Her dear husband was holded up in a brothel. Phoebe had worried that asking the stable master where she could find the owner of the Adulusian would raise suspicion, so she had begun her search where Robbie's trail had ended: at Madam Duvall's. It was dark, but she leisurely strolled along the boardwalk and kept her hood over her hair, both unnecessary precautions. As she neared the brothel, a man turned, stared, then hurried hurried into Madam Duvall's. Phoebe realized that the Marquess of Ashlund was at the brothel. She also knew that Kiernan was being apprised of the fact that his wife was in town. In another moment, he would also know she stood across the street from his hiding place.
With a sigh, Phoebe drew back the hood of her cloak and crossed the street to the house. She started to knock, but changed her mind and opened the door, then stepped inside.
A hulking monster of a man stood a few feet from the door and turned. "Beg your pardon, Miss," he said in a heavy Scottish accent. "But you must be in the wrong place."
Oh how she wished that were true. "I'm here to see my husband."
Annoyance flashed in his eyes. "We don't allow ladies at Madam Duvall's."
Of that she was sure.
He took at step toward her and Phoebe pulled the pistol from her pocket. He halted.
“Micah,” called a woman as she stepped out from a room to the right.
“Madam Duvall, I presume?” Phoebe asked without taking her eyes from the bodyguard.
“There's no need for the weapon, madam,” she replied.
"That remains to be seen," Phoebe said. "Please inform Lord Ashlund that his wife is here.”
“Wife? I wasn't aware His Lordship had married."
Her heart lurched. He hadn't told anyone he was married. Her reaction was stupid, she knew, but she wasn't going to deny the hurt.
"Where is he?" Phoebe demanded of Madam Duvall.
Uncertainty flickered across her face, but she nodded toward the hallway. “Upstairs. Come with me.” She started down the hallway.
Phoebe gave the bodyguard a wide birth, then pocketed the gun and followed Madam Duvall down the corridor, up two flights of stairs, and down another corridor. Madam Duvall stopped before a set of double doors, gave a perfunctory knock, and entered.
“Lord Ashlund—”
“Yes, Letty,” Kiernan interrupted. He sat across the lavishly furnished bedchamber at a secretary, his back turned. He confirmed Phoebe's suspicions when he said, “Show my wife in.” He continued writing as Phoebe entered, and Madam Duvall left, closing the doors behind her. He laid down his pen and rolled his chair around to face her. He wore a kilt, as he had for their wedding. She couldn't halt the flick of her gaze to his muscled calves. The man could drive a woman wild. He had driven her wild.
“You never cease to amaze me.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Where does my father think you are?"
"On my way to London to see Adam's family."
Kiernan nodded. “And how did you find me?”
“The Andalusian.”
"That horse is likely to get me killed." Kiernan rose and strode to her. Once at her side, he caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “Things aren't what they appear, my dear."
Ah, Phoebe reflected with a stab of sadness, if only they were as simple as they appeared. “I suppose it's my fault you’ve sought solace in a brothel," she said. He gave her a questioning look, and she added, "I wasn't a proper bride on our wedding night."
Amusement flickered in his eyes. "I will have to remember your love of brandy, but I doubt you believe the fact we didn't consummate our marriage is why I'm here."
"What else am I to assume?”
“What indeed?” he murmured.
Kiernan reached up and she stilled when he undid the clasp on her cloak. His warm fingers brushed her collarbone and gooseflesh raced down her arms. He swung the cloak from around her shoulders and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Then, with a firm hand on her elbow, he directed her to the couch that faced the fireplace. She sat down and he lowered himself onto the cushion beside her.
“I should have told you the truth," he began, "well…before now, at any rate.”
“What truth would that be, my lord?”
"You recall the Highlanders who have been displaced from their homes these past years? You may not be aware of it, but many are wanted criminals.”
Phoebe lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “When one plans the assassination of noblewomen…”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “I felt sure you hadn't forgotten.”
“It is difficult to forget when one is threatened at gun point.”
"Desperate people do desperate things,” he replied. “But, if you recall, it was you who pointed out that Robbie's pistol wasn't loaded, and you stopped me from beating him to death."
"I remember," she said—and she also remembered a line from her father's letter. You cannot comprehend the fine line between reason and desperation when all choices have been eliminated.