He propelled me along the pavement until he flagged down a taxicab. “Take this young lady back to Belgrave Square,” he said in an authoritative voice I had never heard from him before. He bundled me into the cab. “And you remove that advertisement from the Times the first thing tomorrow morning, do you hear?”

“It’s my life. You can’t dictate to me,” I snapped because I thought I might cry any moment. “You don’t own me, you know.”

“No,” he said, looking at me long and hard. “But I do care about you, in spite of everything. Now go home, have a cup of cocoa and go to bed—alone.”

“Aren’t you coming with me?” My voice quivered a little.

“Is that an invitation?” he asked, the scowl vanishing for a second before it resumed, and he said, “Regrettably I still have business to conclude. But I expect we’ll run into each other on some future occasion in a place that is more suitable.” Then he leaned into the cab, grasped my chin, drew me toward him and kissed me hard on the mouth. Then he slammed the taxicab door, and I was driven off into the night.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Rannoch House
August 16
Cooler, more normal weather.
Internal turmoil not cooler at all.

I managed to make it all the way home without crying. But as soon as I shut the big front door behind me, the tears started to roll down my cheeks. It wasn’t just the fright and embarrassment of what happened and what might have happened, it was the knowledge that I had now definitely lost Darcy. I went up to bed and curled into a tight little ball, wishing I were somewhere safe, with someone who loved me, and coming to the realization that I actually had nobody, apart from my grandfather, that I could count on.

I awoke to the sound of distant knocking. It took me a moment to realize that someone was hammering on my front door. It was only nine o’clock and I pulled on my robe and went downstairs cautiously, wondering who it could be at this hour. Certainly not Belinda. Hope rose for an instant that it might be Darcy, coming to apologize for his boorish behavior last night. But when I opened the door a young policeman was standing there.

“I’ve been sent from Scotland Yard to speak to Lady Georgiana Rannoch,” he said, eyeing my night attire and wild hair. “Is she available, please?”

“I am Lady Georgiana,” I said. “May I ask who has sent you from Scotland Yard and what this is about?”

“Sir William Rollins would like to have a word with you, my lady.”

“Sir William Rollins?”

He nodded. “Deputy commissioner.”

“And why does Sir William wish to speak with me?”