Page 74 of An Alleged Rogue

“A pleasure to meet you, sir.” Miss Hadford inclined her head politely.

“Likewise,” Freddie said, removing his hat and bowing.

The butler stepped up to take his cloak and hat, and Hadford led him into a beautifully appointed drawing room. Heavy damask curtains hung at the windows, the same pale green as the upholstery on some of the chairs. Silver candelabras sparkled on end tables and the mantelpiece, the candles already lit for the evening. Several paintings depicting seascapes decorated the walls. A general feeling of opulence hung over the room, and Freddie gloated at the thought of what he was about to do. He had no qualms about stealing from the Hadfords. They had more than enough to share.

A second lady, older than the first, sat on the sofa with a book open on her knee. She rose as they entered. Her hair was a little darker than Miss Hadford’s, but the physical similarities between the two ladies were obvious.

“Mr. Trevors, may I introduce my wife, Mrs. Martha Hadford. My dear, this is Mr. Edward Trevors.”

“Welcome to Charwell Park, Mr. Trevors,” Mrs. Hadford said. “I hope your journey went well.”

“Very well, thank you, ma’am.” Freddie inclined his head.

“Would you like to freshen up before dinner?” she asked.

As tempted as Freddie was to enter another room and slip a small—but doubtless valuable—ornament into his pocket, he knew that his ultimate goal was of far more value. And he was anxious to begin the next phase of his grand scheme.

“I am well, Mrs. Hadford. My driver stopped to rest the horses not long ago, and I took the opportunity to stretch my legs.” He patted his left thigh with his free hand. “Having to use a cane is an unfortunate turn of events, but I cannot complain. I am fortunate to be walking at all.”

Mrs. Hadford looked suitably sorry. Extracting a little extra sympathy from his hostess was always a good ploy.

“I admire your resilience, sir,” she said.

“Well, there we are. Such is life, I say.” He focused his one visible eye on her. “I am happy to go in to dine whenever you are ready, ma’am.”

Mrs. Hadford smiled and placed her hand upon her husband’s arm. “Then let us go in directly.”

There was something about Mr. Trevors that made Phoebe excessively uneasy. It likely did not help that he had been seated across from her at the dining room table and that she had felt his gaze upon her more often than not. She had refrained from participating much in the mealtime conversation, preferring instead to listen. Her father had obviously been seeking information about Mr. Trevors’s business connections abroad. Unfortunately, their guest had been remarkably unforthcoming. Phoebe was not sure that she knew much more about the gentleman now than she had when they had first met.

She stared at the needlework project on her knee with no real focus. “Mother, what do you think of Mr. Trevors?”

Her mother sat on the sofa across from her. They had retired to the drawing room when the meal had ended, allowing the gentlemen their customary time alone.

“I feel rather sorry for the man,” her mother said. “He obviously suffered quite severely in some battle or other and has no wife to aid him through the recovery.”

“Or to tell him that white-powdered faces and excessive rouge are passé,” Phoebe muttered.

Her mother pursed her lips. “Come now, Phoebe, it is not like you to pass such a harsh judgment.”

Phoebe stabbed her needle into her stitchery with a little more force than necessary. “I know. It’s just that there is something about him that does not sit well with me. Did you notice that he avoided all mention of his family or his home life? No reference to mutual friends and acquaintances?”

“It is quite possible that he has no surviving family. He appears to be of quite an age himself, and if he has never been married, he would have no children.”

“Yes, but . . .” She shuddered. “I did not like the way he looked at me. It was as though he was trying to ascertain my thoughts.”

“You are being overly dramatic, Phoebe. I daresay you are simply reacting badly to his having a patch over his eye.” Her mother sighed. “Such a shame. His one good eye is such an unusual color. The pale gray is so very striking.”

Phoebe’s fingers froze over her stitchery, and her mouth went dry. Dear heaven. Mr. Trevors had pale-gray eyes. It had been over twenty-four hours since her stunning conversation with Adam, and she had thought of little else since then. From his heart-wrenching account of his father’s demise to his battle to save his home; from the feel of his fingers around hers to his insistence that she call him by his given name; from his worry that Emily wouldn’t survive in Society to his frustration that Freddie Payne was yet at large—every moment of their time together was indelibly imprinted in her mind. Including his mention of the criminal’s distinctive eyes.

She glanced over her shoulder. The drawing room door was ajar, but she had no doubt that the door to her father’s study was closed tight. It would be almost impossible to eavesdrop on the gentlemen’s conversation from the passageway. They were likely talking over matters of commerce that would mean nothing to her anyway. A horrible gaping pit opened up in Phoebe’s stomach. If the older Lord Dunsbourne could be so fully deceived by Freddie Payne in a business transaction, what was to prevent her own father from suffering the same fate?

With trembling hands, she set down her needlework. What should she do? She could not very well knock on the door and demand to know if her father’s guest was in actuality Freddie Payne. She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. No. She could not do that—but she knew someone else who could.

Her mother had gone back to her book. There was no question that she would not support Phoebe’s galloping over to Dunsbourne Manor at this hour. She had made it quite clear that Phoebe had spent far too much time there already. And yet, it had to be done. The more she thought on it, the more convinced she became that it was her only course of action.

“Would you excuse me, Mother?” Phoebe rose to her feet, and her mother looked up with concern.

“Are you quite well, my dear? You appear terribly pale.”