All the color drained from Anne’s face. Now what was amiss? She looked as if she were on the verge of collapse again. Stephen took her arm. “Have you sent anyone to look for the boys, Hobbes?”
“Aye. Charles and the other lads searched the square thoroughly, sir. They have just returned. We were going to send for Miss Strange when you arrived.”
“Clorinda will be of no help,” Anne said, jerking her arm out of Stephen’s hold. She appeared to have shaken off whatever fit had befallen her. “We need to expand the search at once, spreading out in all directions. I will go—”
“You will let Hobbes and the footmen attend to it,” Stephen said firmly. He turned to the butler. “Send men out as far as Park Lane and Oxford, Mount, and Bond streets. If they still don’t find the boys, have them regroup and try farther afield, but I strongly suspect young Philip and George will come home on their own in a little while.”
Hobbes looked very relieved to be given orders. “Very good, sir.”
Anne was not relieved; she was incensed. “You are far too highhanded, sir. My father put me in charge of my brothers’ welfare; of course I will help in the search.”
“The footmen will do very much better without you.”
“They will not.”
He was not going to waste time arguing with her as she clearly was not of a mind to be persuaded. If she’d bother to give the subject even a moment’s thought, she’d realize if she went out, the men would be distracted by their need to keep her safe. “You will not go with them.”
“I won’t stay home,” she said, looking a bit desperate. “I can’t.”
Evie put her hand on Anne’s shoulder. She looked worried, too, but not as frantic as Anne. “I’m sure the boys are all right. They are together and they have Harry.”
“But this is London, Evie. Anything could happen.”
If he didn’t get Anne out of here soon, she’d work herself and Evie into a full-fledged case of hysteria. “Now that I think of it, it’s most likely Harry remembered his fine romp through Hyde Park this morning and insisted on taking your brothers there.”
“Oh.” Anne frowned for a moment and then nodded, the dark cloud lifting from her features. “Yes, of course. You must be right. I think I can retrace our route. It is certainly worth a try.” She was out the door as she finished her sentence.
Wasn’t she going to wait for him? “Hobbes, you’ll organize the operations?”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
“And you’ll be all right here, Evie?”
Evie smiled. “I’ll be fine. You’d better go after Anne, though. She might be halfway to Park Lane already.”
“I don’t doubt it—and don’t worry. We’ll find the boys.”
Evie frowned. “But Hyde Park is quite large, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but Harry struck me as a very intelligent dog. If we don’t find him, he’ll find us.”
He heard Evie laugh as he dashed out the door. As she’d predicted, Anne was not waiting politely for him at the bottom of the steps. He caught a glimpse of her hideous brown dress turning the corner toward Park Lane before she was completely hidden from view. He strode after her. The woman would keep him on his toes once they wed.
He stumbled, but quickly caught his balance. Was he actually going to marry her?
It looked very much as though he was. His honor demanded it.
His honor and other things. He grinned. He was quite looking forward to their marriage bed.
If anyone had told him yesterday he’d be betrothed today to a woman he’d just met, he’d have called the fellow a fool. On the other hand, some of his best decisions had been made on the spur of the moment. After years of navigating unknown terrain and negotiating with natives and other plant collectors, he’d become very good at making split second decisions. He trusted his gut.
And his gut liked Anne.
He had to admire her dedication to her family. So many society women concerned themselves only with themselves and their amusements. Not Anne. She’d take as passionate care of their children as she did her brothers and sister. And she was already used to managing an estate with little or no guidance—Crazy Crane must be gone as much as Stephen.
Now why did the thought of leaving Anne on his estate sit like a rock in his belly? It was the perfect situation. He couldn’t have found a better bride for his purposes if he’d conducted a thorough search of the ton’s ballrooms. He must still be feeling the residual effects of too much brandy.
