The Gentleman Who Loved Me (Heart of Enquiry Book 6)(84)

“What was the message?”

“Mr. Corbett apologizes, but he will not be coming this evening. He was detained by a problem at the Nursery House.”

Rosie’s relief dwindled. “What kind of a problem?”

“He did not provide specifics, my lady.”

Agitation thrummed in Rosie. She couldn’t shake off the sense of impending peril, and she didn’t like the idea of Andrew facing some trouble alone. Or, worse yet, not alone. Wasn’t the Nursery House the project that he and Fanny Argent were working on together? The notion of him being alone with that woman and at night…

A milk-fed miss like yourself wouldn’t understand, Fanny’s voice taunted her. Then again, there’s a lot you don’t understand about Corbett here, isn’t there?

Her shoulders tensing, Rosie came to an instant decision. Andrew was her lover. If anyone was going to help him with a problem, it should be her. God knew that she’d leaned on him enough. She wanted to return the favor—and to show that bloody Mrs. Argent that she was no useless miss.

“Fetch my cloak, please,” she said.

“Your cloak?” The maid frowned. “It is late, my lady, and not safe to go out—”

“I’ll take the guards with me. Go on.”

After Odette left, Rosie took out the pistol that Andrew had given her. True to his word, he’d taught her to shoot it a few nights ago, and she tucked it into her reticule for added security.

When Rosie went downstairs, she had a skirmish with Andrew’s guards, which she ended by saying, “If you don’t take me, I’ll hail a hackney and go on my own.” Ten minutes later, she was in a carriage headed for the Nursery House, accompanied by an armed retinue.

They arrived in a part of town Rosie had never been before. Here, the streets were narrow and winding, alleyways branching off like dark veins. Crowds flooded the street, a motley mix of locals, brightly painted prostitutes, and even a few well-to-do gentlemen out to sample the debauchery of the stews. Pickpockets darted through the sea of bodies like hungry minnows.

The carriage turned into a back lane, stopping at black iron gates. Rosie’s escorts conferred with the men standing guard, and the gate was opened, the conveyance pulling into a courtyard which abutted the back of a squat brick building.

“Stay ’ere, my lady,” one of the guards instructed.

A few minutes later, she heard footsteps, and the carriage door was yanked open. Andrew stood there, glowering at her. He was in his shirtsleeves, the white linen over his chest covered in… blood? Rosie’s heart jammed in her throat.

“What the devil are you doing here?” he thundered.

Panicked, she reached out to pat his chest. “Are you hurt? Why are you bleeding—”

“The blood’s not mine.” He seized both her hands in one of his. “I repeat: why are you here?”

His anger sank in. Recognizing that her decision to seek him out might not have been the most prudent, she squirmed in her seat. Her jealousy over Fanny had fueled her recklessness, and one glimpse at Andrew’s foreboding expression told her there was no way she could share that.

“I had a bad dream,” she mumbled (which was true). “When I woke up, you weren’t there, and I had a dreadful feeling that something had happened to you.”

“I sent you a message.”

“I know. And I thought… I might be able to help.” She took a breath and went to the heart of the matter. The truth that went deeper than her stupid jealousy. “You’re always dealing with my troubles, and for once I wanted to reciprocate.”

He stared at her. “You thought you could help me?”

He made it sound as if the likelihood of her being of use was slightly less than the possibility of teaching a pig to fly. And that hurt. While she was used to the ton thinking of her as a shallow flirt, she didn’t expect it of Andrew. He’d helped her to regain confidence in herself, to accept her own desires and the foibles of her nature. He’d protected her and, at the same time, he’d respected her independence in a way that no one—not even her family—had before.

Now, confronted with his incredulity, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been blinded by her feelings for him. The voice in her head that had always whispered that he was too good for her—too good to be true—now declared, Didn’t I tell you, you ninny? You’re merely a pretty ornament, one to share a bed with. Did you think you had more to offer him?

Pain spread like cracks through porcelain. “Do you think so little of me?”

“That has nothing to do with it.” His brows snapped together. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re risking not only your neck but your reputation—”

“Corbett, where the blooming ’ell are you?” Fanny Argent appeared behind Andrew, her gaze fixing on Rosie. “Mary’s tits, what’s she doing here? We ’ave enough on our ’ands without—”

“Shut up, Fanny.” Any glee that Rosie might have felt at Andrew’s clipped words to his employee evaporated at his next words. “She’s leaving.”

“Good riddance,” Fanny said with a sniff.

I don’t think so. Rage spilled inside Rosie, distracting from her heartache. If that… that crone thinks she can get away with dismissing me…