The Hellion (Wicked Wallflowers #1)(78)

He’d hand it to Ryker’s wife. The lady was tenacious.

“But before you do,” Penelope said, staying him as he reached for the handle of the nursery door, “it is about Cleopatra.”

His heart knocked to a painful stop in his chest.

A gasp ripped from Penelope’s lips as he took her by the shoulders.

“What is it? Do you know where she is? Has Killoran sent word?” For the first time, he gave thanks for her ruthless brother’s quest for a connection to the nobility. The bounder wouldn’t quit until she was paired up with a fancy nob.

“Have I seen her?” Penelope repeated back. “She’s in the White Parlor.”

He immediately snatched his hands from his sister-in-law. “What?” he rasped, relief filling him. “You’ve seen her?” Relief and annoyance blended together, and he gnashed his teeth. All this time he’d been gripped with fear for her safety, and she’d come . . . here. It had been the last place he’d thought to look for her. “You’re certain you’ve seen her . . . today,” he elucidated.

“Seen her? Of course, I’ve seen her. We had breakfast together and . . .”

While she prattled on, relief weighted his eyes shut.

“. . . but I’m not altogether certain about Lord Landon.”

That brought Adair snapping back to. “What?”

His sister scrunched her brow. “Are you certain you’re all right?” she countered, pressing the back of her hand to his head. “I assumed you were perspiring, but mayhap you’re not feeling well?”

Since he’d blurted out his love for Cleopatra Killoran, it certainly felt that way. It left a man unsure of which way was up, down, sideways, or in between. “I’m fine,” he said, ducking away from her hand.

“Yes, well. I was seeking you out because . . .” Penelope paused and stole a glance about. Adair bit the inside of his cheek to keep from demanding she spit out whatever she intended to say about Cleopatra. “She has a suitor.”

Except that.

He’d rather she not blurt that out. He opened his mouth, attempting to form words.

A suitor?

“I know what you are thinking,” Penelope whispered.

No, I’ll wager what is left of my soul that you have no bloody idea.

“It’s incredibly early for a fashionable visit. Quite unfashionable, really.”

“Penelope,” he said impatiently.

“Oh, yes. Right. Right.” His sister-in-law wrung her hands together. “It is Lord Landon.”

The expert dancer who’d given Cleopatra her first waltz. A bloody rogue whose smile only hinted at the wicked deeds Adair, as the proprietor of the Hell and Sin, very well knew the man was responsible for. “What about Lord Landon?” he snapped.

“He is . . . the suitor.”

The suitor. They were two words that hinted at a distinction of something more . . . between Cleopatra and . . . another man that wasn’t Adair. And it didn’t matter if it was Lord Landon or the Lord God himself, the seething white-hot jealousy would fill him all the same. A memory trickled in of that elegant bastard as he’d put his hand upon Cleopatra’s waist, entirely too damned low, as he’d twirled her about—

He growled.

“That was my fear,” Penelope said, misunderstanding the reason for his fury. “I don’t tend to accept rumors at mere face value, given my own family’s experience with them. But I thought you would have firsthand evidence of whether or not the rumors about the gentleman are, in fact, true.”

They were true. The titled lord was in debt, frequented the wicked hells in London, and tossed down the few coins he did have to grow his fortunes. Such a detail had only been viewed as beneficial for how it could increase Adair’s own coffers. Now he saw how it made Landon a match for Killoran’s intentions.

“Adair?” his sister-in-law asked haltingly.

He gave his head a shake to clear the haze. “What are you telling me this for?” he asked curtly.

Penelope’s mouth fell agape. “I . . .” She frowned. “I simply thought after all the time you’ve spent looking after the young woman that you should have an interest to see that she doesn’t end up with a rake. I also thought you should perhaps be the guard stationed outside the room.”

Had Ryker’s wife hefted a blade from her boot and tossed it at his chest, she could not have cut him more. “Is that wot Oi am? A damned guard to oversee Cleopatra Killoran. ’ave someone else do it.”

“Adair?” his sister-in-law called after him.

Ignoring her, knowing he was a bastard for unleashing his temper unfairly on her, he sought out his rooms. He slammed the door hard behind him and then turned the lock with a satisfying click. He shucked his wrinkled and sweaty garments and took a step inside the steaming bath that had been readied. The heat stung his flesh, and he hissed out through his teeth but welcomed the pain because pain posed a distraction from every bloody revelation made by Ryker’s wife.

Except . . . what if she did desire a man like Landon? Adair froze, one leg partially in the bath. He dragged his hands over his face as he confronted the depth with which she’d come to matter to him. And selfish bastard that he was, born to only care about his own needs and desires, Adair hated the idea of some fancy lord winning her heart—or any man.