He turned the corner and saw her about ten yards ahead, striding purposefully along in that frightful frock. At least she didn’t have this morning’s dreadful bonnet to complete the fashion disaster, though this selection wasn’t much better. He lengthened his own stride.
“You should slow down, you know,” he said when he caught up to her. He didn’t try to get her to take his arm. It was clear she’d have no part of that.
She spared him a glance. “Why? Am I moving too quickly for you?”
“No, but we are creating a bit of a spectacle.” He nodded at a group of bucks sauntering down the other side of the street. One of them had stopped to put his quizzing glass to his eye. “And don’t, I pray you, stick your tongue out at that fellow.”
Anne slowed a little. “I would never do something so ill-bred, but I can’t imagine why those men feel the need to take note of me.”
Poor Anne. London society was going to be a very rude shock for her. Why hadn’t she ever had a Season? Was it because of the boys? She would have been around seventeen when they were born, and he’d wager twins could throw the most ordered household into disarray. But then why hadn’t she come up to Town the next year? Lady Farrington, Crane’s older sister, had still been alive then and in fine fettle—she could have sponsored Anne.
“Well, besides the fact you are a strikingly beautiful unknown”—in a dreadful dress, but he didn’t say that, of course—“I was chasing you down Upper Brook Street.”
That stopped her cold. “You weren’t chasing me.”
“Well, actually, I was.” He took the opportunity to put her hand on his arm.
She scowled, but left her hand where it was as they started walking again. “That’s horrible.” She darted another glance at the group.
“That’s London. The ton is always watching and gossiping. I’ll wager any number of busybodies is peering out their windows right now as we pass.”
“No!” Her head swiveled toward the houses in time to see the curtains on the two closest twitch back into place. “How can you stand it?”
He shrugged. “I’m used to it. I’ve learned not to care too much what people think—though I grant you, it’s far easier for a man to disregard society’s opinion than for a woman. Women have to be much more careful of their reputations.”
“Yes.”
Now why the hell was she flushing and looking so miserable? “Is something the matter?”
“N-no.” She cleared her throat. “Of course not.”
She clearly wasn’t going to confide in him now. No matter. He would find out eventually what was troubling her. “And I confess it helps that I’m rarely in Town.”
She glanced at him. “Why are you here now? I thought you’d be off exploring some foreign jungle.”
It was a good question; he’d been asking it himself recently. Usually he couldn’t wait to set off on another expedition, but of late he’d had little enthusiasm for travel.
“My good friend the Earl of Kenderly married in February so I wanted to be in England to celebrate with him. And my older brother’s first son was born last month.” He laughed. “Poor Jack is mostly a red-faced, screaming little lump of humanity, but John and Meg are both besotted with him.”
“Give him a month or two.” Anne smiled. “I remember how tiny the twins were when they were born. We weren’t at all sure they would live, yet look at them now.” Her smile abruptly turned to a scowl. “I would like to look at them now. What were they thinking, going off like that?”
“I imagine they weren’t thinking at all. In my experience, ten-year-old boys don’t look much beyond the present moment.”
“That may be true of George,” Anne said, worry twisting her features. “He has a sad tendency to leap before he looks, but Philip is almost preternaturally careful.”
They reached Park Lane, and Stephen had to grab Anne’s arm to keep her from dashing out in front of a carriage. “Here now, I’d say George is not the only impetuous one in your family.”
She flushed. “There was much less traffic when I was here this morning.”
“Of course. Everyone else was still in bed, sound asleep.” He took her arm firmly and guided her across the street and through the gate into the park. The path west to Kensington Gardens ran straight ahead; the path south to the Serpentine and Rotten Row was on their left.
Anne stopped abruptly. “Hyde Park is so large.” Dismay clouded her eyes. “How will we ever find them?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find them.” He started down the path toward the Serpentine, but Anne dug in her heels.
“Wait! How do you know they went that way?”
