curls of hers bounced over her forehead. She pushed at them absentmindedly, her gaze still fixed on the letter.
‘No. Never.’
‘He is not a friend of your brother’s? A customer? A rival?’
‘No. None of those. I told you,’ she said, with a hint of sarcasm, ‘I have never heard of him.’ She paused, white teeth nibbling at her lower lip. Then she narrowed her eyes. ‘But you know who he is. Or you would not have come all the way up here to speak to Daniel.’
Impressed by her quick uptake, Vernon decided there was nothing to be gained in concealing the little knowledge he did possess.
‘Henry Mannington is a distant cousin of the Beauchamp family, but none of us has seen him or heard of him for several years. He is a classics scholar with a passion for exploring ancient sites and even as a young man he had no interest in socialising in our circle.’
‘The upper ranks of society, you mean?’
There it was again. That hint of disdain in her tone, but recognisable for all that. Miss Markham clearly did not approve of the aristocracy.
‘Yes.’ He would neither apologise for who and what he was, nor feel guilty for it. Her prejudices were her problem. ‘He is my age and we were at university together. Our paths have not crossed since then.’
Miss Markham thrust the letter back at Vernon. ‘I cannot see how this will help me find Daniel.’ She crossed her arms.
‘Find him?’
Her cheeks reddened, clashing with her bright hair. Her lips compressed.
‘How long is it since you have seen Daniel?’
For the first time her composure wavered, her nostrils flared and her hazel eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, sheened.
‘Come.’ Vernon gentled his voice. ‘You are upset. Tell me what has happened. I might be able to help.’
‘I do not need help.’
‘How long?’
‘F-five days.’
Vernon checked the letter. ‘Three days after this was written.’ He re-read the missive. ‘By its wording, Daniel had suspicions about Henry Mannington, but what manner of suspicions? It must be more than Henry claiming kinship with Cheriton, for that much is the truth and easily verified. And Henry is a decent chap, not the sort to become embroiled in matters dastardly enough to drive your brother to beg help from a peer with whom he has no acquaintance.’
Miss Markham stood up and resolutely smoothed down the skirt of the peach-coloured gown that skimmed her petite frame. The colour should have clashed with her hair, which was the colour of an autumn leaf, but the combination put Vernon in mind of the brilliant sunset of the evening before and he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. She glared at him as he also rose to his feet. She really was a tiny little thing, barely reaching his shoulder. She put him in mind of a cornered kitten, fur fluffed up and claws out, ready for a fight.
‘There is no need to stand every time I do,’ she said, placing her fists on the desk and leaning on them. ‘I am not one of your fine ladies, ready to take affront at imagined slights.’
‘Maybe you are not,’ Vernon said, quashing down the laugh that tickled his throat. That really would infuriate her. ‘But I, you see, am a gentleman. And I therefore stand when a lady does. Whether she considers herself a lady or no. And...’ he added, tweaking his neckcloth and smoothing the wrinkles from his sleeves, merely to irritate her and to see those remarkably fine eyes flash fire again ‘...as for taking affront, I quite see that particular emotion is alien to your sunny nature.’
He smiled at her scowl and her muttered imprecation. Fortunately, perhaps, he could not make out her exact sentiments. She was indeed a little hothead, hardly surprising with that head of hair. His own hair had reddish tones, but it was more of a dark chestnut colour than the fiery hue of Miss Markham’s. He would warrant his temperament was less fiery than hers, too.
‘Have you made enquiries as to your brother’s whereabouts?’
‘Yes... That is, I sent the grooms out to search the countryside around, but I instructed them not to make enquiries. Not yet. I did not want to raise a fuss only to find there was a simple explanation for his absence.’ She sucked in a deep breath and his eyes were drawn to the swell of her breasts. ‘They found no trace of Daniel or his horse. And so I waited. I kept hoping he would return. Or that he would write to me.’
‘In other words, you have done nothing to find your brother. You shut your eyes to reality and simply hoped for the best.’
She flashed a look of daggers at him. ‘I did not wish to stir up a wasps’ nest of trouble for him if there was no need for it.’
‘Trouble? Why should you suspect he was in trouble?’
She stared down at the desk, fingering the stack of papers in front of her. Then she subsided into the chair.
‘He was preoccupied...upset...in the days before he went missing.’
Her voice was low and husky with a hint of vulnerability and it stirred within him a peculiar urge to protect her. To help. She was nibbling at her full lower lip, her tawny brows creased in a frown as she stared past Vernon, into the distance. Vernon tore his gaze from her mouth, disconcerted by the slow but undeniable tightening in his loins.
‘I knew he was worried,’ she said, ‘and yet I did not make him tell me what was amiss. I allowed him to fob me off.’
‘I doubt you could have compelled him to confide in you.’
Her gaze met his, a glint of humour in her eyes. ‘Oh, I think I could, had I tried. I should have forced him to tell me where he was going.’
Vernon felt his lips twitch. ‘You have piqued my interest, Miss Markham. How, pray, do you imagine you could have forced your brother to tell you?’
‘I could have threatened to follow him.’
‘And he would have believed you?’
‘Of course.’ She tilted her chin. ‘He knows I never make empty threats.’
His lips twitched again, but he held back his grin. ‘I shall have to remember that,’ he murmured. ‘Do I take it you are older than your brother?’
‘Yes. By three years.’
‘That explains much.’
Her brows snapped together. ‘This—’ Her lips tightened. ‘I am doing it again. Allowing myself to be diverted, because I am scared... I fear...’ She bent her head.
Vernon waited.
‘You were right... I have been waiting. And hoping. But no more.’ She pierced him with a fierce gaze. ‘You have spurred me into seeing what I must do. I shall go myself and I shall make enquiries. I shall find out where he went, all those days when he was out for hours upon end, returning home to eat and sleep and then leaving again at first light. He must have left a trail. He would have been seen. He had to eat.’ She was on
