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P atrick looked at the blunt-faced private investigator seated across from him.

“No one is invisible, Mr. Hatchett. There must be some trace of Jack Spode.”

“The room at the Black Swan where the boy and nanny were kept was empty. Everything had been removed. No one would speak about Jack Spode either, all denying his existence.” Mr. Hatchett blew out a breath. “Only a dangerous, powerful man can silence everyone with fear, my lord.”

“So it seems. Keep digging, Mr. Hatchett, and hire anyone you need to assist you. It is imperative this man is found and stopped.”

“I will, my lord, but I just wanted to keep you abreast of things.”

“Of course, and thank you.”

Patrick left the offices of Hatchett and Maynard and walked out into a cool gray day. London seemed to be mirroring his mood.

Are you promised to another?

He wasn’t a man to anger quickly, but he’d done just that after Sophie had asked him that question. He’d then walked away from her. It was later, when he was home lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling, he realized he’d never given her reason to trust him.

He’d believed her to be a liar and questioned her constantly, then taken her innocence. If, as he suspected, she’d heard gossip about him being promised to another woman, why would she not believe that about him?

Because I saved her brother? Should that alone have given her doubts as to him being someone who would take a woman’s innocence and then walk away to marry another?

He’d challenged her right to stand in society as the Countess of Monmouth, which, as it turned out, was accurate, but he now understood why she and Lady Carstairs had done what they had. They were protecting themselves, and he could not fault them for that considering Myles Dutton’s personality.

Patrick’s problem was his arrogance. It was never good to see yourself clearly, but in that moment, he did.

He had always forged his own path, and to hell with anyone standing in his way.

Long ago, he’d vowed no one would tell him what to do ever again.

He was used to being in control. Patrick said and did what he wished, and with Sophie it was no different.

“Nephew!”

Stopping at the shriek, he looked around and saw three ladies seated in the small garden next to Petal’s tea shop ahead of him. One was his aunt, and two were her closest friends. Raising a hand, he prepared to walk on.

“Nephew, come here!”

Christ.

Resigned, he opened the small white gate and entered.

“Aunt Lavinia,” he said, bending to kiss a paper-thin cold cheek. “Mrs. Spooner, Lady Nigel.” He bowed. “You do realize it’s cold out here, don’t you?”

“You young folk are not hardy,” Mrs. Spooner said.

“Sit, Nephew,” his aunt demanded, waving to a chair at the next table, which was empty because most of the sane people were inside the shop.

“I have an appointment,” he lied.

“And yet you will sit.”

Dragging a chair closer, he sat, hunching into his overcoat for no other reason than these three always made him feel like a boy in short pants.

Each wore thick velvet long coats and scarves. Bonnets were in varying colors and always had flowers or small woodland animals attached. They’d been friends since the day they stepped into society.

“Rumors, Nephew. They are swirling,” Aunt Lavinia said.

He’d known she’d learn about Sophie and his interest in her; his aunt may be old, but she was still sharp-witted.

“Are they?” He took a cake from the plate Mrs. Spooner nudged his way. She was the softest of the three and always carried lemon drops in her pocket, which she usually shared with him.

“I like her,” Lady Nigel said, patting the corner of her mouth after taking a sip of tea.

She was the oldest and therefore, in her opinion, the wisest. They had debated long and loud over this for years. Patrick knew because he’d been there while they were doing it many times.

“Who?” he asked.

“You are talking with your mouth full, Nephew!”

“Sorry, Aunt.” He swallowed.

“The Countess of Monmouth, as you very well know. Sound mind, and Letty loves her, which is enough for me to dismiss those rumors,” Lady Nigel said, patting his hand. She then handed him the sandwich plate.

“I don’t like vicious rumors,” Mrs. Spooner added, pouring his tea just how he liked it.

“They are usually perpetrated by small-minded fools with nothing better to occupy their time,” Aunt Lavinia said, picking a speck of something off his sleeve. “Anyone with two eyes can see that woman is noble.”

She wasn’t actually, but he kept that to himself. If these three were backing Sophie, then they would make sure those rumors were squashed and whoever had started circulating them dealt with.

“So we think she’s perfect for you.”

Patrick, who had just put an entire sandwich into his mouth—although admittedly small—choked.

“I have repeatedly told you not to put too much in your mouth,” his aunt snapped. “Chew, for pity’s sake.”

He did as he was told, then gulped down tepid tea.

“Ah… who is perfect for me?” he rasped when he could.

“The countess, of course. Keep up, boy,” Mrs. Spooner said. “She will be an excellent wife for you.”

“So make haste to secure her hand before someone else beats you to her, Nephew. I know that Dinsdale is sniffing around her skirts and has expressed his wish to make her his wife,” Aunt Lavinia said.

He stared at them, his insides suddenly burning with jealousy. She is mine.

“Well?” Lady Nigel demanded.

“Ah….”

“Oh, for pity’s sake. Do you or do you not like the Countess of Monmouth, Nephew? Because we’ve been watching you, and it certainly appears as if you do.”

“I-I’m not discussing this with you three,” he stuttered. Stuttered? Him, who always knew what to say. Patrick could feel heat flushing his cheeks .

“Do you know what your problem is?” Lady Nigel demanded. Patrick shook his head.

“You were raised by a fool. No offense, Lavinia, I know he was your brother.”

“None taken. I happen to agree.”

“And because of that, you’ve lived behind a shield. Cool, aloof, not letting anyone in, Patrick,” Lady Nigel continued with the accuracy of an arrow. “Control is vital to you.”

He could do nothing but nod, as it was the truth.

“But she’s got under that shield, boy,” Mrs. Spooner said. “Don’t walk away from something that will make you happy.”

“On that note, I had a rather enlightening conversation with Miss Logan last night. Lovely gal, considering her mother is a sour-tongued shrew,” Aunt Lavinia said.

“She never used to be,” Mrs. Spooner added.

“Anyway,” Aunt Lavinia said. “She told me your countess has become a close friend of hers.”

He knew that but not where this was leading.

“They share an interest, it seems.”

“What interest?” Patrick asked.

“Figurines,” his aunt said. “All kinds. Dolls, animals. Apparently, your countess has only just started her collection,” Aunt Lavinia added.

“And you’re telling me this why?” Patrick asked.

His aunt’s sigh was heavy. “Nephew, buy her a damned figurine,” she snapped. “Honestly, he’s so unaware, it’s like he’s still a boy in short pants.”

“A lot of men are, I’m afraid,” Lady Nigel said. “They have lost the art of charming a woman.”

“Harsh,” Patrick protested.

“But true. Now, you take her here if you go driving.” His aunt then gave him an address. “They have lots of them.”

He looked at her blankly.

“Figurines, boy!”

“Right. I need to go.” He got to his feet suddenly. “Ah… have a nice day.” He kissed cheeks and then fled, no doubt leaving the three of them talking about him over a fresh pot of tea.

He walked as if the devil himself were following him, and when he was back at his town house, he sent a note to the Monmouth town house stating he would be arriving shortly to take Sophie driving. Because he knew she’d refuse him, he didn’t ask; he demanded.

Patrick then climbed up onto the driver’s seat of his phaeton with Teddy, one of his staff, on the back and headed to the Monmouth town house.