“I don’t—”
“Exactly. You don’t. They could just as easily have taken this other path. We shall have to divide up. I’ll go—”
“You will go with me, my girl. You are not venturing off on your own, so disabuse yourself of that notion immediately.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. There are two paths and two of us, ergo—”
“When did you know young boys and dogs to stick to paths?”
That stopped her in mid-word. “Oh.”
“Precisely. Furthermore it is completely beyond the pale for a young woman—”
“I am not a young woman.”
Mr. Parker-Roth turned his eyes heavenward as if looking for Divine support. “Right, you are ancient. People will still talk if you amble around the park unescorted.”
“I don’t care what people say. I care about Philip and George and their safety.”
“And I care about your safety. Hyde Park is no longer infested with highwaymen, but that’s not to say it’s safe for a woman alone.” Mr. Parker-Roth grinned suddenly. “If nothing else some drunken buck might accost you.”
She had to laugh in spite of her worry; the man was impossible. “But you assured me you weren’t drunk any longer.”
“And I’m not, so you are quite safe as long as you stay by my side.”
“But . . .” She looked at the other path. They would waste so much time if they chose the wrong direction.
“Come, Anne.” Mr. Parker-Roth took her arm firmly. “If you’d let me finish my sentence earlier, you would have heard me say I don’t know, but I suspect the boys—or at least Harry—were headed to the Serpentine. That was your goal this morning, wasn’t it?”
“No, at least not intentionally. I was just following Harry.”
“There you go. I imagine Harry smelled water and was making his way there when I distracted him.”
“I suppose you might be correct.” She fervently hoped he was as she fell into step beside him.
“Of course I’m correct.” He shook her arm a little. “And do stop worrying. The boys are likely having a wonderful time and won’t thank us for interrupting their fun.”
The knot of worry in her gut tightened into anger. “Oh, I intend to do more than interrupt them.” She’d wring their necks.
“Watch your step there.” Mr. Parker-Roth guided her around a pile of dog droppings. He grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Look familiar?”
“No, you dreadful man. Harry’s . . . that is when Harry . . .” She laughed. “This is a completely inappropriate topic, but no, I don’t think that’s evidence Harry has been this way.”
He nodded. “Just thought I should check.”
They walked along the path in companionable silence. What was it about this man that gave her such a feeling of comfort? She should be frantic about the boys, but she wasn’t. She trusted Mr. Parker-Roth had the matter in hand.
That was a dangerous thing. Look at what had happened when she’d trusted Lord Brentwood.
No, the situations were not comparable. She was far older and wiser now—and Brentwood would never have taken an interest in her family.
She glanced up at Mr. Parker-Roth’s profile. What if she’d really met him at Baron Gedding’s house party? She’d certainly never have gone into the garden with Brentwood.
Mr. Parker-Roth was sinfully handsome with his shaggy sun-streaked hair, blue eyes, and long lashes, but more importantly he looked happy, as though he found life amusing. Lord Brentwood had always looked vaguely angry and a bit tortured.
If only she could do it all over—
Bah, it was a silly waste of time to consider such things. The past was the past. She had gone to the party, and she’d done what she’d done. No amount of wishing or regret would change that.
And there was no reason to think the King of Hearts would have noticed her at Baron Gedding’s party had he been there—or today if he weren’t forced to do so by his misplaced sense of chivalry.
“Have I a smut on my cheek?” Mr. Parker-Roth looked down at her, one brow lifted.
“What? No, of course not.”
“That’s a relief. You were studying my face so intently I thought I must have dirt on it.” Both eyebrows rose in mock horror. “Never tell me I have some deformity that’s escaped my notice all these years?”
She flushed. “I apologize for staring.”
His firm lips slid into a slow smile bringing his dimples out of hiding. “Anne, you can stare at me anytime you like.”
Now she must be even redder. She tore her eyes away from his face. She should be thinking about Philip and George, not Mr. Parker-Roth’s lips and dimples.
“You’re worrying again, aren’t you?”
