to go? Will you try to follow the countess to Ireland?”
“No. The wharfs are surely being watched. I had thought to make my way out of the city by rail.” She bit that lovely full bottom lip with her even white teeth.
He wanted nothing more at that moment than to nibble that lip, as well. The thought made his breath catch.
Then she spoke again. “That is how I got here, but if the wharfs are watched, I suppose the rail stations are by now, as well.”
Alex forced his desire for her into the background of his thoughts again. But his resolve to help her had only strengthened in the last minutes. He supposed everyone had a weakness. His was apparently a need to help those being forced into desperate circumstances by ruthless men. He didn’t know if it was altruism or if he was condemned to spend his life proving to himself and others he wasn’t like his father.
He hated the idea that Oswald Reynolds still had that kind of power and influence over his life. Alex stared ahead, trying to put away the notion of offering more help than he’d already given.
His move west was supposed to mean he’d be blazing a new path for himself. Alone. No reminders of his past. No associations that tied him to anyone but Jamie and his family. But there she sat looking so alone and forlorn. How could he not offer help when she could leave her past behind, too, and he could easily help her do it. “You don’t know where to run, do you?”
Her hands still clutched the pouch containing the jewelry. “No,” she said.
And that one bleak, hopelessly spoken word sealed his fate.
Winston appeared in the doorway perhaps with a reprieve. “Sir, there is a gentl—A person looking for a young lady. He claims she is off in the head.” Winston glanced rather pointedly toward Patience when she gasped. “A danger to herself and others.”
“I am not …” She popped to her feet, still holding the reticule in a desperate clench. “I swear, I am not anything of the—”
Alex stood and lifted a staying hand to stop her rush of words. She had suffered enough and shouldn’t be forced to beg for her very life. To Winston he said, “I will handle this. Is that all?”
“I left him on the stoop.”
“That was unusually rude of you, Winston.”
“Yes,” Winston agreed and Alex would swear he’d nearly smiled.
To Mrs. Gorham, Alex said quietly, “I will send him on his way. As to his claims, I can detect a lie when I hear one even if it isn’t firsthand. A lady like you would never invent the tale you have told me. I had a mother who was a lady and all that was kind and gentle. I know you felt diminished by what you were forced to reveal. This is not an order, ma’am, but for your safety, you should go with Winston and put your trust in those trying to help you.”
She simply nodded and hurried down the back hall following Winston.
Alex proceeded to the front door. He took a deep breath and schooled his features into that of the carefree lighthearted swell he’d pretended to be for so long. It was another part of his life he intended to leave behind.
A large man with a pinched face and a slightly unkempt appearance stood at the door, a step below. He straightened from his slovenly posture against the rail, looking mulish and annoyed.
Too damn bad, Alex thought as he gazed sardonically down his nose. Leaning on the doorjamb, Alex crossed his arms negligently. “I understand you’ve come seeking the Earl of Adair,” Alex said, making sure that no matter how relaxed he seemed to be he still blocked the doorway with his body.
“I’m with the Pinkerton Agency. We’ve reason to believe our client’s daughter came here looking for the earl’s wife. I’ve been sent to retrieve her.”
“Retrieve the countess?” Alex asked mildly, all the while considering the implication of the Pinkertons looking for one lone woman. Apparently Lionel Wexler was determined to get her back and by any means necessary.
The Pinkertons usually worked for powerful corporations against those who threatened their revenues or hunted dangerous criminals intent on menacing their clientele’s bank accounts and property.
Alan Pinkerton himself was a ruthless man. A few years ago he’d blown up a home where the mother of the notorious James brothers lived. Their younger half brother had been killed and their mother had lost an arm. Pinkerton denied the arson had been planned from the first but not many who lived by a strict moral code seemed to believe him.
“‘Course I’m not lookin’ for the earl or his lady,” the agent snapped. “I’m seeking Patience Gorham.”
Trying to appear just a bit vacuous Alex said, “Oh. I don’t believe I know that name. What is this about again?”
“She’s off her nut she is, sir. Mr. Wexler wants her back home safe and sound.”
Alex pretended to be startled. “Goodness. This sounds serious.” Then confused. “When is it you think she would have arrived on my cousin’s doorstep? And this Wexler chap is looking for a woman named Gorham but she is his daughter?”
The man’s gaze sharpened. “Thought you didn’t know her? Why so interested if you don’t know her?”
“Don’t know her. But I don’t live in my cousin’s pocket, either. I have my reasons for asking. When would this have been?”
“Yesterday or maybe the day before. Her papa isn’t sure when she escaped her room. Climbed down a tree like a child. Shows she’s not right in the head. Could’ve been killed or caused a scandal.”
The man had to be parroting Wexler’s concerns because Alex doubted this man had a clue how much of a scandal this would be were it to get out. Unfortunately, it was probably Patience who would be the one tarnished by the gossip this man was spreading. “I think you shouldn’t be letting that get out, in that case. I doubt her father expects you to go about damaging the poor daft girl’s reputation.”
The man had the good grace to look abashed.
But Alex was still left striving to keep his expression one of mild concern and not one of utter outrage. To how many others had this cretin bandied her sanity and good name about like an old society biddy?
Then the full import of what the man had said sank in. If they didn’t know when Patience had left, she must not have been given food for at least the two days in question. Nor had anyone bothered to check to make sure she was all right in her pretty prison cell.
It was a wonder she’d gotten this far before fainting. Suppose she’d fallen beneath the wheels of the train at the busy station or the hooves of a carriage team. Alex clenched his hands behind his back.
“This may be very bad,” he told the Pinkerton. “The countess added a maid to her staff only yesterday. Can you describe this woman?”
The man checked his notepad. “Uh … smallish. Red hair. Dark red, her papa said. Green eyes. ‘Bout all they told me so far. They’re working with a printer to make up handbills with her likeness on ‘em.”
“They? Her parents?” he asked, knowing her mother to be diseased.
