitley had brought Jack Hendon to mind. The last he’d seen of Jack he’d been firmly caught in his lovely wife’s coils, trooping, gesticulating and protesting, at her dainty heels. A vision of Kit with their elder son in her arms, Jack hovering protectively over them both, swam through his mind. And stuck.
Jack and Kit were coming down to London this Season; they’d be here within a few days. It would be good to
see them again, not only to renew old friendships but to refresh his memory, to sense again how a successful marriage worked.
The restlessness that for a few hours had been in abeyance returned. Draining his glass, he set it aside and rose. With a nod to Jack, who returned a salute, he left the library and the club.
At that hour London’s streets were quiet, the last stragglers from the balls already at home while the more hardened cases were ensconced in their clubs, hells, and private salons for what was left of the night. Tony walked steadily, his strides long, his cane swinging. Despite his self-absorption, his senses remained alert, yet none of those hanging back in the shadows made any move to accost him.
Reaching his house in Upper Brook Street, he climbed the steps, fishing for his latch key. To his surprise, the door swung open.
Hungerford stood waiting to relieve him of his coat and cane. The hall lights were blazing. A footman stood to the side, still on duty.
“The gentleman who called this morning has returned, my lord. He insisted on waiting for your return. I’ve put him the library.”
“Dalziel?”
“Indeed, my lord.”
From Hungerford’s tone, it was clear that he, no more than Tony, was certain just who, or more correctly what, Dalziel was, other than someone it was unwise to disobey, let alone cross.
Tony headed for the library.
“The tantalus is well supplied. Do you require anything further, my lord?”
“No.” Tony paused and glanced back. “You and the staff can retire. I’ll see”—he’d been about to say his lordship; Dalziel was at the very least that—“the gentleman out.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Tony continued across the green-and-white tiles toward the library door. The hall was paneled in oak, an airy, high-ceilinged space…it was a night for memories. He could recall running here as a child, with a fire roaring in the hearth at the end, the dancing flames reflecting off the oak, a sense of warmth enveloping him.
Now the hall seemed… not cold, but it no longer held that encompassing warmth. It was empty, waiting for that time to come again, for that phase of life to return.
Hungerford and the footman had disappeared through the green baize door. Alone, Tony paused; with his hand on the knob of the library door, he looked around. Let his senses stretch farther than his eyes could see.