“No.” She shrugged. “Well, perhaps a little. Are we almost there?”
“Almost.” He touched her cheek. “Don’t be too hard on the boys.”
“Too hard? They are frightening us all to death.”
“I know, but they likely have no idea the fuss they’ve caused. They know where they are. They know they’re safe. I’ll wager they will be astounded when they learn you’ve been worried. And that’s what they must be taken to task about. A gentleman never causes a lady undue worry.”
She almost laughed at that. How could the King of Hearts say such a thing with a straight face? Brentwood certainly didn’t subscribe to that philosophy. Even her father thought of himself—and his antiquities—before anyone else. He’d headed for the dock yesterday without the least concern for how she would manage Evie’s come-out.
“I can’t believe—” Wait! Was that . . . ? “I think I hear . . .”
“Yes, I’d say that’s Harry’s bark,” Mr. Parker-Roth said. “Those trees are blocking our view at the moment, but—”
Anne didn’t wait. She picked up her skirts and ran. It was farther than she’d thought. She stopped, a little winded, and leaned against the last tree before the broad expanse of lawn down to the Serpentine. There, a hundred yards or so down the river were two boys and a dog herding a bevy of swans.
“Have we found them?” Mr. Parker-Roth asked, coming up beside her.
“Yes! Oh, dear God, there they are.” The tight knot of worry in her stomach released with a flood of tears.
Mr. Parker-Roth gathered her up against his broad chest and held her as she soaked his shirt front.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered into his cravat. “I’m not usually such a watering pot.”
He hugged her a little tighter, and she rested her cheek against his chest. “You’ve just gone through a bit of an upheaval, coming to London and being saddled with the responsibility of your sister and the boys,” he murmured against the top of her head. His voice was calm and reasonable as if it were perfectly normal to have a woman sobbing in his arms in the middle of Hyde Park. “And then to have the boys wander off . . . It w
ould be odd if your nerves weren’t a trifle overset.”
“Perhaps.” She inhaled deeply. He smelled so good. She’d stay here in his comforting embrace just a moment longer . . .
“Parker-Roth.” A man with a distinctively deep, gravelly voice spoke behind her. “How odd to see you here and in such an”—the man coughed suggestively—“interesting position.”
No! She stiffened and then pressed herself more tightly against Mr. Parker-Roth, wishing she could miraculously vanish. That voice . . . She hadn’t heard it in ten years. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe it wasn’t—
“Brentwood,” Mr. Parker-Roth said, his tone cold.
Chapter 6
What had the bastard done to Anne? When she’d heard his voice, she’d clutched Stephen so tightly he’d thought Satan himself had appeared.
Brentwood was a blackguard. Stephen had conceived his disgust of the marquis at Eton when he’d come upon the cur trying to drop a new student head first into the jakes. All the other boys had stood around watching, afraid to intervene. Brentwood used his rank and greater size—he’d got his growth early—to bully anyone he chose.
Stephen had been too furious to care. He’d tackled Brentwood and, with the help of the erstwhile victim—now his good friend Damian, Earl of Kenderly—given him a taste, quite literally, of his own medicine. It had taken days and endless scrubbing for Brentwood to free himself from the stench.
It was one of Stephen’s favorite memories of his Eton career.
Brentwood usually gave him a wide berth. What—ah. A breeze brought him the scent of brandy. Hyde Park seemed to be a favorite location for inebriated gentlemen today.
“I’d always thought you such a d-discreet fellow,” Brentwood was saying, “and here I find you making love in the middle of the park to a female in the drabbest dress I’ve ever had the horror to see.” Brentwood waggled his eyebrows. “I suppose the awful garment must hide a body so d-delicious even the King of Hearts can’t restrain himself.”
He turned to the woman on his arm. “You should see if she wants to join your establishment, Mags. It would be better than working the park”—he chuckled—“though I suppose she don’t care if she gets grass stains on that d-dress.”
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