Page 90 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville

“Minerva told me.”

“Of course she did.” Draining the rest of the brandy, he set the glass on the desk. “No one in this whole blasted house can keep a secret.”

“Except you.”

“Don’t start with that again,” he growled.

“Why not? It is the reason you are letting her trot off after some fool American. Do you not care at all?”

“No,” he lied, though the thought of Maria with that ass Hyatt made his stomach churn. “She made her choice. The least I can do is honor it.”

“Does it not bother you that she has no money to travel?”

“I’m sure she had the good sense to sell the pearls I gave her.”

“Actually, no. She left them here.” Limping up to the desk, Gran set the velvet box next to the decanter. “She said she had no right to them.”

He stared at the box. Without money, how had she managed the trip? His siblings must have given her something, but it couldn’t have been much. She would have had to take a mail coach. The idea of Maria and Freddy traveling without protection, easy prey for sharpers and pickpockets and unscrupulous innkeepers, not to mention highwaymen, made his heart stop.

“I don’t care,” he said uneasily, though it was getting harder to convince himself.

“Then you probably do not care that she and Freddy went off with Mr. Pinter. He is taking her to meet her fiancé.”

“The hell he is!” When triumph glinted in her eyes, he cursed his quick tongue. “You’re lying.”

She lifted one silver eyebrow.

Striding out into the hall, he bellowed, “Minerva!”

In a second, he heard her slippered feet on the stairs. “What is it?” she asked as she approached.

“How did Maria leave here?”

She glanced nervously from him to Gran. “She went with Mr. Pinter. He offered to take her and Freddy wherever they needed to travel, though it sounded as if it might be a long trip. It was actually very kind of him—”

“Deuced bastard!”

“He is a gentleman,” Gran put in, “so I suppose she is safe enough with him.”

“A gentleman. Right.” The sort who would spend the trip painting Oliver in the blackest terms, relating his most damning exploits, poisoning her against him—

Why the devil did it matter? She’d left. She wasn’t coming back. He shouldn’t care what she thought of him now.

But he did.

Worse yet, Pinter enjoyed playing the gallant knight, and behind their noble words, gallant knights were as susceptible to a pretty face as anyone. If Pinter was investing money and time in transporting her God knows where—not to mention waiving his fee for her—he’d surely expect something from her in return.

She was vulnerable right now, confused and upset. Alone with Maria in a carriage for hours, perhaps days, with only that fool Freddy to stop him, Pinter could easily . . .

He wouldthrottlethe man if he laid one finger on her!

He stalked down the hall. “How long ago did they leave?”

“Five hours,” Minerva said.

“And where were they headed?”

“I don’t kn—”