“Reaver!” Adam shouted. “Pull your arse out of bed, man. I must speak with you.”
When the door was yanked open a minute later, Adam frowned. “By God, you are a monster. Where is your shirt?” He glanced past Reaver’s naked shoulder to the woman cinching a dressing gown over a garment that more properly belonged on a man. “Ah, that explains it.”
Reaver’s black scowl deepened as he gave Adam a hard shove. “Keep your eyes off her, Shaw.”
Adam winced and rubbed his own shoulder. “Bloody hell, man. Calm yourself. You know where my affections lie. On that subject, what have you done with Glassington’s markers?”
“Nothing. They’re at the club.”
“No,” he snapped. “They are gone. And so is Phoebe.”
Augusta ducked beneath her husband’s braced arm to stand beside him. “What is this about Phoebe?”
Reaver grunted. Adam translated the sound to mean he’d rather not involve Augusta in whatever mess Adam was bringing to his doorstep. But Adam did not have time for Reaver’s protective instincts. He needed to find Phoebe and stop her before she did something idiotic. Like marry Glassington.
“Phoebe has fled north in a post-chaise,” Adam said flatly. “Likely with Glassington’s markers, and likely with the intention of forcing his hand.”
Augusta blinked several times in rapid succession. “Beg your pardon?”
Teedle, who had been hovering in the background, stepped forward. “Madam, your sister did leave a note for you. I was waiting to deliver it until … well, until …” He cleared his throat.
Adam waved impatiently. “Yes, yes. Until they emerged to retrieve something vital, like food or air. Fetch the note, Teedle. Do it now.”
Frowning, Augusta reprimanded, “Mr. Shaw, really. I am not certain what is causing this sense of urgency, but—”
“Your sister is gone.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it is my business to know.”
“I don’t see why.”
Reaver hugged Augusta’s waist with one hand. “He cares for her, Gus.”
She looked up at him, her frown deepening. “Well, they are friends, I suppose. Mr. Shaw was kind to her—”
“I love her. And she loves me.”
Gray eyes widened upon him. Her mouth tightened into a flat line.
Teedle arrived, bearing two notes on a silver tray. Good God, the man was painfully formal.
Augusta plucked up the note from Phoebe, while Reaver unfolded the one addressed to him. Together, they read the missives, Reaver squinting and holding the paper at arm’s length while Augusta paled and covered her mouth with her fingers.
Reaver was the first to speak. “Glassington has taken Miss Elder and bolted for Scotland. He intends to marry her as soon as they arrive. Evidently, my visit to her father proved effective, after all, as Mr. Elder raised objections to the match. That left Glassington no choice but elopement.”
Augusta looked again at her husband. “She has gone after them, Bastian. She is alone. Headed north. And she has the markers.”
“I must go,” Adam said, turning away.
“Mr. Shaw.”
He turned to face her.
“She is with child.”
“I know.”
Augusta blinked. Her mouth opened and closed. “If she marries you rather than Lord Glassington, everyone else will know, too. You understand that, yes?”
“I am not daft, Mrs. Kilbrenner. Glassington and I are hardly twins.”
Her slender jaw flickered. “Do you not think my sister deserves an easier life than the one you can offer?”
“Perhaps she does. But she also deserves a man who will fight for her, not one who discards her like a bit of rubbish and has to be blackmailed into marriage. She deserves to be loved. Nobody could possibly love her more than I do.”
Nibbling her lip, Augusta glanced up at Reaver. “Did you know?”
He sighed. “Aye. Shaw told me yesterday.”
She narrowed her eyes upon Adam. “What is your plan?”
“To find her. Persuade her marrying Glassington is madness.”
“It is not madness. It is sensible. He is the father of her babe. She will be a countess. The babe will be the child of an earl, perhaps even an earl himself, one day.”
Adam’s voice went quiet. “And he cares so little for her that even your attempts at blackmail have driven him not to marry Phoebe but to elope with another woman.”
She glared up at Reaver. “Do you intend to remain silent as a great block of stone?”
“What do you wish to hear?”
“Your opinion on the matter.”
“I think Phoebe should decide for herself.”
“That is dreadfully unhelpful.”
Reaver shrugged. “You asked.”
“Well, I think we should go along.”
“We?”
“You and I. If Mr. Shaw intends to intervene, then I want to be there. For Phoebe.”
Rubbing his brow, Reaver gritted, “By God, you are a nuisance, woman.”
“Yes, yes. Now, the likeliest route is the Great North—”
“—Road. Aye. Shaw, meet us downstairs in twenty minutes. Ask Teedle to prepare the coach.”
The door slammed in Adam’s face, though he could still hear arguing behind it. The arguing stopped abruptly.
Adam straightened his coat and started for the stairs. The entrance hall seemed a fine place to wait, after all.
~~*
By the time they reached Smithfield and headed north, the snow had begun to fall in earnest. Fat flakes swirled and floated in the lantern light while, beyond the coach window, all else was dark.
Augusta sighed and laid her cheek against Sebastian’s arm, holding his hand tighter. She eyed Adam Shaw and wondered if he was the reason for the despair she’d sensed from Phoebe over the past weeks. The man was undeniably handsome. Refined features. Lean and well proportioned. He had a crisp quality about him, energy that was focused. Controlled.
She preferred her own rough man, of course, but she could understand Phoebe’s attraction. Earlier, when Augusta had demanded that Bastian tell her more about Mr. Shaw, his answers had unsettled her.
“He is a fine man, Gus. He will care for Phoebe with all his might and considerable fortune, of that you may be certain. But if you think to thwart him, know this. A man does not rise as far as he has without having a bit of ruthlessness in him. Shaw had further to climb than most. So he has more of it than most.”
“You are saying I should not stand in his way, that I should simply allow this to happen.”
Bastian had sighed. “I am saying, should you decide to stand in his way, you must be prepared for defeat.”